The Accidental Redhead

Tomorrow is my wedding anniversary! In honor of the occasion I would like to tell you about my foray into the world of permanent hair color. I had my hair colored for the wedding and its impact on me went pretty deep. I wrote an essay about it which was read to a small audience at Kelly Writers House. Here is an excerpt. Enjoy!

From salt and pepper to paprika in less than a day. A short, strange trip fueled by vanity. Okay, so I’m vain. I’ve seen too many awful photos of myself lately to hold on to high falutin’ principles. A silver halo glows from photos of me taken at Jocie’s barbecue last summer and Chelsea’s birthday party six months ago.

I earned every one of those gray hairs on the job battling the cubiquivalents of Darth Vader and Lex Luthor. As my hair got grayer I became prouder. It meant that I was triumphing over the bullshit. However, faced with the prospect of a protracted job search, I had wondered if dyeing my hair would increase my odds of success against the competition – the cheaper 30-somethings. I consulted several rinsed, streaked and highlighted friends; all of who emphatically said “dye it!” I declined.

I feel like a 30-year-old – I’m in good health and think I look pretty good in my skinny jeans. So what happened? Did I fall for the profusion of women’s magazine covers with headlines in primary colors that shriek “Look ten years younger in three minutes!” or “Look ten years younger instantly!” Now, if it took me ten years to add these smile lines and gray hair, all the things that mark natural aging, how can they be erased instantly? Are we talking about time travel? Does going back to 1993 have the same impact on the body as Botox or Restylene?

I am marrying a man who prefers the smudges of gray among my curls. He’s loved my smile, my style and my eyes for many years and thinks that I’m still smokin’. So, why did I do this? I don’t want to look like Gwyneth, Reese, or Beyonce. I was thrilled when Jamie Lee Curtis let her hair go gray. It was a bold move by a secure woman. But – I’m secure, too – aren’t I? Consider this:

I was an often-teased skinny kid in a pre-Twiggy universe. Could have been a stand-in for a “Save the Children” ad even though I had a wrestler’s appetite.

Flat-chested in a high school gym class of C cups. Blithely ignored by horny neighborhood boys who ogled my Marilyn-shaped mother.

I’m getting older.

Did I ever get over being younger?

The wedding outfit is Old Navy Sweetheart jeans, gauzy white top, and silver sandals. But the copperhead is a growing concern. Will the wedding photos will be ruined? Should I call them off?

What can I use to darken my hair? Do I have a gel, cream, mousse or spray that will lend a temporarily deeper hue? How can I go brown? What’s under the kitchen sink? I thought about all the hair products that I’ve tossed out over the years – jars and tubes of defrizzing gels, texturizers, hairspray, mousse, deep conditioners, pomades, oils. What do I have now? Coconut scented shampoo, conditioner. No help there. What’s in the fridge? And, if I use it, will I attract bees?

Do I need more makeup today? Bronzing powder over the foundation? Kohl eyeliner? More mascara? Shimmering lips? What lipsticks do I have? Should I whip out the 12-year–old tube of Viva Glam? Is Diva too impudent for a mid-summer afternoon? Is X-S excessive?

Too late for a do-over. The conventional advice is that a bride should not make a dramatic change to her look the day before the wedding. Beauty experts counsel that hair color and style experiments are best done a couple of weeks ahead. It gives you a chance to scream, cry, cut or rip it off. Slick it back or tease it. If you don’t like bombshell blonde, go for punk rocker black. Buy a wig. Get a faux hawk. Try again.

Epilogue: My hair remained auburn into September. I embraced it more with each passing day, every compliment, every second glance. They said I looked ten years younger. I enjoyed the ego that I denied myself decades ago. The world is indeed a carousel of color.

What's News?

Casual Friday is making an impact! Readers are connecting to their inner glamazons and this fashionista is reaching a wider audience! Holla!

One reader bought her first pair of Chucks. Zappos is sending her a cool pair of low tops in a green, coral and orange tropical print that suit her sunny personality, love of the beach and preference for tropical drinks. I hope she enjoys wearing them.

