At the time I wasn’t sure exactly when I was going to ditch The Box. But once I said it aloud (or, rather, in writing), I found myself getting sort of excited by the idea of finding out what actual hair color lurks under my Garnier #50 Truffle helmet.
For a variety of reasons including tightwadiness (I still had two Truffle boxes from that sale several months ago) and vanity (our anniversary is in early December and I wanted to look good for our annual photo), I decided that my last dye job would be right before Thanksgiving. Specifically November 22, 2016 – two months ago today -- I did this for the very last time:
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| Yes, that is blue painters tape. It works great for keeping Truffle off your face. |
I also threw away the old yellow terry cloth robe with the Truffle-stained collar that I have worn for years while waiting for the 30 minute timer to ding. Although my commitment to be done dying my hair was rather strong, I will admit I promised myself I could get a new Hair Coloring Robe at Goodwill if my resolve caved.
It’s been an intriguing few months, learning just how many brain cells I have been unwittingly dedicating to my hair color and chasing that gray root line.
I was first aware of my addiction when I received a bridal shower invitation for December 30. You know bridal showers? Where women get gussied up and pay extra attention to their make-up and get a manicure in preparation? Where women do their best to look their best for each other?
My first thought when I got the invitation was wondering, out of habit, where I would be in my hair color cycle and if I would need to plan a date with Truffle on the 29th. Then remembering I had broken up with Truffle, I panicked that I would be attending a bridal shower with who knows how many stray and unkempt gray hair strands screaming from my temples and part line.
In a moment of vanity and insecurity that surprised me, I briefly debated ditching the Going Gray experiment for the bridal shower and resuming in January. But I quickly realized if I did that, I would always be chasing the Right Time, waiting for those perfect 30-90 days in which I didn’t have to make any important public appearances. Like bridal showers or concerts or birthday parties or vacations or dentist appointments.
And so I resisted The Box. I attended the lovely bridal shower with gray hairs peeking through, desperately resisting the urge to explain in each conversation that I was not coloring my hair on purpose. Mind you, none of the conversations had anything to do with hair and I sensed absolutely no judgment or even recognition from the women there that my lack of color upkeep was an issue. But it sure surprised me how self-conscious I was about my hair. I didn’t like it.
That’s been the worst part of the past 60 days – feeling so dang self-conscious. With just enough gray showing that it was noticeable, but not enough that it was obvious that I was letting it grow on purpose, I felt like I looked lazy and tired. That maybe I had given up on my appearance and just didn’t care anymore. That I might as well be wearing my penguin pajama pants and llama t-shirt and orthotic Crocs, regardless if I was at Walmart or not.
I tried to pre-empt this angst by making my “going gray” intentions as public as possible. I rambled about it here, I announced it on Facebook, and I’ve mentioned it in any number of conversations with friends and family. I even told the kids in our Youth Group because, you know, teenagers care about hair, right? And that has helped ease the apprehension. Until a few days ago.
That’s when I got my second haircut of this grand adventure and when I got my first real peek at the silvers lurking under all this Truffle.
My hair stylist, Patti, is fantastic. She is 100% behind my decision to go gray and to do it cold turkey. She hasn’t tried to talk me out of it even though it could mean more money in her pocket if she did (highlights, lowlights, glazes, so many ways NOT to embrace my natural hair!). Judging from a Facebook group of women who are “Going Gray and Lovin’ It!” (I swear, there is a support group for everything), Patti is pretty unique in her support.
As Patti was clipping away a few days ago and oohing and ahhing, I was getting pretty excited about what she was unearthing. I had my glasses off and am pretty blind without them, so I was jazzed but unprepared for what greeted me in the mirror when I could finally see.
With silver sides and back and a Truffle top, the mishmash of colors was rather shocking. I just stared at myself in the mirror when I got to the car, determined not to cry. I felt like a calico cat and sort of wanted to just slink home with my tail between my legs even though I had planned to run some errands.
I was surprised by how insecure I suddenly was just because of my hair. Good grief, I’m staring 49 right between the eyes! I'm going to be brought down by hair? Really?
I gave myself a little pep talk. I know I am so much more than my hair. Unlike junior high – the last time I felt so annoyingly insecure about my appearance – I decided to embrace the weirdness and the discomfort and the self-consciousness and take my calico hair out for a public viewing.
And it was just fine.
Nobody cared about my hair at Kohl’s. Nobody cared about my hair at Jamba Juice. Nobody cared about my hair at Albertsons. The car wash attendant couldn’t have cared less about my hair. And the heavily primped greeters at Ulta did not direct me to the hair dye aisle as I feared they might. Exactly like junior high, the only person who was so acutely aware and judgmental of my appearance was me.
Feeling less slinky and more confident, I called out to Rob when I got home.
“My hair is a bit dramatic. Are you ready?”
When he opened his eyes as I stood in front of him, I searched his face for words he wasn’t yet speaking.
“It looks uniquely sophisticated. I like it. The cut AND the color. Both.”
Rob has trained me over the years that he will tell me the truth when I ask how something looks on me. If those pants make me look fat, believe you me he will tell me. As difficult as that can be at times, at other times…like this one…it is a huge gift to know that Rob is telling me his truth.
Feeling even more confident, I played with my new hair a bit, added the new lipstick I had bought just hours prior (retail therapy, anyone?), and posted this picture on the Going Gray Facebook page:
The page is an incredibly supportive, encouraging group of over 6,000 women all over the world. The common thread is we are all striving to embrace our natural hair color. The women share stories of wonderful support as well as terribly disheartening words from people in their lives who warn they are going to look old and tired if they stop coloring their hair. They provide tips on shampoo and make-up and glasses frames. And they share pictures of before, during, and after to take some of the scary mystery away. Scanning the photos for the past few months has shown me how utterly striking gray hair can be…even when it is growing out.
Within minutes of sharing my photo, a remarkable bath of warm words, kindness, compliments, and support was being poured over me. The reassurance, the love, the kindred friendship of women I do not even know was overwhelming and bolstering. The calico cat was suddenly feeling slinky in a whole new way.
So yesterday I walked around in public with confidence and even discovered that my silver hair now makes my black rain hat much more interesting.
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| I sort of wanted to find a flapper dress to wear with the hat. That never occurred to me with Truffle hair. |
I am also recognizing the importance of lipstick in making me feel pulled together while also brightening up my face a bit with its new silver frame.
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| Before "Wear on Wildberry" and after |
Patti thinks my transition might be complete in just two more haircuts. This is incredibly fast, thanks to my hair growing quickly and my short style. Much to my surprise, now that I’m past that “does she know she needs to color her hair??” stage and have gotten past the shock, I’m actually really digging this weird palette of colors on my head. What had once been a bit of fear and trepidation about the hairy road ahead is now all excitement and anticipation.
Goodwill can keep its robes.
2 comments:
You. Look. Hot.
THANK YOU, SHELLY! Coming from a hot mama like yourself, that is a huge compliment. :-)
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