I know that I got my first grey hair in college but somewhere after having babies the top of my head started being dusted with grey highlights. I look in the mirror every day and still see a brunette but the greys being noticeable was apparent when I emerged from the pandemic and get compliments on how great my hair and especially my greys looked. Suddenly the greys are a big feature. Suddenly my flat hair had heaps of volume on normal days! Suddenly my hair could pull off certain hair styles. Suddenly my son was worried about how old I was getting and that I was gonna die because well, “your hair is turning white”.
Wally is obviously not chronically online to know that grey hair is cool now. Grey hair is hot. Every man with white hair that’s handsome and lets his hair go grey we call a ‘silver fox’ and it is a crime to us if he dyes it. My husband, when the sides of his hair are longer, has those silver Reed Richards / Dr. Strange temples. It does something to me… and not just ‘cause Pedro Pascal is gonna be Mr. Fantastic. Just something about the truth that you knew this man when he was young and hot and now you know this man when he’s older and still hot and those grey hairs are a reflection of his age and wisdom and life experience.
That’s what I tell myself as people ask me if I will dye my hair. Some people asked if I did the grey highlights on purpose. Some people are aghast at how many greys there are in a good way. Will I cover up these little lines of wisdom on my head? Will I succumb to the standards of society and maintain the illusion that I am younger than I am? Will I deny my visible wisdom for the sake of my vanity? Do I have any sort of insecurity about looking older? Am I trying to portray some sort of younger vibe for the sake of society or the sake of my job? I couldn’t give two tits about looking my age to be honest. But ask me in 5 years.
I had a recent birthday and it’s around this time of year when the approaching age marker feels less and less important. Unlike when we are young we couldn't wait to turn 10 or 13 or 18 or 21. Then beam bop boom boom boom bop bam now you are staring down the barrel of forty plus triple. You’re happy. You’re a boss. You a wife. You a mom. You go to church. You have friends. “Your outie is enjoyed by many people”.
And somehow you’re still, believe it or not, a living breathing WOMAN. You still care about looking nice in the world. Just ‘cause you ain’t wildin’ anymore don’t mean you ain’t on that Kobe game either. (My sincerest apologies for the amount of Kendrick Lamar lyrics finding themselves in my writing. Nah I'm not sorry). I haven’t given up completely as my very self continues to occupy space in this world.
The person I see in the mirror is still that feisty cute girl from days gone by only surprisingly better despite the extra pounds and change in skin texture and repeated hip flare ups. I like her appearance so much more now because she’s healthy! She has boundaries! She is a more loving person than she’s ever been! She is more than kind to strangers and returns the shopping carts and is the dog’s favorite human!
Isn’t it ironic and unfair? Here we are so beautiful and wise at the time when societally speaking we’re not the most wanted or desired. After decades of figuring out what style of clothing and hair looks best on us has yielded the refined woman before us. Awkward fits and colors on us then, and wisdom and grace on us now. This grey hair: this my crown.
Do I need to exist less because I am of a certain age? Slowly begin fading away my colors as grey takes over the very top of my head? By this age we were to have been paired off and ignored. Out of the rotation of desirable candidates. Neither seen nor heard.
I dunno. I refuse to give up on how I present myself to the world and it has nothing to do with the opposite sex. It’s about me and how I exist in the world. Maybe that’s important and grounding and helpful to me. Maybe it’s tied to being a performer and Enneagram 3. Maybe it’s the producer job where you’re supposed to have things together and look put together. Maybe I just freaking like trendy clothes and dope kicks OKAY.
I feel that if I look good, I’ll feel prepared for whatever comes at me during the day. People can act like it doesn’t matter but it does. I can tell the difference in behavior from people if I show up feeling my best and that’s usually helped by tricking myself to look better than I feel. Sometimes and that is aided by a cute hair accessory and wearing trousers v sweats.
What the heck is this about even? I don’t know. I’m getting on in years, kids. I have thoughts and wisdom and ponderings about aging as a woman in America. I’m only 43, so man, can’t believe how insufferable I’ll be about this topic when I hit 50 and throw my summer camp themed party. But I digress.
The top of my head is showing my age and I want my exterior and interior life to reflect its light. His light. God’s I mean, not Pedro Pascal's.
Wally is obviously not chronically online to know that grey hair is cool now. Grey hair is hot. Every man with white hair that’s handsome and lets his hair go grey we call a ‘silver fox’ and it is a crime to us if he dyes it. My husband, when the sides of his hair are longer, has those silver Reed Richards / Dr. Strange temples. It does something to me… and not just ‘cause Pedro Pascal is gonna be Mr. Fantastic. Just something about the truth that you knew this man when he was young and hot and now you know this man when he’s older and still hot and those grey hairs are a reflection of his age and wisdom and life experience. 
