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Into The Grey

February 22, 2017

 

 

Nope.

This post is not about Liam Neeson's movie, Into The Grey,

where every single person gets eaten by wolves.

Um, sorry if I just ruined the plot line for you, guys.

(I'm not even kidding!)

 

 

Rather,

this post is about me, heading "into the grey".

 

Obviously, I'm referring to my hair.

 

Yup.

I'm letting my hair grow into its natural color.

Grey.

 

I'd like to be able to refer to it as silver,

which seems to be a growing trend right now,

but I can't.

It's just grey.

Grey mixed in with a lovely mousey-brown color.

 

Excellent.

 

Those are just the roots, mind you.

 

The rest of my hair is red.

Ferria no. 66, Very Rich Auburn, to be exact.

 

 

Which I love, by the way.

I love this color.

 

I mean,

I sorta picked this color because it's a little bit spicy;

kinda like me.

In some ways, I feel like it's a bit of a reflection of who I am;

or, perhaps more so, a reflection of my personality.

 

So letting it go will be difficult.

Sort of like a death.

The death of a red-head!

 

 

I am growing my hair out and,

dying a slow, painful death as a red-head,

whilst sporting a stunning mousey-brown/grey skunk-line, prominently featured right down the middle of my scalp, for good measure!

 

My vanity is taking a beating, folks.

 

Here's the thing, though.

I'm not doing this because I have to.

No-one told me that I needed to do this.

(Although I kind of feel like Laura W. may have coerced me into it!)

I'm not trying to prove anything to anyone by growing out my natural hair color.

This is totally my decision.

And I'm doing this 100%, because I want to.

 

Here's why I want to.

 

1. I'm tired of fighting the skunk line.

Look you guys. I'm a little bit lazy when it comes to my personal up-keep. If I don't plan on going out anywhere, I pretty much look haggard. (My poor husband. It's not really fair to him. Sorry, babe. I'll try to do better.)  I don't consider going to Walmart, and No Frills going anywhere, so I apologize if you end up seeing me grocery shopping at either of these places. Seriously, I absolutely hate the amount of time it takes for me to look good. Washing and drying and flat-ironing my hair makes me crazy. Putting on make-up is a major pain in the arse for me. I so wish I was just naturally, stunningly beautiful, but alas, I am not. I have to work at looking presentable, folks. (I'm kind of like a 3 dressed up as a 9.....or maybe a 7.....sigh.) Anyway, keeping up this color requires me to dye it once a month to keep it looking fresh. I can't do it anymore. I am just, plain and simple, sick and tired of coloring my hair.

 

2. I'm tired of putting chemical into my hair.

This is actually one of the bigger reasons that I quit dying my hair. Let me give you a bit of back ground as to why.

Last year, in January of 2016, I started what became known as my 6 Fast. (Click here if you want to know what that's all about!) A bunch of my girl-friends and I were chatting about it; the reasons behind it, my convictions that prompted it, etc, and one of them mentioned a friend of hers who had felt convicted about the chemical dye she was putting into her hair. She was extremely careful about what she ate, and about taking care of her physical body, but yet, she continued to put harmful chemical into her hair. So, she decided she was giving up the hair color. I remember thinking how excellent a commitment that was, but, that, there was no way in hell, I was going to quit dying my own hair. I had enough going on with my 6 Fast. Then, in about October, I started switching out my chemically laced facial products for natural ones, (This is a whole other post in itself, which I will probably write about in the near future......) but, I was still not ready to give up my box of Feria no. 66. (Vanity, you are such a monster!) Then, in January of this year, (2017) after missing my four week root job, my girl-friend, kindly pointing out my very obvious skunk-line, asked if I too, was planning on growing out my natural color. (Thanks, Laura!) I'm sure I looked at her like a deer caught in the headlights.  I can't deny that the though hadn't crossed my mind, but, I was in no way ready to make the commitment. But, I looked her in the eye and said "I'm thinking about it." I'm such a liar! I was so not thinking about it until she asked me! But, in the split second that she did, I began to feel the conviction. "Are you growing yours out?" I asked while scrutinizing her own subtle skunk-line. She was! I asked what her reasoning for doing it was. She explained that while she too, was so very careful about the food she eats, and about the chemicals she tries so very hard to stay away from, she felt hypocritical about continuing to put them into her hair. Blast you, Laura! for prompting me to follow suit! But, also, thank-you. (Plus, I'm glad I'm not only one in our group of friends with a skunk-line smack dab in the middle of our heads; even if yours is so much less noticeable than mine...... Sniff.)

 

3. This one.....this reason right here, is why I really decided to quit dying my hair.

I'm tired of hiding who I am beneath a box of red dye because I'm afraid that who I am isn't good enough.

I'm not sure if that actually makes any sense. It does in my head, (which doesn't necessarily mean anything) but, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm just so tired of trying to fit  into the little boxes of what society says is beautiful. Do you know what I mean??? Here's the thing..... we, as a society, especially women, especially aging women, (Good grief! I'm only 44! I know that 44 is not old...... I don't feel old, but, yet, I am aging.....) are constantly being bombarded with images of what society tells us is beautiful. We see them everywhere we look. They are in our magazines and in the movies we watch. Our television commercials are absolutely saturated with them. Every year retailers are spending billions of dollars in advertising, telling us what we need to buy so that we can look like what they have decided is beautiful. There are thousands and thousands of beauty products available to make us look younger; prettier; sexier; because who we are, in and of ourselves, is not good enough. As women, as girls young and old, we are being coerced into striving toward a standard of beauty that doesn't even exist. Models are caked with make-up, given hair extensions, and posed under manufactured lighting for photo shoots. Those photos are then air-brushed into un-realistic perfection. Eye lashes are thickened and lengthened. Cheekbones are altered to look higher. Lips are made to look fuller and wrinkles are completely erased. Then, these images are plastered front and centre on glossy magazine covers, with a list of beauty products for us to purchase, so that, we too, can look beautiful! Of course, we never do end up looking like the magazine covers so, here enters our self-loathing because of our failure to live up to false beauty standards. We then continue our quest for just that right beauty product that will work for us. You guys, contrary to what they advertise, Cover Girl doesn't care if I am easy, breezy or beautiful, Pantene is ambivalent as to whether or not my hair is so healthy it shines, Revlon does not give a rat's butt if I get a second look, and L'Oreal doesn't actually believe that I am worth it. What they care about, what they really want is, my money. And you know what? I am just so tired of buying into it. I am so done with trying to fit into societies fake beauty standards and into their fake, little beauty boxes, no matter how pretty they make them look. More specifically, in this case, I'm boycotting a box called Feria no, 66. I'm done. I'm not doing it anymore.

 

So, there it is.

Like Liam Neeson, I am heading "into the grey".

 

Though there will be the death of a red-head,

(Hey! At least I won't be eaten by wolves!)

I'm pretty sure someone just as spectacular will take her place.

 

And I'll tell you something else.

I've decided that I'm going to like it!

I've decided that I'm going to choose to believe that I'm still beautiful.

Red-head or not,

I'm still me.

Uniquely and perfectly and beautifully, me.

 

Even with my skunk-line.

 

 

 

 

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