Most women my age, and many younger, dye or color or highlight their hair so much so that no one knows how old anybody is these days. Men, too, are forgoing graying temples (which used to be considered “distinguished’) in order to look younger. I am re-reading Margart Craven’s “I Heard the Owl Call My Name” and today I pondered this line: “Her hair was white, which, in an Indian, means she was very old.” It used to be that with all people, not just “in an Indian,” white hair was a sign of being very old … and, hopefully, very wise. What are we avoiding when we cover the gray? What are we afraid of facing? I have vowed never to color my hair … but maybe someday I, too, will be afraid of rejection from this youth-obsessed culture and will pretend to be younger than I am. It makes me sad to think of living a lie just to fit in.
And I wonder, is it also deception if I follow my hair-cutter’s suggestion: “Just tell people your gray hairs are platinum highlights.” ?