A month or so ago, during the third Democratic Presidential debate, I found myself admiring Beto O’Rourke’s salt and pepper hair.
I then found myself appraising each candidate’s hair when it was his or her turn to speak— Julian is starting to gray at his sideburns. Joe is crowned with a stunning white coif that is matched only by his equally stunning peppermint chicklet teeth (his smile must be absolutely blinding in person). But Elizabeth and Amy? Nary a gray in sight.
When I realized what I was doing, I felt angry at myself. How can I admire the men’s gray or graying hair while I’m having such an intense emotional experience with my own graying mane? (And why am I more focused on hair color than debate content?!? That’s a question for another time.)
Then last week, I saw a picture of Matt LeBlanc, Jennifer Aniston, and Courteney Cox. “Whoa,” I said to myself, “Joey has aged and he looks really handsome with that gray hair.” I then focused on Jennifer and Courteney and thought they looked beautiful, of course, and…pretty much the same as they did 25 years ago. What sorcery is that?
Just kidding. I know the sorcery. I am just tired of it.
I never enjoyed having my hair colored. The chemicals burned my scalp. The fumes made me feel sick. What got me through those sessions were the gossip magazines that I don’t allow myself to buy, but gobble up like Lucy at the chocolate factory when they’re free and in front of me.
I loathe the hair washing sink. I know some people relish that period of time when another person washes their hair and massages their scalp, but it is torture to me. My neck cramps and I can’t get comfortable no matter how many towels they use to pad the dip in the sink.
To add insult to injury, dye doesn’t like my hair. It doesn’t stick around for long. Within a week it fades and turns to a brassy orange color, despite having had an “ashy” dye used that’s supposed to hinder the brassiness. And within 3 weeks my gray roots are showing. Again.
Coloring my hair became a Sisyphean task. A really expensive, burning, stinky, and neck-wrenching Sisyphean task.
One day I said to myself “I’m done.” I last colored my hair over a year ago. I had highlights done a couple of times since then to blend the graying roots into the rest of my hair. For a while I used a spray dye (that is actually kind of amazing) to hide the gray in the comfort of my own home. And then I stopped doing anything.
When I tell my 25 year old stylist that I’m skipping the color yet again, she puts on a happy face and speaks supportive words, but I think I’m killing her slowly. I feel badly about that because she’s very nice; however, I know she and her co-workers are rolling their eyes and shaking their heads as I walk out the salon’s door into my gray future that they think must reek of death and sadness and dirty muumuus and cat litter.
I believe one time my stylist said I was brave for letting my hair live its natural life. Is it brave? I don’t consider Beto, Julian, Joe, or Matt brave because they are graying. Why would I be considered brave? Is doing nothing brave? I mean, I know what she means because I used to think the same thing when I saw women with graying hair, but when I *really* think about it, it’s absolutely crazy. I’m not being brave, I’m being…accepting, if anything.
While that sounds very zen and simple, I am in fact a low self-esteem gal and I am actually struggling to accept this new look. I cringe when I see myself in photos. I avoid the camera even more than usual now. This is not ideal, as my in-laws would like nothing more than an updated family photograph for Christmas this year. (What am I going to do?!?) I’m also slightly worried that my husband, who is 6 years younger, will no longer find me attractive. (“For better, for worse,…” that was the deal, right?)
With that said, perhaps I am brave for walking around out of my comfort zone? If I walked onto a stage in front of a large audience and started to give an improvised speech, I would be out of my comfort zone and I would definitely consider myself brave. Is doing something out of one’s comfort zone inherently brave? After reading that back, I feel like the answer is “duh, yeah.”
During the past year, I’ve started exercising more and I’m treating my skin better. What do those things have to do with not coloring my hair? I’m not sure, but they are happening. I guess the point is: I’m not letting myself go, I’m letting myself be. Just because I’m not coloring my hair doesn’t mean I’m throwing in the towel and designing my ash urn.
My question to the universe is why can’t women let their hair be without being critiqued and/or self-conscious? Why do Jen, Courteney, Elizabeth and Amy and every other woman in the spotlight feel they need to appear ageless to be relevant while men are apparently allowed to go through their natural process and often be considered better looking to boot? (Helen Mirren is a glorious exception.)
I say that now, but I know in reality that if they did go gray my first reaction would be “hmmmm…” That’s our wacky culture, and hypocrisy, thy name is Amy C.
I know that going gray does not appeal to every woman out there, clearly. And honestly, who knows, I might color my hair again next month. But right now, I’m not trying to be revolutionary or brave (or am I?), I’m mainly just sick of the coloring process and curious to see what life is like when I let my hair be.
