I daresay those blue-tints were no worse than some of today’s matte-like, do-it-yourself browns that cover every hair shaft in the same, relentless shade, ignoring nature’s subtle variations. And what is less forgiving than an over-all, flat-black dye job atop an older face, or a ridiculously flaming red ‘do on a 75-year-old woman? Granted, Shirley MacLaine makes it look pretty good, but then, she has the legs and the chutzpah to go with it.
Well, to each her own. I was reared in a household that included both my grandmothers and a great aunt. Their mantra, designed to counter possible vanity, was: “If it’s clean, shiny, and combed, your hair will do.” My hair was usually clean, thanks to the swimming pool, and like most towheads, it shone in the sun “with more than oriental splendor,” like the Parsee’s helmet (per Rudyard Kipling). Tidy was another matter. My skimpy braids never met a ribbon they couldn’t lose.
I have little fear of going honestly gray. I just wish my fool hair would get on with it, because while the front is beginning to look promising, the back is relentlessly dishwater/brown.
The thing that really bothers me is that my hair has always been very, very fine, and I simply cannot afford to have it get any thinner. On top (literally) of that problem, whatever bodily imperatives regulate the seasonal growth of hair seem, in my case, to have gotten the instructions backward. We learn that animals usually shed in spring, as the weather warms, and then in fall, begin to grow vigorous, new hair as protection against winter’s cold. Not this animal’s, however: my “vigorous” new hair appears about March, and by late spring, I have a fine batch of inch-high hair sticking up on my crown. Hair spray helps to deal with its resistance to discipline, and while it has grown longer by fall, it is no help at all in terms of warmth, since by then I have started my annual reverse-season shedding.
I thank my lucky stars for a wonderful hairdresser, who understands my problems. She’s a flat-out wizard of shape and lift and helpful cutting. But far more important is her emotional stability and her aversion to sharing the ups and downs of her love life with those who are trapped in her salon chair.
I think I need to give Karen her phone number.
©Julia Sneden for SeniorWomen.com
Illustration: A 19th-century company for hair care products from Dupuy.
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