I have white hair. LOTS of it. Tons more than my spouse, and he’s five years older. Do I have cool white hair? Not so much (someday, hopefully). Do I have a writing audience that may be creeped out by someone with white hair (“eeew, she’s trying to act like she’s young like us!”)? I hope not, but who knows?
So–what to do? The cultural answer is obvious—COLOR THAT SHIT UNTIL YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT COLOR YOUR HAIR IS. But I don’t like maintenance (evidence here) and I don’t like dark roots. I do like my blonde streaks, however–they remind me of the natural ones I used to have. The salad days are over, honey. Get used to it. That’s the voice of realism. Not like a fiction writer lives in the real world, but I should try.
SO–I’ve decided not to color anymore, at least until my resolve dies. : I may be back at the salon by next week. But this public pronouncement may help me keep my promise. Why not be honest about who I am? If I end up with hair like this picture, I will have done the right thing.
Picture stolen from here.