Throwing Away the Color Box

The sign below appeared in my hair salon, and it was one I found myself staring at more than once, often while waiting the 45 minutes for my permanent color to take. But each time I read that sign, I ended up following its advice. And kept coloring my hair dark brown.

Then my mom became seriously ill, and in the last weeks of her life, I was far too busy—and sad—to get to the hairstylist for a touch-up. Not long after her funeral, I stood in front of the mirror and noticed that my one-inch roots were a variety of colors—from white to silver to dark gray. They looked kind of interesting, and it was exactly the push I needed to finally throw away that box; it also seemed like a fitting time to do it.

As I wear my hair short anyway, it was fairly easy to take the plunge. My (very talented) stylist used highlights to disguise the brown and help blend the silver. In four months, the dyed color was completely gone. And while it provoked mixed reactions from friends and family at first, strangers seemed to love it. One afternoon I sat at a cafe bar having a quiet lunch alone, reading. Until I noticed the three Gen Z baristas, two young men and a woman, staring at me. The guys exchanged glances; one elbowed the other and said, “Tell her.” The braver of the two then said, “We think you look like Jamie Lee Curtis.”

Seriously? The Jamie Lee Curtis, with her confident swagger and willingness to face down killers? Heck, I’ll take it. I grinned happily and thanked them, but then the girl spoke up. “You know who else?” she said. “Carol, from The Walking Dead.” Because I don’t watch the show, one of the guys pulled up a picture on this phone, of a woman with cropped silver hair who was outfitted with a variety of weapons. “She’s a badass,” he said confidentially.

It was a sweet moment, I was awfully flattered. If I’d had any doubts about going gray, they were dispelled that afternoon. There were other perks as well—I can now wear colors (blues, purples) that I couldn’t before, so it was a lovely excuse to buy new stuff, including new lipstick colors. I’ve long been at peace with the decision to throw away that box.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I really have to go—there’s some zombie butt that needs kicking. . .