In my 26 years of life, there are a few certainties I’ve come to understand:
- While the existence of a higher power may be up for debate, the invention of Netflix is nothing short of miraculous.
- Despite the orange stains on my fingers and the societal judgment that follows, Cheetos remain a delightful indulgence.
- Going to bed angry only leads to waking up with even more frustration.
- As I grow older, I am committed to allowing my hair to transition to gray.
To clarify, “as I grow older” is a bit misleading; my hair is already on its journey into silver territory, proudly displaying a distinguished streak. My days of being a dark-haired individual are fading, and soon I will find myself in a full salt-and-pepper situation.
I anticipate this change with excitement rather than dread. Many years ago, a man named Marco—who I’m convinced was my personal hair guardian—prepared me for this inevitable transformation.
I met Marco when I was just 14, desperately wanting to tame my ethnic hair. Back in the early 2000s, the options for curly-haired girls were limited: you could chemically straighten your hair or embrace the gel-laden curls reminiscent of popular figures like Justin Timberlake and Felicity. I chose the former, but my hair proved to be a formidable opponent, often resembling a frizzy electrical socket.
In a bid to prevent me from applying heat to my hair, my mother scheduled an appointment at an upscale salon specializing in curly hair. That’s where I met Marco.
Marco’s salon was the most elegant establishment I had ever entered. Upon arrival, I was greeted with a mocktail and draped in a silk robe, getting ready for a luxurious hair wash and a head massage. It was during this pampering session that the stylist washing my hair noticed my first gray strand. Shocked, she summoned the entire salon to witness this anomaly, contemplating potential remedies.
However, Marco, upon returning from his break, quickly dismissed the commotion. He confidently declared, “Promise me you won’t dye that. You’ve earned it.”
Marco was unforgettable—bald, flamboyant, and effortlessly cool. He was like a modern-day James Dean, and I agreed to his request, although I had my doubts about embracing gray hair in the future.
In the years since that memorable encounter with Marco, I have undergone significant changes, learning to embrace who I am. This journey hasn’t always been smooth; I’ve faced challenges, including weight fluctuations and the ongoing battle with my hair’s frizz. Yet, with each passing year, I recognize the truth in Marco’s words: I’ve earned the right to embrace my imperfections.
I have faced struggles, and I am proud of the silver strands that reflect my journey. As I look toward my future, I intend to honor my promise to Marco. I am determined to approach my transition to gray hair with confidence, ready to welcome this natural change. If society doesn’t appreciate it, that’s their loss.
I fully understand that not everyone shares my sentiments regarding aging and appearance. Every woman has the autonomy to make choices about her body. As a proponent of Third Wave feminism, I respect the choices of those who prefer cosmetic procedures or hair dye. However, I also believe that celebrating our natural selves is increasingly challenging in a time when societal expectations press against authenticity.
I am making a vow to let my hair go gray. While I might occasionally experiment with color, I am dedicated to this journey. So, here’s to embracing our gray hair together! Bring it on, melanin deficiency—I’m ready.
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Summary
Embracing gray hair can be a journey filled with self-acceptance and pride. While societal pressures may encourage the opposite, celebrating our natural appearance is a powerful statement of individuality.