Warning: If you find this too shallow a topic – and who wouldn’t – I suggest you move along and find something with more depth and substance to read. I will totally understand.
OK, now the rest of us can talk.
This is a totally frivolous column about a First World baby boomer topic: Gray hair.
Although my life-time identity is brunette, I yanked the first gray hair from my head at age 28. It wasn’t an alarming Elvira streak, just a simple, single, innocent-looking gray hair.
After a few years, the wives’ tale about seven hairs growing in for every one pulled must have been true, because by my mid-30s I was coloring my hair about every eight weeks to keep the gray at bay, which strikes me as laughable now, since my gray hair is coming in so fast that I’d need to color it about every couple of weeks to keep the tell-tale skunk stripe from gracing the top of my head.
You blondes are lucky because you’re already light-haired, so when you start turning gray, it’s more subtle. For us brunettes, gray produces an unmistakable dark-and-light contrast. The only way to hide it is to dye it.
I always assumed I’d have my dad’s pencil-lead gray hair, which didn’t appeal to me. Likewise, I always vowed that if I were blessed with that gorgeous platinum-white hair, I’d totally embrace my gray. Totally!
I said that, but I’m not sure I believed it myself, because wonder of wonders, it turns out my gray hairs are actually looking more white than gray after all, which is the color I said I’d embrace. I wasn’t so sure. And I was nervous.
One of my friends begs me to not go gray, to at least wait until I’m in my 60s, when I could go 100-percent grannified, wear purple and join the Red Hat Society (when hell freezes over). She says letting my hair go gray will make it look as if I’m giving up, and it will make me look old.
But the thing is, if the age I am now is the age when my hair wants to go gray, then who am I kidding?
Continuing the charade of dying my hair reminds me of how I intentionally keep my clocks set five minutes fast. I know they’re five minutes fast, and I have to tell people not to worry, we’re not that late, we still have a whole five minutes. Of course, I’m not fooling myself. I know my clocks are five minutes fast, just like I know my hair is gray.
And if I know it’s gray, why should I care if anyone else knows it’s gray? Well, one reason, according to my no-way-gray friend, is I’ll have a better chance of attracting a man to my life if I resist the gray for as long as possible.
But the truth is, available bachelors are not exactly lining up to date me now, as an artificial brunette. But most of all, I’ve finally reached a place of peace and acceptance of my life and myself that includes the realization that – gray or brunette – I many never have a significant man in my life again, and that’s OK. Really.
However, just for the sake of conversation, let’s just say someone super special had come along when I was a bottle-brunette. How long would I have to keep up the fakery of dark hair before I “let myself go” …. gray?
At this point, if somebody wonderful stumbled into my life, it would feel pretty liberating to know he accepted the real me. After all, I’d have second thoughts about being serious with a guy who dyed his hair. So vain. So artificial. So, hark, behold the double standard.
Another option …
With all that in mind, I recently made the decision to stop the dye-job madness, and let my hair grow out until all the dyed parts are replaced with whatever color my hair really is. This could take a while. And it won’t be pretty. I see lots of hats in my future to get me through this next year. If I were really brave, I’d shave my head and start from stubble, but I don’t want people assuming I’m bald for the worst possible reason.
Of course, I did some research, and found that wouldn’t you know it, thanks to baby boomers, in some circles, gray is hot and sexy. In fact, many don’t even call it gray, but rather, “silver” which is valuable and beautiful. Some people suggest hats and scarves, hair extensions or even wigs, to make a more graceful leap from dyed hair to natural hair.
To prepare for my transition to the hi-yo silver side, I had a hairdresser weave blond streaks in my hair, which I hoped would be really white highlights, to help make the new “lighter” growth look less obvious. I don’t know what happened, but instead of the super light streaks I imagined, I got various colors that range from pale red to medium brown. If you’ve seen a calico cat, you know the look I’m talking about.
And at the same time, I’m letting my bangs grow out, too, which any woman will tell you is like hair purgatory. I don’t care. If my hair is going to endure an extremely ugly stage, I may as well go all the way and do it all at once. What the hell.
Speaking of which, the timing is perfect, because about nine months ago my normally quasi-straight shiny hair went rouge and turned into something I didn’t recognize, and I’m not talking about the color. It turned extra thick and curly-wavy.
Doni’s current state of hair: wavy with emerging gray. Cut it super short? Streak it? Or just bite the bullet and endure the ugly grow-out?
I remember in high school braiding my hair while it was wet and sleeping on it so I could wake the next day, turn my head upside down, brush the dry hair out and have this wild, wavy crazy hair. That’s pretty much what I have now, but I don’t love it like I did in high school. In fact, I can’t even brush it, or it puffs up and looks like I stuck my finger in a socket. I am not joking when I tell you I now carry a ‘fro pick in my purse for touch-ups.
Yes, I will miss my old look, and those sleek bobs. The last time I had my hair styled (by the talented Troy Hawkins) my hair was adorable. Everyone loved it.
The thing is, to maintain that look requires vigorous hot air blowing with a round brush, followed by flat ironing. By the next day, I’m back to my calico/poodle look.
Plus, my poor hair paid the price for all that heat used to make my locks look like something they weren’t. It eventually turned my hair as dry and brittle as the straw that broke the camel’s back.
All this is a very long way of saying that I’m absolutely done with the curling irons and flat irons. Now, for the first time in my life, my hair routine takes less than five minutes. With all that found time, I may as well set my clocks to the real time, too.
I feel ashamed to have devoted so many precious column inches to stupid hair talk , when there are far more pressing issues going on in the world. For starters, as a wise friend pointed out, some people have no hair at all, thanks to chemotherapy. Yeah, that made me feel like a jerk, for sure.
Even so, I’m letting my hair go. No bangs. All gray and wavy with zero attempts to control it. My real hair, for better or for worse.
Unless I get accepted to Chopped, in which case ignore everything I just said. Faster than you can say “Scott Conant is hot” I’ll be booking a hair appointment with Troy.
This is my new haircut, the gateway to my gray hair. Hair cut and style by Donna Rose of The Chop Shop in Redding.
March 30, 2015 update: I took the leap and had my hair cut super short, so I can transition to embracing the gray. I kind of like it. From here on out, I’ll get hair cuts to cut away the dark (dyed) hair, and let the gray emerge.
Independent online journalist Doni Chamberlain founded what’s now known as anewscafe.com in 2007 with her son, Joe Domke of the Czech Republic. Prior to 2007 Chamberlain was an award-winning newspaper opinion columnist, feature and food writer recognized by the Associated Press, the California Newspaper Publishers Association and E.W. Scripps. She lives in Redding, CA.
