Winter has officially arrived, bringing blustering winds, freezing temperatures, gray skies, and the perpetual threat of snow. Unless you live a charmed life in a tropical region of America, you expect to not see the sun for another couple of months. This lack of sunshine is a slightly depressing prospect for most people, but something utterly devastating for an often forgotten minority group in society. Yes, there is one portion of the population that suffers more than any other in winter. No, not the homeless. No, not the lonesome. No, not the teens with discolored Uggs and last year’s North Face. Blondes.

Yes, blondes.

Not just any blondes, natural blondes. Stay with me. When you’re born blonde, it becomes part of your identity. While growing up, your hair color soon becomes your main attribute. You’re not just blonde, you’re Blonde. You’re the Blonde kid, a Dumb Blonde, or “Blondie.” You laugh at the jokes, exhaust the dissatisfying yellow crayon, watch Legally Blonde like it’s a right of passage, and thoroughly embrace the role ofElle Woods in your high school’s production of the musical. Your hair color begins to transcend its role as a physical trait, becoming a statement of identity.

When discussing the plight of blondes, my friend and fellow Blonde, Anna Jackson, said, “It is absolutely a point of pride to be a natural blonde, and a shaper of personality, because it’s such a small part of the population.” She’s right. When you’re blonde, for whatever reason, people feel compelled to bring it up. It’s not a bad thing—it’s just a thing. You start to feel proud when friends compliment your hair or when strangers ask if it’s natural or when the hairstylist says people would pay thousands of dollars to have your color, even though you’ve done absolutely nothing to contribute to your appearance.

Gradually, you become attached to being blonde. It gets to the point where you can’t imagine yourself having any other hair color. Sarah Duska, another friend and fellow Blonde, said, “I wouldn't know how to live if I wasn’t blonde.” I’m with you, Sarah. I’m right there with you.

Unfortunately, most blonde hair darkens over time. Before embarking on this highly important and investigative article, I thought myself to be the only person emotionally struggling with darkening hair. I now realize I am not alone. Many blonde-haired folk live in constant fear of losing blondeness and becoming brunette. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with being brunette—it’s just not me. Concerned Blonde and kind human being, Taylor Winslow, said, “I can’t imagine being called a brunette, even though my hair is getting darker.” It doesn’t help that many of us have parents who lost their blondeness with their youth. Taylor said, “My dad turned brunette in his 20’s and he likes to warn me of that fate.”

I can empathize with her experience. I distinctly remember standing in my grandmother’s basement, staring up at a large portrait of a tow-headed teen, and learning that the stranger in the painting was a younger version of my brown-haired, balding father. It was not the future I desired. I was also faced with the knowledge, however, that I could never artificially replicate my natural hair color. Hairdressers and family members and older ladies standing behind me in lines have always warned that, if I dye my hair, the color would never return, which is why my mom wouldn’t let me turn my hair purple for Halloween and why she forbid me from adding cool red streaks to it like Avril Lavigne (in hindsight, it was probably a wise decision). As hard as I try to maintain its natural lightness and resist the temptation of dye, my hair continues to grow darker and darker.

The main culprit: winter.

Everybody’s hair lightens a bit in the sun, but blonde hair turns dramatically lighter in the summer and darkens throughout the winter. Those few summer months are essential to maintaining color throughout the year. I spend most hours of my summer trying to catch as much sunlight on my head as possible. I eat outside, read outside, sleep outside, seek elevation, surround myself with reflective metal surfaces, and stick my head out the car window in order to maximize my daily ratio of retained rays. By the end of the season, I feel lighter, brighter, and more myself.

When winter comes, everything changes. The days are shorter, the sun is absent, and the blonde hair grows gloomier every second. My hair feels foreign and somehow heavier. I’m reminded of my aging, my future, and the impermanence of youth.

Taylor said, “I don’t know if I get sadder in the winter because of my hair or because I’m always cold, but I guess it’s a little of both.” This sadness is accompanied by an intense desire to hold onto our blondeness. Sarah said, “As my hair gets darker in the winter, I easily become more desperate to be a blonde.” This shared desperation is driven by the ever-present evidence in the mirror that we are gradually losing a key aspect of our identity.

Anna summarized the problem perfectly:

"Blondes regularly face criticism in the winter of being inauthentic as hair naturally darkens, but cannot artificially lighten it for fear of actually becoming inauthentic. So they shuffle through the winter four shades darker, disparaged by both brunettes and bottle blondes alike, with no way of remedying it, until the weather turns."

In the winter, I become painfully aware that it’s impossible for me to return to my natural color until the summer, and that, even then, it may not be completely restored. I start to fear that this is the year I lose blonde forever.

We all have our struggles. I am aware that, in the grand scheme of things, being blonde in winter is a struggle equivalent to having a pimple at Prom or calling your Professor “Mom” or under-filling the waffle maker. It is, however, something myself and many other blondes spend a lot of time and energy thinking about. So please, pity not the Blonde in Winter, but sympathize with their plight and, for the Love of Cheesus, don’t say anything about their hair looking darker.