It really is all about attitude.
I had decided to maybe grow out my hair, if I could stand walking around in public showing my silver strands of awesomeness. As I have dyed my hair a rather smashing red for the last – wow – many years the transition would definately be brutal. Because, and I might as well tell the truth sooner than later, there’s not much of my regular (younger me) hair colour left. It’s grey. All grey. Light and dark. But grey.
In previous times, i.e. before my decision to go grey, I started recoiling at my reflection in the mirror after about one week after dying my hair. Yepp, my hair grows with the speed of Speedy Gonzales. 3 weeks and I should definately do a touch-up. 5 weeks and I was feeling I looked as old as Methuselah.
I think I might have been in a constant state of denial about my age, as well. I don’t feel old. I don’t think like I thought old people should think. My body doesn’t feel old (most of the time). And then it hit me: my brother is turning 50 this year! I’ll be 48 this year!!
I AM NO LONGER A SPRING CHICKEN.
Who am I trying to kid?
Not that I am going to buy myself a rocking chair and dig out the crochet needles, but maybe it was time to get real. AND I am sick and tired of dying my hair. AND am getting more concious about chemicals in food, beauty products and the like. Even though I have lost my sense of smell, I still remember the eye-watering chemicals in many of the dyes that I have used previously. Now that can’t be healthy.
Although I did have a few conversations with hairstylists about dying my hair a final time to make the transition a little less obvious. One wouldn’t take the job, one said “cut it all off” and some said it will be very difficult to get it to look good. Sooo….
Anyway. I am now 7 weeks into my no-dye situation, and frankly I couldn’t care less. Buuut, I won’t be wearing my hair down for a while. The skunk stripe isn’t really a fashion statement. Or maybe it should be. “Look at me, not giving a f#%&”