Just because I don’t embrace gray hair does not mean I don’t embrace my age. I am 43. I have no problem saying it. I celebrate it. I know some that don’t like to tell their age. I’ve even listened to people explain why they stopped celebrating their birthday after they “hit 35”. What the hell? I will never understand that one. We’ll save that conversation for another post.

I’ve noticed an idea floating around that says not accepting your gray hair means not accepting your age. I don’t believe one has anything to do with the other. My gray hair can be found in scattered clusters. At any moment, when my hair dye starts to fade or when my black mascara trick fails, one hair or a group of them will find their way to the light. Whether it’s using black mascara or hair dye, I hide the gray hair. It’s not because I want to keep getting carded. It’s not because I don’t embrace my added years. It’s simple. I don’t like gray hair. I don’t like that they don’t follow normal hair rules. They do what they want. I don’t like that they feel like straw. If you’ve lived to have gray hair, they should feel like silk or at least be soft and smooth like cashmere! And out of all colors to choose from…grey?! No thanks. There was this trend of people dying their hair gray. Has this trend died yet?

Some say gray hair is a sign of wisdom. I say a sign of wisdom is what comes out of your mouth and the actions you take. If you love your gray, let your gray flag fly. For the rest of us, we will embrace our wisdom and our age by watching our stylist mix up our potion with that brush that will magically whisk our grays away.


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