“I think that the most important thing a woman can have- next to talent, of course- is her hairdresser.” – Joan Crawford

Intelligent words from Joan Crawford. However, mommy dearest never had to live through a virus quarantine where she was forbidden to go to a salon. I have. It wasn’t fun. Like so many other women forced to deal with salon shutdowns, I had to forego my monthly hair color appointment. Luckily, I had some root coverup spray that kept the gray at bay. But, after about six weeks, I realized the coverup was taking over more and more of my hair. It was then I decided to just stop all of the nonsense and let the gray hair take over.

After all, it’s not like my social calendar was filled. I was stuck in our Arizona condo with my husband, Tim, and our two cats. Tim didn’t seem to pay too much attention to my hair. Probably because he was distracted by the fact that I had stopped wearing makeup and shaving my legs. Every so often I would snap pictures of my hair and text them to my hair stylist, Heather. She would always respond with a different emoji. At first it was the smiling face. Then it was the shocked face. When she sent me the screaming emoji, I stopped texting her. My niece was more upfront. The first time I texted her a photo of the gray streak in the front of my hair, she told me I looked like Aerosmith guitarist, Joe Perry. She immediately started calling me “Aunt Perry.” Then there was the time Tim and I met with our friends Michael and Lori. We had been cooped up for so long that we decided to meet outdoors for a social distancing dinner. Before we got there I warned them about my hair. After greeting each other and settling down to a picnic dinner of various carryouts, Michael looked at me and said, “Your hair disturbs me.” This from a man who wears an ascot, keeps his dog in a tote bag and carries a clutch. He’s been disturbing me for about 40 years.

The quarantine experiment wasn’t actually the first time I thought about letting my hair go natural. In the past few years I had noticed that a lot of young women were purposely coloring their hair gray. I thought this might be a trend I could embrace. Still, it was shocking for me to see these high school girls getting off the school bus with their flowing gray locks. I couldn’t imagine what started this trend. Why do these young girls want to have gray hair? What’s next, Life Alert necklaces and walkers? Sure, when I was in high school my friends and I wanted to look older. But, that was so we could get into bars not nursing homes! 

I’ve never been one of those women who are terrified to change their hairstyle. I’ve been messing with my hair all my life. When I was 10, I wanted to look like a boy and I went to my dad’s barber and got a “boy cut.” My dad loved it. I became the second son he always wanted. In eighth grade I got a shag cut. It was horrible and I have destroyed every class photo from that year. My high school years were spent following the music and fashions of the glam rock scene so I cut my hair in a spiky David Bowie flat top. My sister said I always looked like I was scared. In the 80s I cut my hair all off again and grew a long braided tail down my back that was bleached Billy Idol white. My dad told me someone had asked him if I belonged to a cult. So, the decision to stop coloring my hair just seemed like another bold step in redefining a new stage of life. 

Growing up, I never saw many women with gray hair. My mother kept a year’s supply of Miss Clairol Chestnut Brown hair color in the bathroom closet. Neighbors and relatives all had colored hair. My Aunt Marcella was the only one with gray hair and years later I found out that it was, in fact, a gray wig. I was 24 years old when I started to go gray. At the time I was working at a rock radio station and in that business the only other person with white hair was Edgar Winter – and he was an Albino.

Therefore, in order to keep up my youthful appearance I started coloring my hair. At first, I needed touch ups about every two months. Then it became monthly. Then it was up to every three weeks. I feared that one day I would have to have a live-in stylist for my daily root touchups. Root sprays and root powders became a staple on the bathroom counter. Daily showers always ended with me parting my hair and looking in the mirror for the dreaded skunk line. I just assumed that coloring my hair would be a lifelong necessity. And then, the quarantine hit.

When we finally arrived back home to Michigan, hair salons were just opening up. I think I went right from the airport to see Heather. By this time, I had surpassed Joe Perry and was quickly catching up to Edgar Winter. After I sat down in the chair, Heather pulled my hair out of my ponytail and simply said, “Holy shit!” Then she quickly added, “I can fix this!” And she did. She loved the bright color of my gray hair (Tim said in the sun my head looked like a disco ball) and she cut and highlighted the rest of my hair to help blend it in. I must admit, I was terrified. It was one thing to be 16 and imitate David Bowie, it was another thing to be much older and suddenly have to admit it. Luckily, Heather was right. When she finished with the highlights and I looked in the mirror, I loved it. I only wish my nephew felt the same way.

The first time I got together with my family I was anxious to hear what they thought about my hair. My brother-in-law, who is all gray, said he liked it. My niece, who is still playing gray hair cover-up, really liked it too, but when my nephew walked in, he simply said, “I hate everything about your hair.” He has since been written out of the will. 

It has now been seven months since my last hair color. I’m still trying to get used to seeing the person in the mirror wearing the skinny jeans, The Killers T-shirt and the gray hair. But, that’s me. Even Michael has come around and now says he loves my hair. Unfortunately, my nephew hasn’t changed his opinion. He still hates it and I’m assuming Joan Crawford wouldn’t be a fan either.

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