To Grey or Not To Grey

...That is the question

For several years I have been wrestling with the idea to let my hair go grey.

My hairdresser tried to discourage me. “You’ll look like an old lady,” he told me. “Don’t do it.”

I doubted his sincerity, since he stood to lose the $50, plus tip, that I paid every six weeks to color my hair. As my roots began to grow in, he made me feel worse about my decision.

“Whenever you’re ready, we can put a rinse through this,” he said one day while bunching my hair in his fist and letting it fall into a mess around my head. I found a new hairdresser.

My friends and co-workers’ opinions were mixed. I distrusted the ones who said, “Yes! Let your hair go grey.” They just wanted someone to look older than they did. I didn’t listen to the ones who said, “No! Continue to color your hair.” They must be insecure with their own identity, I reasoned; I was not.

My husband never considered the Grecian Urn when his hair started turning grey. He laughed when I suggested he color his hair to hide his age when he was looking for employment several years ago. When I asked him why I had to continue to color my hair and he didn’t, he answered, “I’m a man. Grey hair looks distinguished on a man. Grey hair on a woman looks old.”

Deciding to let your hair go its natural route is a tough one. It requires you to be self confident and impervious to the comments and opinions of others. On a good hair day, I strut my stuff and let my hair blow in the wind. I’m proud of my grey roots and what they reveal about me: confidence, assertiveness, intelligence. Grey roots tell the world that there is more to me than meets the eye. I have ripened and mellowed with the passing of time - like a mature smooth wine. On a bad hair day, I wear a hat, look down, count the cracks in the sidewalk and avoid mirrors.

It has been two years since I made that decision to stop the coloring process and my hair is much thicker and healthier for it. Men are also holding doors open for me again. That hasn’t happened since I was 19 years old and wearing a size 5. Department store sales staff are once again asking me, “Can I help you?” Absolute strangers smile at me and have even stooped to pick up something I’ve dropped. People behind the counters of delis and coffee shops are speaking louder and slower to me than to the younger people on line. One of these courtesies by themselves would be a nice gesture, but several of them in one day makes me a little suspicious. Can it be the salt and pepper in my hair or has the world become a friendlier place?

My resolve has become a little shakier these days after two recent incidents. The first one happened several months ago while shopping with my 81 year old mother whose hair is completely white. A sales clerk referred to us as friends. My mother was flattered. I feigned a weak smile and admitted that, yes, my mother is also my friend. We all laughed at the misunderstanding, but later that night I stood in front of the mirror for a long time questioning my decision to let my hair go au naturel.

The other incident happened the other day in the grocery store while I was helping my 83 year old father look for his brand of coffee on the grocery shelf. Another shopper was standing nearby when I told my father to try another brand because his brand wasn’t there. As I was packing my dad’s groceries, someone tapped my shoulder and said, “I wanted to tell your husband that I found the coffee he likes; they just changed the label. It’s back there on the shelf.”

That night, I called my mother and asked, “Should I go back to coloring my hair?”

“Yes!” she answered, “Why don’t you? You’re too young to be grey.”

Later that same night I asked my 21 year old son the same question. He answered, “No way, mom! Your hair looks great; much better than that fake dye. Your face looks younger, more natural… you look…distinguished.”

Now, I’ve never listened to advice given to me by anyone younger than 35, but in this case I would have to make an exception. After all, the kid was so honest. If I doubted his honesty for one minute, I was reassured by his next comment.

“No offense, mom, but what you should do is lose weight.”

Who asked him?