Book Excerpts | 07/09/2009 12:00 am
Book Excerpt: Going Gray by Anne Kreamer

Certainly none of our summer group would have listed ourselves as "spiritualists" on an official form. We’re really not, in a word, kooks. But we do like to think of ourselves as people groping toward the useful truths, and the chance to spend a long weekend together in rural New York, having our fortunes told, felt like the kind of trip that would be tremendous fun. And boy, were we right. We tried everything available to us in Lily Dale: communed with our fellow travelers in the mornings at the "Stump," a group session deep in the woods; had several individual sessions in psychics’ homes; and participated in "healing ceremonies" in "temples."
We even got to mingle with a group of sixteen visiting Tibetan monks who were stopping in Lily Dale as part of a tour sponsored by Richard Gere, but regrettably none of the four of us experienced anything approximating a "visitation," nor were we blown away by any blinding moments of insight from a psychic.
But months later, as I looked through Maira’s photographs, one in particular — of my sixteen-year-old daughter; Aki; and me — actually changed my life. In that instant, sandwiched between my blond daughter and gray-haired Aki, I saw myself for what I truly was: a forty-nine-year-old mother with a much too darkly shellacked helmet of hair. I clearly was not some faintly with-it older pal of my daughter’s, but neither did my hair make me look like a contemporary of Aki’s. It was like I was some spectral person floating in a no-man’s-land, neither young nor old. I felt as if I didn’t know who I really was.
In fact, as I studied the photo, I felt like I was a black hole between gaily dressed Kate and about-to-burst-into-laughter Aki. My uniform of deep, dark mahogany hair and dark clothing sucked all light out of my presence. Seeing that person — that version of myself — was like a kick to my solar plexus.
In one second, all my years of careful artifice, attempting to preserve what I thought of as a youthful look, were ripped away. All I saw was a kind of confused, schlubby middle-aged woman with hair dyed much too harshly.
But why this sudden self-critical revelation? In the past, when I’d looked at photographs of myself, I’d always thought I’d looked pretty good. Maybe the portals to greater awareness had been subtly awakened at Lily Dale … ? Ummm, no. I think I was just lucky that Maira’s photo allowed me the momentary objectivity to see that the dyed-hair forty-nine-year-old wasn’t the real me. Kate looked real. Aki looked real. To me, I looked like I was pretending to be someone I wasn’t. Someone still young.























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Interesting subject. I’d never spoken to anyone about their hair until I decided to go from three or four colors of blond-ish to dark brown and very long to as white as I could get it. Well, I just couldn’t get reallly white most of the time. I don’t have time for all that any more. I’m going to get it cut in a short, cute cut and let it grow out. God knows what I’ll find. It’s been shades of brown for many many years, but I have a suspicion there’s something very different lurking underneath.
Maybe I’ll get Anne Kreamer’s book first.
My prefered hair colors have always been grey, salt & pepper and white. I wanted gray hair as early as I could remember. I remember one summer going from hair salon to hair salon inquiring if someone could color my hair gray. Needless to say I was laughed and told I would have to grow into this color. I was around seventeen or eighteen and devastated! I remember having a dream and one night that I had a head full of lovely white hair. I awoke the next morning giving God thanks for answering prayers only to discover it had been a dream. Again, I was devastated!
My mother had a community of friends whom I admired. They were remarkable women. I would sit quietly and listen to their conversations for hours. I was never interested in playing games like the other children even though I did. I was an "old soul." I often even to this day compliment women with beautiful gray or white hair. They respond with huges smiles and thank yous.
I can proudly day that today I wear my hair cut close to the scalp with with silver shining throuhout with white at my temples. I now get the compliments I give and gave as a youngwoman. I cannot imagine coloring my hair.
There is something wonderfully sexy about gray, white, salt & pepper haired confident and intelligent woman!
I’ll turn 50 next week, and do not color my hair. Grey is starting to show up around my hairline and sprinkling lightly over my head, and what I’m realizing is that when you go grey the pigment in your hair fades. My hair has always been a bright (thanks, Granddaddy, for the red tints!) medium brown that lightens almost to blond in summer; now I see it fading to a mousier, saltier mix. The idea of bright grey or white appeals (my father had beautiful white hair at the end of his life), but this unbrightening of my hair is disconcerting.
