Photogenic

I was a tomboy growing up. I was also always out playing with the horses, stray cats, or just making a general mess of myself. I also had an on-going battle with my mom as to how long I could go without brushing my hair- could I get away with it for two whole days? This may seem odd but I had very thick curly hair which got very tangled. It wasn't until my mother received my set of photos for the second grade (many many months later) that she finally cracked down on me. You see, I had managed to convince her that my babysitter would brush my hair for photo day. I also managed to convince my babysitter that my best friend was going to brush my hair. The photos reflected my disheveled appearance: missing front tooth and wild hair. I looked straight out of the Grapes of Wrath. My mother was mortified. 

Needless to say I have always been a bit camera-shy. You know those girls that look like a million bucks anytime someone snaps a photo of them? Yeah, that's not me either. Even with perfectly (or as perfectly as I can manage) coiffed hair I never manage to turn the right angle for the camera. I think 1 out of every 60 photos is pretty decent and those photos will represent me for years at a time.

I had come to a place of acceptance about this until I started going grey. This was the time in my life I became completely photo-obsessed. And thank you, iPhone for making the selfie pic all the easier to take! At first I measured every millimeter of growth. Then as I became convinced the my hair was recessing back into my scalp, I began to take selfies of my grey in different lights, sharing all these photos with my very patient sister who is so far past faking enthusiasm over the subject. This is where I encountered my ongoing war with different lighting. 

Lighting never mattered too much to me as a ginger. Even when my hair photographed traffic cone orange (as I'm realising more and more of my pictures reflect) I really didn't mind. In my version of reality everyone who saw me automatically adjusted their saturation to see the perfect color of red on me. Eye rolls an imminent welcome. So when I was called blonde the other day I was taken completely aback. After all, did I really look blonde? Or was this some 'polite' overlooking my grey? I don't know nor care but I DO care that I was seen as a blonde. That left a bad taste in my mouth and severe annoyance that my silver just "isn't there yet." 

This is when I really understood the importance of lighting. One woman on Café Gray stands out to me as really understanding this and coming to peace with it. She's a makeup artist and has embraced the many shades and hues of her color, celebrating each play of light on her unique shades of grey. I am not so evolved, I still want to look like Tinkerbell's sister Periwinkle. 

So in the past 15 months I have been learning not only the art of the selfie but also in what light to take the picture. Here's what I've found: indoor fluorescent lighting will yellow; overcast lighting outdoors will show brightness; too much direct sun will usually was out your hair and you'll look like a beacon of light is coming from your head; and low lighting will bring out the dark colors making you look like you don't have any grey at all. Here are a couple of snapshots taken within two minutes of each other. The first pic looks yellow and was taken in my office. The second was taken outside two minutes later in the shade on a sunny day.

What a difference all around! Although still not great photos of me, they are in fact great photos of my hair, which is more important in my view. But another thing to remember is that your hair is also picking up color from the dyed ends (mine are pulled back) so that can also impact your photo. Alas, the selfie is still a challenge for the silver sister because color and light are so important.

Ugh, now another thing I need to learn- how to photograph my hair and what is the best lighting. This will be saved for another day. But I hope those of you who are exploring the silver can see what a difference silver makes in giving a fresher appearance. I think my skin and complexion look so much brighter and more youthful now that I've gone silver. Maybe I'm reverting to childhood now, just with brushed hair.

Let Me Get Mine

In my former life I was a people pleaser. I loved to make people happy and would expend all my energy on trying to anticipate their needs. I would then feel taken advantage of, put upon, and generally used. 

At my best I wanted people to be happy. At my worst I suffered from hubris and tried to control outcomes and reactions through my good deeds. Most of the time I fell somewhere in the middle and just assumed that the world was full of "givers" and "takers" and I was most definitely a giver. 

Once one gives up such a malady as hubris and creates boundaries (yes, there's that word again- take a drink), there's very little left except to let everyone just live their lives. This goes with family, friendships, and dating. The old me was very attached to the outcome of every date, where it would lead, and future longevity. The present me doesn't think about that stuff. I really just see each date as getting to know someone a bit and seeing if I would like to know more. 

What's strange is that the more I'm just in the moment the more I notice that men are not- they become more needy, they want to know where this is going, they accidentally admit that they told their godparents all about you (ahem, isn't this the 1st or 2nd date??). All-in-all, I find that there are more people pleasers out there than I thought. 

