Hair

Gray is cool when you are 20, not when you are 62...

So apparently the new hair color of the season is gray. Just not gray with wrinkles. No not botox nonwrinkles, but 20 year old nonwrinkles. You know the skin you had before you spent all that time in the sun without sunblock (they didn’t have sunblock back in my childhood) and before Newton’s invention decided to take its toll.

Apparently, one of the things that seems to be a constant so far in my posts is the lament about gravity. Gravity truly is a “heartless bitch”…it spares noone and nothing. Ok, so it can create a lovely scene when snow falls and autumn leaves cover you in abundance. But it’s not so much fun when your ass hits the back of your knees. Thank heaven for low impact exercises or heavens knows how low my jiggly puff would end up.

Meanwhile, I cannot understand this 20-something youthful obsession with gray hair. It will eventually happen. There is no need to rush it.

Meanwhile we spend how many dollars after the age of 45 trying to cover up the gray. Well of course, men don’t, their gray is distinguished and enchanting. But for us women who want to remain relevant in a world that would otherwise sideline us the moment a gray hair appears, we will spend hours and hours at the hair salon trying to find a color that doesn’t wash us out or make us look ridiculous.

Have you ever seen a 70 year old with pink and purple hair? Not… a… good… look.

Am I wrong? Notice how many female politicians and financial denizens of a certain age still dye their hair while the men never do? A sure sign that to remain seen and relevant a woman needs to color her gray.

Now there was a time, because of the pandemic that everyone went gray. It was the newest feminist movement. WE WON’T COLOR OUR HAIR EVER AGAIN. We are liberated. The post pandemic version of bra burning. “Freedom,” we shouted!

One of the hairdressers in my salon, a man of course, said that I would eventually color my hair again. He had this little smirk at the time too. It really irked me.

“Never,” I retorted in my very defiant way.

So, 3 months later I only asked for highlights and not a full head of color. You see, I didn’t give into convention. I was fighting for the sisterhood. I was creating my own new version of feminine independence. I would only partially dye my hair.

I liked the color too. A very pretty aubergine/purple/deep red. Felt like I was back in the world. I didn’t have to hide anymore. I was seen again. Until I realized that what was left of the hair near my widow’s peak was beginning to fall out. Seems hair dye and my body chemistry don’t coalesce very well.

That’s right, grayhair, with fading highlights, and I had to develop a comb over.

Talk about needing to hide and simultaneously looking ridiculous.

So I am back to standing for the “sisterhood of the noncolorification of the female head.” Not by choice really. I have also found a shampoo I think may be helping strengthen my hair. It claims that what was lost may even regrow (yes I am that gullible).

Meanwhile, I am trying to figure out how to remain seen and heard, as the highlights fade and the salt and pepper returns.