I am writing this on – hopefully – the precipice of great change.

I know that they say appearances are not everything, nor would many argue anything if you have enough money.

However with teenagers I believe standards of beauty are measured solely on the basis of a person’s weight, bra size and overall external appearance. I will not be declared a hypocrite by pretending any exemption from this, particularly given this post is juxtaposed with another declaring my undying lust for Josh Hutcherson. Obviously I am not ashamed to admit that (online to strangers).

(Do not pretend you do not want a piece of Peeta-bread.)

…

Perhaps it is an oversight on my part not to include my severe social awkwardness as a contributing factor to my status as a social pariah, however I doubt it bears as large a reason as my overall appearance. Average looking – with more spots than a cheeta and a weight hovering between skinny and fat – I have never been popular.

In primary school I blamed in on my natural hair moreso than myself; an ugly colour hovering between blonde and brown, I felt confident it was the reason why so many overlooked the mousy girl at the front of the class. (… I was a really cool child by the way.)

With that reasoning in the summer before my transition into grammar school, I dyed my hair arguably the yellowest blonde you will ever lay eyes on (many have described it as the colour of the sun) . In the six years since my hair colour has fluctuated throughout the various shades of blonde.

At some point following this – as if to match the radiance of my hair – a smile became a permanent fixture on my face. Ironically amongst the peers that know of me I am known for my constant laughter and inability to be serious, when in fact beneath it all humour serves as an easy veneer for my true feelings. I am at a loss of how to remove it; as if it was cast onto my face with a permanent sticking charm by Walburga Black (though why she would attempt to cheer a Muggle is beyond me.)

However changing my external appearance seems like a good place to start.

Tomorrow – at the risk of bankruptcy – in addition to getting my roots done (getting my colour retouched, if any boys are reading this) – I will also get dark highlights. It may seem like an insignificant event, but for a person who fears change of any and all varieties, it is the first step towards fulfilling my (early) New Years Resolution; to embrace new things and stop being such a pushover. It is do or dye, so to speak.

Hopefully it will pay off.

If not, hats were invented for a reason.