So what I do, when I have time and remember to do it, is give myself a neutral henna treatment. Neutral henna has no color, but it coats the hair shaft and gives it a bit more body and lot more shine. Once I tried a light brown henna, which gave a result fairly close to my own color — it covered the bits of grey, certainly, but I’d have to keep doing it to (and I’m not inclined to spend even 2 hours every few weeks with henna trickling under the plastic on my head and down my neck) maintain that coverage. I still like the neutral best.
My mother’s hair (she turns 86 next week), after years of being naturally light brown, is now about 50% grey — but it still shines, and that makes it still beautiful. So I think I’ll stick with my henna, which acts primarily as a conditioner, and watch the grey develop.
Also — the woman’s hair on Anne Kreamer’s book cover is stunning, but not only for its color; she has a great cut! My hair has that kind of body and (often unruly) wave, and I’m going to take a screen shot of this haircut and take it to my salon!
DL…If you do your own hair, go out to a salon supply house and buy "Shimmer Lights Shampoo by Clairol, or ask your hairstylist what he/she uses. It brightens both blondes and silver (Gray hair) beautifully. I went gloriously gray about 3 years ago. I just did not have any interest in have my roots touched up more and more frequently. Also I wanted to see what my hair would look like gray and I love it! And everybody else loves it. I have never had more women at the supermarket, on the street, standing in line at the movies, etc tell me how pretty my hair was. Interestingly most of them were my age or younger. Which made me wonder if they were considering it. I am lucky or so every body tells me because my gray came in beautifully. None of my friends have gone gray…which is a laugh. When we all get together, I am the only one with gray hair. So I joke with them whether they think people think they’re are hanging out with an older woman or the only truthful woman in the bunch? I love the freedom it gives me from the march to the salon for a touch up and I love looking sorta my age. I am in very good physical shape and considered attractive, As beautiful and beautifully coiffed as all my girlfriends are…they all look just alike…
Again, there’s a very cultural and geographic cast to this gray thing.
When I moved to California, I was amazed at the number of women who had highly visible roots for inches (!!!) and visible layers of different colors, like an archeological dig, and apparently were not at all concerned about it, compared to the meticulous and perfectionistic one-color dye jobs of the East Coast. On the other hand, many of the women I knew or saw in coastal Massachusetts were completely and unabashedly natural and had no qualms about it—from no makeup to totally natural hair, whatever color it was, including gray…these ladies never would have dreamed of coloring their hair; it was not part of their world.
Anne Kreamer is preoccupied by the same New York entertainment culture now that she was when she was a teenager. This culture places a lot of emphasis on artifice, making personality statements with your looks, and analyzing your appearance. She’s welcome to this culture, at which many people make their living, but the world is bigger than New York.
I posted this once before, but was outnumbered by the few who opted to go gray/white. I’ll repost it here with the other ones who are staying blondes………………………………………..
I read the book and loved it. You ( the author) look good with gray hair and your still young face. If you get to be a lot older gray hair makes you look & feel OLD. I started coloring my hair in my 70s when somebody told me my hair looked like hell. I became a blonde and recieved nothing but compliments on it, so guess I’ll stay this way until I get really ancient and stupid looking as a blond, at which point it won’t matter I suppose.
My hair is thicker and healthier since I stopped coloring and started moisturizing. I now have a face-flattering mane of soft brown-silver-white hair that my husband loves and others admire — and I’m saving money, too!
It has been years since I’ve colored my hair but I definitely remember the last time -it was the first month that I missed having a period! That had only happened twice before in my life, both times were pregnancies. I was in my late 40’s, my hair was already showing traces of gray, both my children were in college. The first thought that flashed through my brain with stunning clarity was " I will not be pregant and gray headed!" Instead of picking up a pregnancy test kit at the drug store, I grabbed the hair color and went straight home, shut myself in the bathroom and dyed my hair. The thought of menopause never enterd my mind, I wasn’t "old enough" for that, not me! But in fact, I was - at first it seemed like an overwhelming situation but I have found it to be only a natural progression of the journey. Now 60, I am one of the few women in my circle of friends who does not do the color thing and it’s their comment that really amuses me - "If mine looked like yours, I wouldn’t color it either." How will they ever know?
When my husband and I were on our way home this past April from a winter trip to Florida, a young woman in a restaurant stopped by our table telling me that she loved my glasses and that my hair was to die for! What more can I say?