When Joanna Pitman decided to delve into various societies' fascination with blond hair through the ages, she didn't simply crack open books and track down subjects to interview.

She went blond herself.

Tough assignment? Hardly.

"I got wolfish looks from men and complicit smiles from blond women, who seemed to acknowledge my beacon-like hair as if I was now a member of an elite club. At the London Library, where the male staff tend to bury themselves in books while the women deal with inquiries, I had male librarians virtually vaulting over the counter to help me. I got preferential treatment jostling for attention at the market.

"Friends thought I looked younger; some considered it such a deliciously sleazy experiment they rushed off to do the same. Strangers smiled at me, unbidden. Soon, I began to smile back. After a while I wondered whether I could afford not to be blond. In the end I lasted four expensive months."

Pittman is the former Tokyo bureau chief for the London Times, who now writes features for the publication and serves as its photography critic. Her thorough research covers blondes from Aphrodite to the present.

When it comes to creating blond hair, major expense, a little pain and a lot of aroma seem to have gone with the territory.

"In Ancient Rome," writes Pittman, "the most ruthless beauties used pigeon dung; in Renaissance Venice they resorted to horse urine. Today, women spend hundreds of pounds sitting for hours in hairdressing salons having their hair lightened."

According to Pitman, only one in 20 white American adults is naturally blond. Roughly the same ratio applies to white northern Europeans. Even so, you would never know it walking down Western city streets.

And it's not only the West. In Japan, thousands of young women turn their black hair peroxide-blond, with the use of industrial strength dyes.

"I want to look more American," said one blond Japanese 20-year-old. "It's a form of rebellion, rejecting my Japaneseness in order to look more Western, to look better, maybe more like a film star."

Pitman is at her best when it comes to presenting observations on the passing scene, past and present, and nifty little factoids, e.g., that King Kong was one of Hitler's favorite films. The book bogs down frequently, though, when she plays amateur psychologist. I found myself wishing she'd used the same research and, instead of a book, had written an in-depth, illustrated, article on the topic for Smithsonian or National Geographic.

Sure, hair can be fascinating; but in this case, it's best when cut short.

Ed Halloran is a Denver-based author, actor, and journalist. He's also part of KNRC's Morning Show team.