If someone had told me when I was 50 that I'd have a full head of silvery-grey hair when I was 57, I'd have looked at them in a bemused sort of way and replied, "naah!".
To be honest, the grey hair thing has snuck up on me while my back was (quite metaphorically) turned: I'd had short, naturally mousy hair for many years, with a longer asymmetrical sweep of fringe at the front, with dyed blonde highlights. Because my hair was cut very often (to maintain the style) and because I very rarely looked at the back, un-coloured section, I barely noticed any change in natural colour. But when I did finally notice the grey setting in (and I do think I went grey quite quickly over a couple of years), it was quite a revelation. Grey hair! who'd have thunk!
And so I thought I'd grow it a bit, so that I could see the extent of the greyness; and as it grew, I thought "hey, this colour is waaaay more interesting than natural mouse!" (even natural mouse with dyed blonde highlights):
And then I started noticing women with grey hair, and women who were obviously dyeing their grey hair, in a way I never had done before; and I got to think a bit more about the 'state of greyness' and how the Anti-Grey Manifesto has basically embedded its ferocious claws into the female consciousness.
There are just so many prejudices about grey hair, which have given rise to a slew of stereotypes: 'grey' equals old, or getting older (something that must be avoided at all costs); and/or letting oneself go, (put more harshly, becoming a sloven). There is, of course, a stereotypical 'old lady', one who has tightly permed grey hair, wears an acrylic M&S cardigan in pale peach, owns a little Scottie dog, watches Strictly Come Dancing with her feet in a fluffy footwarmer, and knits (another post on that particular aspect very soon). And conversely, there's another 'old lady', with long, straggly grey hair, yellowing teeth and newspapers stuffed into her boots, who drifts vacantly around city centres, muttering and cackling to herself. The dear old granny and the mad witchy bag lady. Hmm.
And then there's the vastly-lucrative big business interests developed around the imperative to eradicate every last blinking grey hair on our heads: the pharmaceutical companies and the hairdressing industries who have profited massively from clever, psychologist-informed advertising: brainwashing generations of women into believing that grey is most definitely baaaaadddd. It's almost like women have stopped thinking for themselves: a grey hair is spotted, a sharp and horrified intake of breath is taken, and the hair dye bottle is automatically reached for.
Often the result is this:
Really sorry, Billie Jean, but the face and skin tone collide rather frighteningly with the rich dark brown hair. I mean, how many people come up to you and say "wow, Billie Jean, it's amazing how you've kept your natural shade into your 60s!" OK, I'm being mean now: after all, BJ was supporting a Democrat at the time (that's Hillary-shading-rather-nicely-into-grey-Clinton).
And there are also those ladies who, rather than plump for their long-lost hair colour, go funky:
Well, I guess Vivienne Westwood isn't the best of examples (it's rather like blasphemy to accuse a national deity of a fashion faux pas): but you probably know, or have seen, what I mean - an older lady with bright cerise or purple highlighted hair, often cut into some sort of 'edgy' style, trying to get with the crowd (sheesh, showing my age now), I mean hang with the hoodies!
I'm really hoping that there's a sea-change a'coming with the whole concept of grey hair: that women will begin to realise that grey hair doesn't have to be short and permed! that it will match their skin tone so much better! that it will save them loads of money in hair-dye/hairdressing costs! and that it can look absolutely fabulous!
I noticed this lady (second left) in M&S's recent autumn advertising campaign:
Apparently, the model is 57, same age as me: she's my new role-model. And just compare this lady's hair with Billie Jean's and well: you decide.
Grey Pride, sistas.
