Growing Old Gracefully - Hair Drama

After telling my family and friends for years that I would decide to grow old gracefully and eschewing the usual rituals and procedures common for women approaching middle-age (I’m 44), I’ve decided to cave in. I’m not ready to go under the knife, thankfully, genetics has been kind to me in that area so far, but I thought I’d be noble and let my hair gray naturally…hah! I knew there was going to be a problem when I was asked by the clerk at the grocery store if I wanted the senior citizens discount and then the bagger asked my seven year old daughter if her granny wanted paper or plastic. Not good. I took the discount (I know, shame on me!) and gave the bagger a look that would turn Medusa to stone, kicking my daughter in the shin and giving her the "mama stink-eye look", so she wouldn't respond and volunteer my bio next.

You’ve probably seen some of the proud countenances of women with a glorious head of hair with tasteful streaks of gray artfully placed in their tresses and I always thought that’s how I would go, classic, majestic, regal, and even patrician. I always envisioned myself at this age as resembling such women when I was younger. Ahh, the naiveté of youth at play once again, even at my age, it still rears its ugly head from time to time, altering my reality. But this is my hair! My crown of glory! The march of time is picking up the pace and it’s time for preemptive measures!

I then embarked on a quest for a hair coloring that made the search for the Holy Grail seem like an extended road trip. My previous attempts at coloring my hair made my hair look like one of my girls’ old Barbie dolls at the bottom of the toy box and the consistency of Easter grass. The second time, my hair came out in patches, I looked like a dog with a bad case of mange, people were stopping me to ask how long had I been sick and was it terminal? To a novice, the selection of products is mind-boggling! Permanent, semi-permanent, rinses, highlight kits, rows and rows of instant youth in a box, promising to have my hair which at present looks as if I’d walked through a wall of flour, to their former auburn glory.

I’ve always been a low-maintenance kind of gal, to my husband’s relief, although I do try to keep myself up. Never been one for all the potions, lotions and elixirs that are marketed towards women of a certain age, but I find myself being pressured to give in to the advertising and just enhance nature a little bit. It made me wonder about the enormous pressure we place on women, starting from adolescence in our society to be glamorous and beautiful instead of just simply to be. Even Dove™, whom I applaud for their pro-age campaign, still drive home the subliminal message that you can look great as you get older, but you’re gonna need a little help…from them. They had to reconsider their television advertising of their new line of products designed towards older women because of public complaints that they didn’t want to see tastefully naked models of women who looked more like you and me plastered on their television. It would ruin their digestion; spoil Christmas or something of that sort. They much rather see Victoria’s Secret models, who probably haven’t eaten solids since 1999, prance across their screen when their wives, girlfriends, significant others haven’t seen a size 1 since they were 10. I can see why young girls are starving themselves to death, electing to have cosmetic surgery at younger and younger ages, sometimes while still in puberty, all to meet the expectations of an ever demanding call to meet society’s interpretation of what beauty is.

Love who you are, love who you ain’t, but love yourself just the way you are. I may still dye my hair, though; I’m still entitled to a little vanity at this point in my life, aren’t I?