Dye or Die: Why I’m Embracing Going Grey Naturally

This picture was taken last year, during a photoshoot that my husband and I did with a brand I really love. I was going through the photos afterwards, completely in love with most of them. I loved the bag we shot for the brand. I loved the light. I loved how the clothes looked.

But then something caught my eye.

My hair, apart from being its usual unruly, not-quite-straight-not-quite curly self, had something new to show me today: I had visible grey roots in every photo. Each and every one.

I knew that it was beyond time for my bi-monthly dye appointment, but I had not expected the silvery strands to make quite this much of an appearance in the photos. “It’s an easy Photoshop fix,” offered my husband. And I’d lie if I said that for a brief moment, I didn’t consider it. But then I realised that if I was to digitally alter my roots, there was really no reason why I shouldn’t also Photoshop my wrinkles - which were also on show in almost each of the shots. And that was simply not happening. Ever since getting them, I had made A Thing out of proudly accepting my wrinkles. I would rather jump off a cliff than get Botox, and I’ve never Photoshopped them or even used a “smoothing” filter. So, I was wondering, why would I then do the same thing to my greys? After all, they were just another way my body was changing. So I nixed the Adobe assistance and published the photos in all their wrinkled, grey-speckled glory. You guessed it: nothing happened. No one said anything, no outrage followed.

The difference, though, was that while I have never been in the same room as a Botox needle, for four years I’ve been diligently trotting off to the hairdresser every two months to hide the damage that time has been doing to my hair. Dyeing my roots had become part of my routine, like doing my nails or putting makeup on. But if I didn’t want to cover my greys in a photo, why would I want to keep concealing them in real life?

This is how the thought came creeping in: I could stop dyeing my roots.

I toyed with the idea of how it would feel to go about my life with my roots showing. Looking my age, which is nearly 40. Not worrying whether it was time for a dye. Not trying to flip my hair in a way that the greys were less visible or angling my head differently in photos. Just ageing naturally, without a care in the world. Like a...man.

“Either go all grey or no grey hair. Salt and pepper is for the table,” proclaimed Sophie Mas and Caroline de Maigret in my all-time favourite book on ageing, Older But Better...But Older. But this mindset, while masquerading as accepting, is still keeping us tethered to our hairdressers’ bottles: “all grey” is not the natural way that hair ages. Those who “embrace the grey” by showing up overnight looking like Sarah Harris probably didn’t embrace anything except a very expensive dye appointment. Ageing hair left to its own devices will very likely go salt and pepper, which is what’s happening to me now that I’m almost four months into the journey. And I have to say, I don’t mind it in the slightest.

“It’s a great time for you to grow it out,” said my hairdresser enthusiastically. “You will only get more greys, so the quicker you do it, the better.” I’m seeing her this week again, for my second trim sans the root touchup, and the only thing I miss about our longer appointments are the laughter-soaked chats while the root dye was doing its thing. As for the rest, no regrets.

Part of why going grey has been so effortless for me is the incredible Silver Sisters community on social media. From the Instagram hashtag with over 500k posts (favourite accounts include @silver_strands_of_mine, @jen.goes.grey and @my_silver_evolution) to the super-supportive Facebook group, there is no denying that women everywhere are growing tired of having to spend time, money and energy on something that we don’t really need to be doing. By seeing gorgeous women all over the globe embrace their natural looks, I felt empowered to do the same.

Today, I’m close to four months in. I could not run a Silver Sister Instagram account as my greys are still too sparse to provide that striking contrast that many of the Sisters proudly show off. But to me, there is a clear difference between now and my dyeing days. I can spot my greys in the mirror - but I’m at a point now where I don’t give them almost any thought. In fact, I’m pretty blown away by how little I care about my greys being on show. I’m aware people can see them as I walk down the street - and besides the revelation that people don’t actually care (shocking, right?), there’s the liberating realisation that even if they did, it wouldn’t bother me. I genuinely wouldn’t mind if someone thought I looked old. Which begs the question: if I cared so little, why did I spend all that time and money, for four years, on dyeing in the first place?

I believe that many of us dye our hair, get Botox, lose weight or shave our legs because it’s expected of us - even if many of us don’t actually care that much either way. It’s just so deeply ingrained in us that This Is What You Do that we don’t stop to consider whether we want to do it. I didn’t examine my reasons for booking my first dye appointment. It was a matter of “okay, greys are showing, time to get it fixed!” Much like a stain on the kitchen floor. You just clean it up and go back to eating peanut butter by the spoonful, without much further thought.

What’s baffling though is that I pointed my finger at others who viewed Botox the same way. “Oops, there’s a wrinkle, oh well, I’ll get it sorted on the weekend.” To me those people were betraying the sisterhood by choosing to obey the patriarchy, and guilty of “making things harder for all of us”. Somehow I didn’t connect the dots that by dyeing my hair, I was doing the very same thing. I too was promoting a mindset that sees women chasing a more youthful-looking image, to their own detriment. A needle does not the difference make. The motivations (or, in my case, complete lack of analysis) were the same.

“But where do you draw the line?” said my husband. “You wear makeup. You shave. It’s the same, isn’t it?” And he is right. After some reflection, I believe that the difference lies in whether or not doing the thing makes you feel any better. Does it bother you to go against the grain in this particular area? You might be surprised once you try - and find out that in reality, you don’t care nearly as much as you thought you would.

I don’t feel any anxiety around my roots showing. I have no desire to hide them and I don’t care who sees them. Just as I do my wrinkles. While, I must admit, going outside with unshaven legs (or even, uhm, staying indoors on my own with unshaven legs) would make me anxious and uneasy, showing my age is absolutely no problem. For me personally, the motivation behind that difference might lie in the fact that I really, really hate ageism. I’m just so fed up with the fetishisation of youth and the invisibility of older women that I’l happily look old just to rebel. Which is, I guess, pretty youthful of me! So, for now, I will continue my Botox-free, grey-haired existence, while hanging on to my razor. Who knows, things might change. But for today, it seems like an okay compromise to me.

Photo by David Camilli