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.