How does one deal with it, the Blonde? Where lies the mystique?

We often hear the familiar clinical refrain that it’s a fetish, an illogical fixation on an object or body part made sexually potent. Feet, legs, stockings, panties, those little anime-girl statuettes, and the other strange collectibles where the focus of sexual energy gets pinpointed and shot into it like a laser. And we’ve all known that one white dude who always lusted after the Oriental Girl, driven by a desire to possess a demure yet sexually charged little exotic with the silky black hair. 

But as it is true with the Oriental Girl, so it is with the Blonde, who exerts a clear sexual force of her own. Go to Japan and you can see her at work on the minds of men. She lurks somewhere in the dark recesses, amid the muck and swamp of the Asian male psyche, suddenly skipping into the light like a gold-prize dream. The white-skinned hotty-totty in a spring mini, with bouncing boobs, flicking that long mane of hair, and the ever-terrible quip, “Omigod!”

Once, a friend and I were on the bus and our eyes simultaneously caught sight of the one blonde walking on the sidewalk amid a crowd. We never saw her face, just the back of her head and the length of hair swaying with each stride. After watching a minute of this, my friend said, “I don’t care how great any girlfriend is. If she’s not a blonde like that one, in the back of your mind, you’ll always want one.” Facetiousness aside, there was something true about that.

So what is she then, the Blonde? Why the fuss? Why all the bottle-blond Asian girls for that matter? Or even the unkinked, blond-haired black girls? Is it about making yourself more white? Or is it about looking good, using hair color like a visual pheromone? Consider also that the Blonde is everywhere — on TV, in movies, lounging on Sunset Beach, littered across advertising, not to mention the porn world. Add to that a culture saturated with the Tease — where hemlines go just barely … and the limitless variety of bikinis … and again the porn. And what varieties there are: the shapes, the sizes, the thousand cultural manifestations. Where does one begin? Reese Witherspoon, Lisa Kudrow, Barbie, Marilyn Monroe, Debbie Harry, Cinderella, Blonde Dagwood, Charlize Theron, Gwyneth Paltrow, Sailor Moon. It’s endless. They are endless.

So depending on how you look at it, it’s either great to be a guy, or a most insufferably painful existence living with a constant barrage of Tease. Either way, the Blonde remains both anomaly and prize out together. Because, let’s be honest, we’ve all wanted one, if even as a distant curiosity. And we’ve had crushes on one at some time in the past, usually left brokenhearted, by my guess, and it may be that deep down we still desire her, or it, the Blonde. They are, if anything, fascinating creatures, like things from the deep, or beings from the far side of the planet, a complete other on the dividing ethnic line, an entirely other reality! Oh my god, the Blonde!