I don’t dye my hair. The dark brown that you can see near my neck is my hair color. Or was my hair color. Since my brown hair has lots of highlights in its natural state, when the gray started to come in it looked like just another highlight. Everyone thought I’d had it done professionally. I just left it alone. No dye. No rinse. Nothing.
Sometimes my hair looks brown and sometimes it looks gray. Depends on the light. If I venture into a public bathroom with overhead lighting, I am shocked at how gray my hair looks. The photo above shows a lot of gray hair as there is a skylight directly overhead. Most of the time, though, it looks like what it is: a combination of brown, gold, a bit of red and gray. But the gray has begun to win out.
To be brutally honest, I’m too cheap to spend a lot of money on my hair. I can barely remember to get it cut. I can’t imagine trying to keep up with my roots. I’d rather spend that money on something vintage (and I don’t mean me) or a good book. I’m quite comfortable with my gray hair. I’m in my late fifties…I’m not a young thing anymore.
So tell me: why did I react with shock and horror when I saw a gray eyebrow hair the other day? One in each eyebrow. I stood there, peering into the mirror, absolutely sure I was imagining things. But no, there they were. Intruders. I was appalled. Out came the tweezers and pluck went the offending hair. Somehow I drew the line at my eyebrows. I realize that I won’t be able to pluck those gray hairs away indefinitely; I’ll end up with no eyebrows. But for now, I have put up a sign that says “You are not welcome here.”
I’ve accepted my gray hair. I can’t accept the eyebrows. At least, not yet.
It makes perfect sense to me.
