Bridget could feel lots of eyes on her, but she didn't dwell on it. She was used to people looking at her. She knew that her hair was unusual. It was long and straight and the color of a peeled banana. People always made a big deal about her hair. Also she was tall and her features were regular -- her nose straight, all the things in the right places. The combination of qualities made people mistake her for beautiful.
She wasn't beautiful...There was no particular poetry or grace in her face. She knew that, and she knew that other people probably realized that too, once they got over her hair.
-- The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants by Ann Brashares
Sometimes I feel like dying my hair blonde is this delightful trick that I've been pulling to get people to pay more attention to me for the past several years. Eventually this project will be over, and I'll be faced with a decision: do I stay blonde?
I always think of the above passage when my mind starts to flutter there, over to that question.