When I was a child, my hair presented itself as a creative mess of frizzy brownish copper curls adorning my little peach face. My mother would wrangle those tresses every morning tugging through knots galore as I counted each stroke to finish. I hated it. So making an executive decision….Momma chopped it. Little Orphan Annie style which just happened to be a pretty big deal in those days. 1983.There I was, staring at a appearance I no longer recognized. The face framing frizz that defined my person had been reduced to tight four inch curls short enough for only one style. Boring.
Fast forward as the passing years added inches to my hair creating a cascade of perfect reddish spirals down my back. This was my Nicole Kidman phase. I had a good relationship with my hair at this point. 1992. Babysitting for a hairdresser improved my hair care knowledge and afforded me luxurious products to pamper my locks daily. She taught me about hair structure, deep conditioning, proper cleansing and keeping curls nourished all while trying to convince me that experimenting with color was fun. I wasn’t buying it. The smell nauseated me. Although I argued with my curls for control of their spiral, the color I was born with had always made me happy =) I shared the same reddish hued brown as my Grandma Francis, a unique color that was all my own.
Thirty nine years has brought touches of silver sparkle interlaced with the copper hue I’ve become so fond of. I gracefully accept these little strands of wisdom replacing the bouncy ringlets of my youth. Concealing those insightful greys covers up the essence of your aging beauty and creates a false sense of youth to comfort the ego. Embracing the grey brings a sense of freeing yourself from the bounds of what society says is acceptable. Love yourself for all your flawed perfection. Fuck society’s arrogant boundaries dictating what beauty is and make way for the greys ❤ *K