Grey Days
When did having grey hair suddenly become cool? One of my students – a soon-to-be 18 year old – has just spent a fortune dyeing her luscious mahogany locks a ghostly grey colour, while at the same time I’m fighting a losing battle trying to colour my silvery roots red. It’s the definition of irony.
Granny grey is en vogue. So why can’t I embrace my ageing follicles and just give up on the expensive task of caking my head in ammonia every few weeks? Surely if I’m naturally sporting the look the youngsters are seeking that makes me uber cool? Only it doesn’t, does it? It makes me old.
While the millennial generation deem grey to be follicle-ly fashionable, those of us who are sprouting it naturally are less enamoured with the idea. I guess it’s a clear age-marker for those of us who can only vaguely remember our 20s, whereas those still enjoying them aren’t actually at any risk of being mistaken for a pensioner. Not that I have a problem with pensioners of course… I just don’t want to look like one until I am one.
Fundamentally, I don’t have a problem with grey hair either. There are many women sporting beautiful naturally white or grey locks, and I think it looks gorgeous. I’d happily join them (though I do love being a redhead) if I could just miss out the in between stage of looking like I have the worst set of highlights ever.
In fact, when it comes to men, I’m a huge fan of what the dating sites amusingly term ‘salt and pepper’ hair. As if that sounds any better?! What happened to the old-fashioned Silver Fox? Now that is a term I can get behind. Why can’t I be a Silver Vixen rather than a prematurely (in my opinion) greying nearly 40 year old? Or does that require a certain prerequisite when it comes to facial and body features too? Hmmm. I might be banging my head against a brick wall here. That’s probably not going to help my already damaged follicles now is it?
I realise I have terrible double standards here. I recognise the hypocrisy I’m demonstrating when it comes to previous articles I’ve written regarding ageing and the ridiculous demands placed on women by the beauty industry. But though I recognise the damage these pressures create, I am still, what with being female, complex enough to be affected by them.
My pupil is thrilled with her new hair. I think it cost more than I get paid for a week’s worth of teaching. In some lights it looks almost purple. In others it looks slightly green. This unexpected ‘unicorn’ feature adds to her delight. I remember my mother being mortally offended when her aunt commented that her newly-dyed blonde hair looked faintly green at a family funeral. We nearly had to bury the aunt too.
But it seems times have changed. Just one more thing to make me feel old then.