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

Hair color was something I could control easily, definitively — managing the color of my hair was my equivalent to taking Paxil. I discovered that when I changed my hair color, viola, I’d move on — imagining, hoping, that by modifying the way I presented myself to the world, I was somehow actually dealing with whatever issues or uncertainties were confronting me at the moment.
On my fortieth birthday, in some I-want-to-be-a-rock-star-and- I’m-not-getting-older moment of fantastic denial, I indulged in my most dramatic and least successful coloring episode. I dyed my hair jet-black. Other than a few dutiful years of piano lessons, I’d never been musical — never played an instrument or sung in any kind of group. But at forty I chose to become thoroughly depressed over the fact that now I knew I would never become a Beatle. Yes, a Beatle. Insane in several respects? Yes! But at age nine in 1965, I’d seen them play live in my hometown, Kansas City. That scene — teenagers gone wild, and sexy, sophisticated, foreign boys (with cool, long dark hair) being adored — became my benchmark (other than The Mod Squad) for a certain kind of glam living, one that would lead me out of my suburban Midwestern tapioca life.
But my 1995 fake-rocker black hair didn’t, of course, magically deliver me a recording contract or global adoration. Rather, it served to underscore my true age in unattractive ways — the black washed me out and added gray shadows to my face. My friend Larry Doyle, who’s a comedy writer, announced in his deadpan fashion the moment he saw me, "You look like your evil twin." And both of my children, then five and seven, actually cried the evening I came home with the new color. Not precisely my goal.
I lived with that mistake for a long time because you cannot simply wash ebony color out of your hair. As an emergency remedial adaptation, I went back and had my colorist layer mahogany dye into the black and then, chastened by the entire experiment, settled into a conservative, acceptable, middle-aged brownish.
And from then on I went on absolute hair-color autopilot, the opposite of my previous decade or so of flagrant dabbling. My forties’ hair strategy became all about maintaining the status quo — consistent hair color meant nothing in my life was really changing. No aging, no anxiety I couldn’t deal with, no friends divorcing or family members and friends dying … everything was just fine.
Until I looked hard at that photograph three years ago and everything wasn’t fine, at least not as far as the way I looked was concerned.
Even though I’ve never once fudged my age, I simply wasn’t prepared to look my age. And I thought that if I had my natural hair color, whatever it might be, I’d instantly look older. What was the big deal about looking my age?























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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?