I started going grey young. I first noticed when I was 21, under the harsh lights of my then-boyfriend’s bathroom mirror. Cue the crisis. (me, practically shrieking: “did you notice this? Why didn’t you tell me?!”; him: “i thought it was cute!” A sweet man.)
My hair is very dark brown and my skin is very pale and most of my life I’ve relied on this for aesthetic purposes without really thinking twice. now I had to confront the reality that this would be leaving me, possibly soon.
I had a couple years where I could manage the few hairs on their own, and contemplate the future. Did I want to start dyeing my hair? I thought of my own mother, who had to dye her own dark hair bi weekly or the roots would show, and who ultimately had to go from brown to red to blonde when she wanted to stop dyeing her hair altogether. I thought of my grandfather, who had a full head of gorgeous silver hair by the time he was 35. I bleached my hair blonde.
It was vanity to dwell on this, absolutely, but I’ve always been a bit vain. And im also under the influence of a society that values youth to an extraordinary degree, except when it doesn’t. I was working as a paralegal at the time, where I used my legal first name instead of the potentially diminutive or cutesy name I go by with my friends and family. Still, I had clients and opposing counsel question my knowledge. How much of this was because I was a young-looking young woman?
Outside of work, Desirability, too, played a part. i wish I could divest from it, but I’m also attached to it. I want attraction and desire to be reciprocated, and I also have intuited that they are a way to be Visible. how many times have I heard older women describe the bizarre feeling of turning invisible as they age? Whether they found it freeing or isolating, or a mix of both, it is an immense paradigm shift. I don’t want to fear it but I do.
Time passed. The hair bleach messed with my scalp. Covid hit and I grew my roots out, then dyed the whole thing brown. The last time I’ve dyed my hair. It continues to come in silver, and it’s now noticeable at first or second glance— not salt and pepper yet, but certainly on its way. I get comments on it, usually compliments, usually from people who aren’t men. A friend asked me if I had gotten highlights. my grandmother said neutrally, “you’re letting your grey hair come in.”
I worry about my skin, that vestige of youth that I haven’t had to confront just yet. Around me, many women I respect dye their hair, get botox, get lip filler, many don’t. I see other people out and about with grey or greying hair, and I am heartened by them, especially other women and femmes. letting our bodies do what our bodies are meant to do.