Pat McDermott:
After a lifetime of short, curly, brown hair, it’s time to take a leap of faith into the grey zone.
My big leap into the grey zone
When I was growing up, the gentle genius, Charles M. Schulz, brought the Peanuts tribe to life in our newspaper each week. There was meek, kind-hearted and determinedly optimistic Charlie Brown and his dog, Snoopy. There was Linus who sucked his thumb and loved his ‘blankie’. His bossy sister, Lucy, reminded me of girls at school. I liked Peppermint Patty, the dirty ‘Pig-Pen’ and Schroeder and his toy piano.
My favourite Peanut, Frieda, was bossy and talked non-stop. She was inordinately proud of her naturally curly red hair. “People expect more of you when you have naturally curly hair,” she said.
When I was growing up I talked non-stop too and had a mop of naturally curly brown hair. I hated my hair. My mother loved it. Caught in the rain waiting for a bus, she’d tell strangers the frizzy, brown mass on my head was “natural”. “No permanent waves or curlers for her!” she’d say. She insisted we sit at the front of the bus and I imagined 35 people staring at my soggy ringlets all the way to the city.
Not that my hair required rain to curl. After a five-minute walk on a humid day I’d arrive looking like Louis XIV of France. Every day for 13 long years at school my hair was a mass of frizzy waves and corkscrew curls.
Other girls ran their fingers through their shiny, straight locks and tossed their heads every few minutes to ensure the boys paid attention. I kept my head down and my curls to myself.
Then, just as I gave up hope of ever being part of a ‘cool’ crowd, the rock musical Hair hit stages all over the world. Overnight every kind of hair, even curly hair like mine, was COOL!
People let their long hair get even longer. Huge, messy heads of hair were everywhere. The more our hair rattled our parents, the happier we were. Now, decades later, I’ve reached another hair milestone. I’m tired of the time and money it takes to hide the grey taking over my head. Curly or not, am I ready to say goodbye to the dark brown hair of my youth?
I looked my hairdresser in the eye via the mirror on the wall. “I’m not 17 or 25 or 36 anymore,” I said boldly. He said he’d guessed as much. “I want to look my age but in a cool ‘not that old’ way.” He nodded, lifting strands of my hair and peering at them intently. We made the decision together.
Today was the start of my transformation from shiny brunette to movie star grey. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’re in this together.” Of course his hair would stay a shiny black while mine drifted into sophisticated greyness.
I thought of Frieda and her red hair. Will people expect more or less from me when my hair is grey and not dark brown?
“Are you sure about this?” my hairdresser asked. “It takes time, patience and quite a few sessions to get just right.” This is ‘hairdresser speak’ for “It’s going to cost you heaps and pay for my Christmas holiday on the Gold Coast!”
“I’m sure,” I said. “Look at the Queen, Helen Mirren, Jane Fonda and Penny Wong! All the best people are going grey!”
He went to the back room to mix up a magic potion and call his travel agent.
I went to find a teller machine.