These past months I’ve been feeling the call to begin the transition of accepting my grey hair. Now (and for the past 25 years) I’ve had a variety of shades of red. I started by sticking close to what had been my natural colour (from birth!), before I started to go grey. I have since strayed into bolder territory. At first, I thought I’d stop at 50. Then I didn’t. I wasn’t ready.
Because I get comments on my long curly red hair from strangers almost every day and I am addicted to the attention. Random, unlikely strangers, tell me how beautiful my hair is, how much they love the colour, or they just smile and point at their heads, to let me know my hair has prompted the smile. Just last week, at a drum circle, a woman told me that I was like a dancing flame in the corner with my drum.
I hear how women my age become invisible. I feel visible. I’m scared of not being seen. More. I am a reasonably energetic person. I ran in the forest in Lisbon for two hours this morning, before settling on the couch in my Airbnb to write this. I laugh loud (maybe too loud). I love to dance almost anywhere, anytime. I can get carried away on a wave of enthusiasm. And somewhere along the way, I began to bundle those traits with my hair colour. As if my presence and personality depend on me being a redhead.
Yet, my hair doesn’t feel right anymore. There’s a voice inside that says I’m too old for my hair, or that the colour is inauthentic, that I’m hiding behind my hair, or that it’s just plain time to see what the grey is like. When I see women with beautiful grey hair now, I admire not only their hair, but also their bold authenticity. I feel the call to step up to their courage. Which means, for me, that I will need to cut off all my hair and start over again. I do not want to keep my hair long and slowly grow my grey out. And that radical road also scares the crap out of me, because what if I not only become invisible; what if like Samson, I lose all my strength, energy and enthusiasm for life? In the Book of Judges, Delilah betrays Samson by cutting off his hair, knowing it will destroy his strength. Will I be my own Delilah to my own Samson?
I have, of course, investigated my options, which is what eventually tipped the scales to the radical road. I had the idea that maybe I’d just dye my whole head blonde, to make it easier to start growing out my hair. I consulted with a colorist I used to go to. Before I started colouring my hair myself with an all-natural-add-only-hot-water product that is shipped from an organic salon in Paris. Here’s the text message I got from my ex-colorist when I asked if he’d be game to help me with my transition-through-long-blonde-hair plan:
Hi Mina. Of course I remember you!
I would not touch your colored hair with a 10-foot pole, considering you’ve been using henna! Sorry
I have seen the detrimental effects of trying to correct or remove henna color firsthand. Your hair could turn green, or just break off randomly so you end up with a “chemical haircut”
While henna itself is “natural”, so is snake venom and gasoline
Henna is a metallic vegetable dye that leaves a permanent residue on the hair that can react really horribly with any other treatments.
If you truly want to go grey, the best (and in my opinion the only) option is to just wait it out as your hair grows in naturally grey
For my 2 cents, no matter how young and beautiful your face is…gray hair makes you look at least 10 years older As long as you’re ready to look, and be treated, as “old”, go for it!
Well okay then. Thank you. It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve heard this kind of opinion. I have friends who have said that going grey will age me by 10 years, instantly.
Setting aside his hostile tone and harsh judgment of grey hair, I did some research into what he said about henna. I asked another hairdresser who confirmed that henna was bad. He generously dyed a sample lock of hair blonde, to show me just how wrong things could go. I now have a lock of yellow yarn doll hair. I did further research and confirmed, to my distress, that henna is indeed quite toxic and contains heavy metals, which end up in the body. So much for my pure, organic Parisian colour. I’m not putting that in my hair again, since I’d also be putting it in my kidneys again.
As I’ve been agonizing about my hair, a friend sent me this article about taking a year of celibacy: The Sexiest Year of My Life Involved No Sex So, if I cut off all my hair and let it be grey, should I also prepare to be celibate? And not by choice, according to my ex-colorist. I know my friend didn’t intend the article to land that way. Yet, I do worry that my colleagues at work will no longer respect me. That my friends won’t want to hang out with me. And yes, that no one will love me or want to have sex with me. Ever again. Apparently, my own judgments are worse than my ex-colorist’s.
These fears are all the reasons to go for it. Reset. Restart. It is time to find out if I am more than my hair. November 15 is the day. A friend has undertaken to accompany me during the process. To hold my hand. Console. Celebrate. Scrape me off the floor or ceiling, depending on what happens to my psyche.
Yes, I know, I am not making an irrevocable decision. In my teens and twenties, I was constantly changing my look. I can start colouring my hair again (just not with henna). Hair grows back. What’s time anyway?
Onward, with curiosity.
