…Should I? Shouldn’t I?
For the last however-many months, these thoughts were mine.
My last time was November 2019. The following January, I started school as a student again. I paid my tuition and embraced frugality. Then suddenly, COVID and months later COVID hair. This is my chance, I thought, to be unapologetically me. My hair grew wild—the silver ones shone.
Society sells at every turn, targets women to buy, and preys on our looks, the ones ever-so-solidly attached to our egos. Why don’t men run to the salons in throngs to cover their aging hairs? A man’s silver is distinguished. The societal discrepancy drives me nuts. I’m distinguished, too! I wanted to scream. See my silver hairs! I’ve earned them. Every. Single. One.
Finally, I graduated and earned an income once more. Suddenly, I confronted my masked face each day in the teachers’ restroom mirror and concluded the upper half of my face works best in tandem with the rest. While masked, I zeroed in on my eyes—one brow drooped, both had bags—fine lines etched my forehead…the mousy brown hairs dulled my prized silver.
Should I? Shouldn’t I? Should I? Shouldn’t I?
It was the Wednesday before Valentine’s Day when I had a dental appointment and a day off from teaching. With some extra time on my hands, I caved, dialed a stylist, and made my appointment.
I sat in a swivel chair before a large mirror and consulted with José. After some back and forth, he said, “I’m excited,” and left to mix my color. His enthusiasm contagious, I had a good feeling. Then, row by row, he brushed in highlights and lowlights and wrapped my hair in foil. There was no turning back.
And you know what? I left the salon feeling fantastic. I think that’s okay.