Viral gray
One of the recent comments on this site by the ever-voluble Mr. Roth made me realize: I never updated you lot with the really critical details of my life. I did indeed keep my date with Ola several weeks ago, and she snipped off a good six-to-eight inches of hair, and the remainder is now sort of a calico mix of copper, brown, and gray.
And you know what? Really not a big deal. For such a big difference, it never felt like much of a change. Spiky hair always just feels more true to my basic prickliness, so that part makes me happy. I couldn't say whether it looks better or worse. I'm notoriously fickle about grooming (or as K puts it, "I never realized how much of an, uh, Oregonian you are"), so it's good to have a style that merely needs to be plastered down in the morning and then not really fussed with again. Men do seem to be staring at me more, but I think it's just that they're trying to figure out how old I am. Contrary to fears, I don't now look sixty. If anything, the contrast between the gray of my hair and the neoteny of my facial features actually makes me look younger. Except then there's the gray. Really, the guys just seem baffled.
The funny thing is that I was emboldened to try this, in large part, because of a work colleague about my age, who has an absolutely striking mane of pure silver and really (I think) looks terrific. The day after my haircut, I was hailed down in the halls by a different colleague, who wanted to discuss my new look with me. She listened thoughtfully as I described how I simply lost patience with the destructiveness of dyes, and the hairstyle tyranny of the need to hide roots.
I ran into her again just the other day, at a meeting. She smiled conspiratorially across the conference table, and lifted her long black hair to flash me half an inch of solid gray that she's apparently letting grow in.
I'm not anti-dye. If I ever manage to lose this job, I'll have tufts of hot pink and navy blue among the silver spikes the next day (see also psychological neoteny). But that'll be for fun, and not the shame-faced need to hide evidence of my freakish genotype. I'm just saying it's nice to feel like one has the choice, y'know?
And you know what? Really not a big deal. For such a big difference, it never felt like much of a change. Spiky hair always just feels more true to my basic prickliness, so that part makes me happy. I couldn't say whether it looks better or worse. I'm notoriously fickle about grooming (or as K puts it, "I never realized how much of an, uh, Oregonian you are"), so it's good to have a style that merely needs to be plastered down in the morning and then not really fussed with again. Men do seem to be staring at me more, but I think it's just that they're trying to figure out how old I am. Contrary to fears, I don't now look sixty. If anything, the contrast between the gray of my hair and the neoteny of my facial features actually makes me look younger. Except then there's the gray. Really, the guys just seem baffled.
The funny thing is that I was emboldened to try this, in large part, because of a work colleague about my age, who has an absolutely striking mane of pure silver and really (I think) looks terrific. The day after my haircut, I was hailed down in the halls by a different colleague, who wanted to discuss my new look with me. She listened thoughtfully as I described how I simply lost patience with the destructiveness of dyes, and the hairstyle tyranny of the need to hide roots.
I ran into her again just the other day, at a meeting. She smiled conspiratorially across the conference table, and lifted her long black hair to flash me half an inch of solid gray that she's apparently letting grow in.
I'm not anti-dye. If I ever manage to lose this job, I'll have tufts of hot pink and navy blue among the silver spikes the next day (see also psychological neoteny). But that'll be for fun, and not the shame-faced need to hide evidence of my freakish genotype. I'm just saying it's nice to feel like one has the choice, y'know?
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