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| Bluebell photos I forgot to post when I took them, at Bunny Hill near where I grew up |
A grey hair showing at my roots, in the brown hair at the base of the red dye. Another and another, countless, emerging singly and in pairs for the past 10 years or so. They've been a quiet enemy, infiltrating my hair before I was ready for them, and I've waged chemical warfare on them for so long that I don't know what my natural hair looks like.
Now I don't know what to think of a new idea that's sitting in my mind: Should I extend the hand of friendship to the grey hairs? Are they the enemy after all? I've never thought to question the marketing and general opinion that grey means old and old means bad. What if grey is neither good nor bad, just neutral? I believed it was the grey hairs that were the problem but really it's the tyranny of the beauty industry, ignorance and general sexism from men and women alike; grey hair makes a man mature and sexy but a woman, apparently, old and undesirable.
And it's also the thing we all hate to think about: Fear of declining then dying.
Knowing that the problem is outside me and disagreeing with the reasoning that makes grey hair a problem can I keep on covering them? When I cover my greys I'm supporting the lies and helping to keep them strong and influential. In my own small way I can reject the old, harmful decree that beauty is a narrow path that all women must attempt to tread even if it means sacrificing their sense of self.
But how does any one of us resist a beauty industry worth over £39 billion in the UK alone that's supported by the majority of people as just the way things are?
I don't want the boring, messy monthly chore of dying my hair if I'm doing it out of obligation rather than for fun. Until recently it was for fun, especially when I was dying it blue then pink. But I've applied the last two dye packs to hide myself and resented the inevitable clean up afterwards and subsequent messy dye run off whenever I wash my hair. The only thing keeping me to it is fear of what other people will think of me if I have my grey hairs showing and, harder still, fear of what I'll think of myself. That fear isn't a good enough reason because it will only ever eat me alive in the end.
I'm 41 in July and my body is changing. I feel stronger and more flexible than I have in years thanks to nearly daily stretching and gentle workouts, I'm enjoying playing with different cloths styles for the first time since I was in my teens (thank you charity shops and Vinted), I think I'm finally figuring out how to care for my gut so I'm not bloated all the time, and at some point I've gone up two bra sizes, which would delight my teenage self (I don't know how I didn't notice this for so long; all I can think is it's happened gradually and I didn't know breasts can grow or shrink!). On the other hand there are the grey hairs, wrinkles, fine lines around my eyes, dry skin, rosacea and general lumps, bumps and sags. All the changes, whether helpful to me or ones I wish weren't happening, are things I have limited control over. It's a case of acceptance, but that flies in the face of a culture dominated by a puritanical demand for self-control.
The control of the body is almost a cult, in fact if only a small group believed in it it would be one. If there was a niche group obsessed with tracking how much of what foods they ate, how often and hard they exercised, looking ageless and flawless always at any cost, even resorting to surgery, chemicals and drugs to chase it we'd think it was an extreme and grotesque cult. But it's not a cult, it's everywhere, and most of us - especially women - have obeyed it's demands at some point and taken it's warped version of reality deeply to heart.
Will I stop dying my hair and let the greys show? I think so; I hope so. But I won't be harsh on myself if I back track or have one last fling with hair dye. Change, when it involves challenging an old fear, usually takes time and a few attempts. This is a change that requires inaction in a busy world, acceptance over resisting, and part of that is accepting that whilst I want to do this it will stir up my insecurities. It would be easy to say 'It's only hair' but that would be a lazy way to gloss over all the difficult feelings linked to self-esteem and self-image.