You know those ladies in their 50s or maybe even 60s that decide they’ve had enough? Who choose to believe they good enough, just as they are. The ladies, who, after countless hours and spending untold dollars, decide to stop coloring their hair. They embrace the silver or white in their hair and decide to put an end to the dying. This is not their story.
(But it might have been inspired by them.)
In my twenties, I dyed my hair on a regular basis. Not its natural color, of course. I hadn’t started graying at that point, so that would have been a waste, not to mention boring. Instead, I dyed my hair all the crazy colors that I could get away with and still hold down a full-time job. My hair color ranged from strawberry blonde to jet black. Although, in fairness, the jet black was not my choice but rather an over-correct by my stylist at the time.
As I began to get near to my thirties my grandmother gave me a piece of unsolicited advice. She’s good at that.
Enjoy your natural color while you still have it.
At that point, Mamaw was in her seventies, she had been dying her hair for decades. Her wisdom encouraged me to question why I would choose to do now, what I would be forced to do for the rest of my life. And, for a change, I actually did follow her advice.
Later in my 30s, when the gray started to pop in, I started back my dying habit. Only this round I went more for the natural look – poop brown in an effort to decrease the maintenance needed.
My last visit to the salon in May was no different, except for the results. A couple of days after the process, I realize that my gray hair hadn’t taken the color. My st
ylist offered me a redo. I considered her offer, but the
wheels in the head had already started turning. I hadn’t noticed grays for a couple of days. Was it really worth driving
30 minutes to the salon, and then sitting there for an hour
to cover something less than obvious?
I’ve noticed on the social medias that many women tend to consider getting their hair done as self-care. To them, the time in the chair is something that makes them feel more refreshed, more like themselves.
Conversely, I tend to feel claustrophobic if I have to sit in the chair too long. I get anxious and feel trapped as my hair bakes under the dryer. At home coloring kits tend to make my bathroom look like a crime scene, not to mention my paranoia of getting the dye on the furniture.
I’m currently approaching my 8th month since my last beauty appointment. My hair could use a cut, but I’m hesitant to make the appointment. As long as my choice to not recolor remained passive, I did not waver. Now I must make the active decision.