Color me miserable with gray
Dying is not the easiest thing to do. That’s why someone else
does it for me.
Color me miserable with gray
Dying is not the easiest thing to do. That’s why someone else does it for me.
Being a woman of a certain age, every few months I have to submit myself to the indignity of having my hair colored. Luckily, I have a dear friend in Hollister who has a hair salon, and who is very good at making me look good.
Still, though, it’s a process that I wish I could do without.
It’s another one of those little things, like getting tested for glaucoma or buying a bran muffin when I really wanted a chocolate one, that reminds me that I’m getting older.
When I was younger – before the gray hairs sprouted – I swore that I would not be one of those women who colored their hair. I had watched my mother do it at home, and naturally, didn’t want to do anything that was the least bit like my mother.
I would empower myself! I would embrace my age! I would be proud of my gray!
Then the gray came along, and I wimped out.
Part of the problem was that I was not genetically destined to be one of those beautiful silver-haired older women. Instead of having lovely white or silver hair, I had sort of tired-looking brown hair shot through with strands of gunmetal gray.
I couldn’t stand it. So I did what I had sworn not to do: I dyed.
First I did it myself at home, using Natural Instincts Golden Brown. But the result was only so-so. And so I turned to Carol, who makes my hair look better than it ever has in my whole life.
However, I always feel a little ridiculous getting it done. For one thing, it proves that I was not resolute enough to let myself go gray. There’s some vanity there, much as I hate to admit it.
Secondly, have you ever seen anyone getting their hair colored? It’s a pretty silly process.
Not only is there dye involved, but also these little bits of foil that cover all the strands of hair. I have never inquired why the foil is necessary, but there it is.
In any case, my head always ends up looking like an aluminum Christmas tree, with little shiny shingles covering every bit of it. I look like one of those crazy people who are trying to protect themselves from alien transmissions.
The shiny shingles remain in place while the color soaks in, which takes an hour or so. In the meantime, you’re sitting there, reading People magazine and looking rather absurd.
One thing it’s very good for, though, is getting caught up on my important reading. (Hence the People magazine.)
So it’s a silly process, and a long one. The whole thing, start to finish, includes a haircut and so ends up taking a few hours.
This is where it really helps if your stylist is a good friend. Carol and I have known each other for a long time, and so we always have plenty to talk about. That, and the People magazines, get me through the hours that it takes to wash the gray away.
I come away from it looking a little better, I hope, and making it harder to guess at my real age.
Only my hairdresser knows for sure …
