This one is for the sisters. Guys have always looked distinguished with gray hair.
I’ll never forget the shock of seeing my dark-haired mama suddenly appear on the doorstep with totally gray hair. She and Dad visited each summer, but one day she popped up without warning as a much older-looking woman. I’m sure she’d tired of the hassle. Today, Mom would be right on trend.
Whoever thought gray hair would become stylish? Even young women are opting for it.
When I was a youngster, women went to great lengths to not only color their hair, but to hide the fact they colored their hair. Recall the Clairol slogan: “Only her hair dresser knows for sure.”
Part of the long-delayed equality for women must include freedom from keeping hair secrets. People change hair color as often as their socks — some more often than that — men, women and kids love experimenting with various and garish shades. Even dogs get in on the charade.
I remember visiting older twin cousins Faith and Laverne in the ’60s when I stood about 3 feet high. I considered them exotic starlet types with their wispy pink and pale lavender hair piled up into beehives — so daring. They lived in Hollywood.
For me, parting with my long, dark locks equaled leaving behind the best years of my life, along with the better part of my look, or so I thought. I confess that hair pride framed a large part of my identity. The thing is, my identity has been turning gray for three decades.
About eight years ago, I tired of the chemical-laden product I paid good bucks to have a hairdresser apply in order to “know for sure” that everything not dark-brown got covered. I switched to an all-natural henna product that worked well. The cost was far less, and I could apply it myself as long as I didn’t care about how the bathroom looked afterward. I’ve needed a new floor since then.
Guests who use the facilities think I cut myself shaving with a machete. So, I posted a sign of explanation: “This is the unfortunate result from the last guest who complained about my tuna casserole.”
I’m tossing pride to the wind-whipped tresses and embracing the granny gray. Long and granny gray, even.
No more drips and drops of blood-red henna on the floor. No more sitting around the manse with a plastic bag over my head for an hour. No wiping down a splattered shower stall after the rinse-off.
Gray emergeth — free and unfettered at last. The combo of shiny silver and fading red henna makes me light up like an early Christmas tree in the sun. I notice people shading their eyes.
Friends have employed skillful transitioning techniques that blend the old color with gray so there’s no halo of demarcation. I set forth to follow suit, except for one thing.
I failed to realize that using henna, a plant product, is a commitment. I’ve learned hairdressers run screaming and will not touch henna-treated hair with a 10-foot coloring brush for fear it will turn an atrocious shade of candy-apple green on their watch. I talked to one who said I could try a color lifter, but even that could react in some psychotic fashion.
So far, I wait it out. Let’s see, half an inch a month grow-out … Before long my head should resemble candy corn.
If any of my sisters are thinking gray makes them look too old, I can relate, until I noticed white temples peeking out from beside the brown, and it looked, well, attractive. It started me thinking. Then I talked to people of the male persuasion who also thought it was, well, attractive, actually.
If you’re a doubter, check out the Pinterest page titled “Sexy Gray Hair for Real Women.” I’m fairly certain you’ll see the light.
A proverb in the Bible says, “A gray head is a crown of glory.” Who am I to argue?
Peggy Dover is an emancipated freelance writer/author. Reach her at peggydover@gmail.com.