I bought another pair of Chucks last week. Black and white low tops that look like saddle shoes for lead guitarists. It was a surprise find at TJ Maxx. There were also icky "flesh" colored sneakers that looked like Band Aids with laces. I've never met a living soul who had that color flesh.

Another reader bought a maxi-dress and is hooking up her look for special occasions with a sexy little jacket and glamorous wedge sandals. She will not use her evening bag to cover her behind (see June 6 post).

I love hearing from you, so please keep posting comments and sending emails. Thanks!

Walk This Way

Comfortable shoes could be a trend in the Fall! In the Sunday, June 28 NY Times Style section’s “Pulse” column, a mini piece appeared about lace up shoes. Oxfords, lace ups – specifically men’s style shoes. It cited a right-on rant by Andre Leon Talley on Vogue.com that noted how women have become fashion lemmings. He called out shoes that would better serve as “torture chambers” when he wrote, “Too many career women look like a herd of fashion beasts, aping one another in impractical shoes….”

I would go one step further and ask why any woman would buy and wear a pair of shoes that look like demented playground equipment. Think about jungle gyms, monkey bars and sliding boards on steroids that recall a bad acid trip, a lingering nightmare, or an early Betty Boop cartoon where the shoes come alive after midnight and chase our heroine through the streets. How far can you walk? Can you stand up straight? Most importantly, can you run for the train or from a creepy date?

I love heels and wear them regularly, but I refuse to be hobbled by stupid shoes. However, this does not mean that sensible granny shoes are my fate. Oxfords and saddle shoes can be kinda funky. I loved them on Janelle Monae in her “Many Moons” video (check it out on You Tube). I like the androgynous look, but it's not for everyone. Although these shoes are already a smash hit in the UK and the number of fans in downtown NYC is growing, most women will likely bypass this trend. Not me.

I've worn saddle shoes and heartily embraced the resurgence of Hush Puppies in the 1990s. I still have a pair of their two-tone cream and ginger suede oxfords. And I'm absolutely devoted to Converse. I'm looking forward to the arrival of wingtips for women.

After reading the column I checked the Internet for prices, styles and colors. The brands that I found, Charles Tyrwhitt (made in London), Dieppa Restrepo (hand made in Mexico), and s/sense (made in Portugal), are pretty slick. Unfortunately, all of the shoes that I liked best were in the $200 price range. A pair of Kenneth Cole was discounted to $100. I'll wait for the knock-offs.

Click here and scroll through the photos at Governor's Island for a better look at these shoes. There are lots of pics here, but I think you'll enjoy them all.

Scent-sational!

With love to the over-scented - here's a new fragrance and ad campaign just for you.

Ubiquitous - A remarkable scent that trails you into the dark musty urinals of the subway, and triggers sneezes during staff meetings.

Ubiquitous - Wafts into your unsuspecting nostrils from a hungover, barely washed co-worker who arrived at work early because she spent the night three blocks away at the drummer’s apartment.

Ubiquitous - The extraordinary scent that surrounds you at the Thanksgiving dinner table because Aunts Addie and Wilma, cousin Queena and the newly blond twins are wearing the body lotion, body powder and eau de parfum that Granddad gave each of them for Mother’s Day.

Ubiquitous - Wherever there’s a breath, there is Ubiquitous. It throttles you in the elevator and lingers innocently in your throat as you gulp down a lunch time chicken wrap.

Ubiquitous - Wraps itself around you like a fake Hermes scarf, treading into your hair, your leather jacket.

An enduring memory, an assault of fragrance. Indelicate, predictable, overripe and ambitious. Unforgettable. The scent of receptionists, trade school students and clubbers worldwide.

The scent of a hasty cab ride home on a brunchless Sunday morning. The scent that whispers, “Hey, sailor . . .”

Ubiquitous - Jumpstarting headaches since 2007. Answering the question, “Is that Febreze?” since 2004. Announcing your presence two minutes before the click-step of your stilettos since 2002. Making eyes tear since 2000. Making it difficult to conceal the tricks and tracks of the unfaithful since 1999.