An old friend of mine left a comment on my Facebook page that bears contemplation. I was getting the old roots dyed and she asked, "I wonder when a woman decides it's o.k. to see what's underneath. I see those women walking down the street with their amazing silver hair. When do we become one of them?"
I see those women too, they have downy soft shiny silver hair, it's gorgeous. It's fabulous.
It's not my hair.
I have the hair of a wire terrier. It is neither silky nor soft. It is not silver, it is part grey and part reddish brown and there isn't much sense to be made of why some is gray and some is brown. For me, that lovely image isn't a reality. I do not have lovely shiny silver hair. Beyond that, I am so pale that silver hair would make me look like an albino.
That is not an exaggeration for literary effect.
I think she brings up a point that is interesting. When do we see what's underneath? Must we see what's underneath? If we don't are we vain and silly? If we do are we special and brave? Are we not seeing what's underneath because we're feeling pressured to look younger or are we just not that into it? Either way, aren't these both choices?
Sometimes women don't give each other enough room to just be who we want to be without explanation or apology. Sometimes...women need to give each other a little breathing room.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Wash, dye, don't dye, shave, pluck, don't shave, don't pluck, rouge, don't rouge, rinse, repeat...look in the mirror and love what you see. If it takes a little help from Miss Clairol to make that happen, so be it. Rock on with your bad sassy self.
Love
Madge
