I am currently in the process of attempting a transition. And no, I’m not changing sexes.
I’m trying to go all the way. And no, not that kind of all the way either. I have a daughter in her forties and I’m in my early sixties. Do the math.
I’m talking about going gray!
This gray hair has been trying to make an appearance for decades, and I’ve been fighting it like a damn invading army.
The funny thing is this isn’t my first attempt. I’ve tried to transition to gray more times than I care to admit. Every single time, I make it to what I call the “baby skunk phase.” That charming period when you have a stripe of gray roots, leftover hair color, and your natural color all competing for dominance.
Then I panic and off to the salon I go.
Part of the problem is my daughter. When I first started graying in my thirties and forties, she informed me I had to wait until I was fifty before I could go gray. Then she became my hair stylist and suddenly the age requirement changed.
Fifty became fifty-five.
Fifty-five became sixty.
At this rate, she’ll have me coloring my hair from the nursing home. (Which I better not be in!)
What puzzles me is why this feels so traumatic. I mean, it’s hair. WTH?
Yet for many women, gray hair seems to carry a weight that goes far beyond a change in pigment. What exactly are we afraid of?
Because when I see women embracing their silver hair on social media, they look stunning. Confident. Elegant. Powerful.
So maybe it isn’t the gray hair itself. Maybe it’s what we think it represents.
Aging. Visibility or maybe invisibility. The loss of youth. The reminder that time is moving FAST!
But wait. Can we please talk about the double standard for a minute?
A man gets gray hair and suddenly he’s “distinguished.”
A woman gets gray hair and people start looking around for her knitting needles and her cat!
How did that happen?
Maybe the hardest part isn’t even the being gray part. It’s the transition. It’s those months when your hair is somehow brown, blonde, gray, and possibly orange depending on the lighting. It’s looking like you have no edges from a distance or that your hair line is starting mid-head because your edges are silver and blending with your skin! Every photograph becomes a crap shoot. Every mirror feels like torture.
You have to get very creative to avoid looking like you’ve lost a bet.
Honestly, if I could do this like Samantha on Bewitched, I’d be fine. One wiggle of the nose and—POOF!—a gorgeous head of shiny silver hair appears.
No awkward grow-out period. No skunk stripe. No existential crisis in the beauty supply parking lot because they ran out of your color choice.
Just beautiful silver hair and inner peace.
Instead, I’m left wondering why this process feels so emotional. Why so many women struggle with it. Why something so natural can feel so complicated.
Maybe the journey to gray isn’t really about hair at all. Maybe it’s about learning to see ourselves differently. Maybe it’s about deciding that growing older is not something to hide.
Or maybe I’m overthinking the whole thing and should just buy another box of hair color.
We’ll see who wins.
Stay tuned.