Now that it's been a bit since I've been in a serious relationship, I've had more time to think about myself and my own needs. Sure I date but we're talking serious, all-encompassing love-to-be-loved relationships. I was reflecting upon this the other day when talking to a close friend and I'll summarize (and provide a more pg-rated version) of our discussion. The main point is that I now date like a guy. 

Reason number 3 of why I'm still single: I'm just as concerned of my own needs as I am of my partner's (maybe moreso... okay... moreso). 

Let's take the example of someone whom I've dated for awhile and we're, shall we say, intimate. The old me wanted to snuggle and bask in the moment, never wanting it to end. The new me... not so much. Let's use one of my exes to describe this:

A nice evening spent but then it was time for sleep- I had a meeting in the morning. This would be a perfect time to hug and kiss goodnight but something's wrong- he's not moving! As I yawn and stretch, "Well, another great time... mmm [stretch]... let's maybe get in touch this weekend or next..." 
"Oh wow, it's almost 2am! There's bound to be heavy traffic soon... you might want to get a leg up on that..." 
"Ah you want to stay the night? Wow, what a great idea, I mean normally and all but you see I have a meeting tomorrow and I need a good night's sleep... you see I toss and turn a lot... and whimper in my sleep- I snore! Right, right, I snore and don't want to keep you awake too. Oh, you snore too? Yeah, well I'm a light sleeper and..." 

Finally I cede, knowing that I have lost the battle AND the war, for that matter. And I'm sorry, but unless I am head-over-heels in love with you, I want my own bed. Then, horror of all horrors, he decides he wants to snuggle! Okay, he means this to be all night, WTF? What happened to the men who would overheat at the thought of sleeping at a temperature over 40 degrees? But no, this ex wants to spoon all night. Now I'm starting to sweat and looking wistfully at all that space behind me where he could be sleeping on his side of the bed. I hear him sleeping and lift his arm off and away from me. Whew! That worked now lets' see if I can get some space between us. Oops! Rolled him onto his back and over to his other side but thankfully he's still asleep. Now, really put my back into it and I can scooch him over to the edge of the bed. Maybe he'll fall off or get so cold that he shivers throughout the night (I'm a cover hog). Either way, maybe he won't sleep well and next time go to his own bed for the night. 

Okay someone could say that I'm a bit cold-hearted but still others could say that I'm a kickass girl. I mean, I don't require coddling (or cuddling) and am not trying to force intimacy. Just because we've reached certain stages in our relationship, I'm not expecting it to necessarily mean you're going to be the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. In fact, I'm not jumping to conclusions. Oh... you are? Wow, it's late... yes 6pm... (Really only 6pm? It feels like hours) and I have an early morning meeting...

Tables Reversed

One thing that I notice more and more is how the Universe really loves balance. When I was younger and more insecure there was no lack of men ready to take advantage of that. the more I needed the less they had to give. As I drifted a bit away, they gave more. And thus, a vicious cycle was born.

This does correlate with grey hair because I choose myself every day over what I perceive others wanting. This extends past my silver hair option to all areas because when I choose myself I look at what (and whom) fits my needs, not how I can mold myself into another's wants.

Somehow the tables have reversed. This shift has changed the men that come into my life. Maybe it hasn't really, maybe I'm just not attracted to the same men anymore. Regardless, I have very basic needs when it comes to men: independent, a man's man (burly bears feel free to apply), mutual love and respect, and a great connection. 

Not a big list and yet I find it more and more difficult to find independent men. The men I find must have been destroyed over time because they are very needy and in constant search for approval. Umm, you don't need my approval, you need your own. 

Reason number 2 of why I'm still single: I'm not attracted to all of the needy men. If you're having a violent reaction to that last sentence please don't. My reactions are based on a lifetime of Midwestern co-dependent relationships: one person is the giver, the other the taker; neither person can co-exist without the other; neither person can make a decision without the other's over-arching approval.  

So here are just a few examples of said needy men: 

The 'I thought you might be the one' guy- Here is an attractive guy claiming he is in his early 40s (ealry 50s more like) and I meet him at a nice restaurant. He starts out by whipping out a $100 bill to pay for an $8 drink- a bit on the pathetic side. Then after about 30 minutes I discover that he has an 11-year-old son, pretty stationary, and we have very little in common. So after being asked out for a second date, I respond by saying that people disclose a lot about themselves in 30 minutes. I showed that I am looking to move and love to travel. With a young child he's not in the same position and therefore it wouldn't be a good match. This led into him speed dialing his ex-girlfriend as a reference of what a good boyfriend he is (eek!). "I was really hoping you were going to be the one," he said as he choked back heavy emotion. I talked him off the ledge but this was not to be the end of him. He then tried the well-we-can-still-be-friends approach. I declined saying that I didn't want to lead him on. This undesired response caused an unfriendly reaction in him and he never heard from me again. 

The 'I told my godparents all about you' guy- It's hard meeting a person of your faith when you're Orthodox Christian. So I get the pressures one might face when two of you collide somewhere in the Universe and meet for coffee. I was prepared for a coffee date but wasn't prepared for that to turn into dinner. Okay, I rolled with the punches. I also got many accolades for how easy-going and nice I was. Great, thanks! I also got compared to not one ex-wife but two. Okay, er... um... thanks. I also got asked how can I stand not being married? He wants to get married again so bad. This was shortly after he told me how excited he was for our first date and that he told his godparents all about it. Sigh, really? My disinterest in him was several-fold but the main red flag was how he didn't visit his sick mother because it was upsetting; ironic because his last wife left him when he was sick and he is very bitter about it. All-in-all, no thank you. 

The 'Give me a pic, PLEASE, pretty please???' guy- I chatted with a guy on Tinder, actually several. A couple are all about calling and texting (isn't that what Tinder is supposed to take the place of?) but okay I'll go with the flow. So I start talking to this guy and he admits he's gun-shy and scared. What? Are you 10?? And why do you need to share this vulnerability with a complete stranger? Um, okay let me allieviate your fears, this is just getting to know a person. "Can I have a picture of you, pretty pretty please?? Here's a pic of me asking for a pic of you... Here's another pic of me, just in case..." I thought this odd, as there are several pics of me on Tinder, but I guess the extra step of pressing on the Tinder app and then pressing on my pic was too much effort? My sister believes as this request occurred right before Thanksgiving he wants a pic to show to his family. Of for f@#%'s sake.

Here is a pic I took after this request and I find it quite befitting. Can you read the irritation mixed with trepidation? Never mind that I look slightly cross-eye, that was all the fake smile I could muster. But I never sent the pic so it's a moot point. 

Now that the roles have reversed I find myself seriously wondering if I'm willing to forego a life all of my own to constantly tend to the needs of another. I mean to have children is one thing but are men just going to be another version of that or are there men out there who are independent and contribute positive attributes to a relationship? We'll keep searching for that answer. But until then, don't wait for my call... or for that pic…

Laziest Dater in the World

This may be a good time to start a series of "Why I'm Still Single" blog posts. You know a lot of why a woman is single is mere choice, even if she isn't cognizant of that at the time. I have always known that I'm a lazy dater and most of the time can't be bothered. I've never been a dependent child, always breaking loose to do my own thing and seeming fearless when it comes to figuring out things for myself. In fact as a child I never (and I really mean never) thought about marriage. I was more focused on having a career and seeing the world. 

Well it's been a... ahem, few years and I have exactly that life: I have a set career and I try to visit a different Country every year. I don't always attain this but I do ensure to see some new place and do some new thing every year. Last year was US-based, but I still saw Montana and parts of Florida for the first time, plus I tried white water rafting and jet skiing (all new) so I still feel I accomplished my annual goal. Unfortunately, I'm not as ambitious or adventurous when it comes to dating.

I used to roll my eyes at my mom. Okay, what bratty American kid hasn't said that but I would watch her dating habits with annoyance. Her approach was to basically wait until a guy literally knocked on her door. Eventually a good one (in addition to my father) came along. He used to come by her work, clear his throat, and stoop to tie his laceless loafer. Maybe she thought he was in Special Ed. but my bet is that she was oblivious- it runs in the family. Sad as it may be, I seem to have adopted my mom's annoying lazy dating habits. 

As if on queue a good friend told me about a dating app called Tinder. This links you to Facebook men in your area. If you like them AND they like you, it connects you. You take it from there and chat. The good news is that you don't get any unwanted communication or anticipated rejection; if you both don't hit "like" then you can't communicate. 

Even though all evidence to the contrary has been proven, I still think that a pic of me with grey hair is going to turn off the tap to all dating prospects. As though my single-process fried red hair somehow gave me an edge in the dating game and I could trick the eye into seeing a more youthful (and therefore more competitive) female prototype. However I'm happy to inform you that I'm STILL having the same pool of men that I had with the red hair. Some cute (not as many grizzly bears as I'd like), some handsome, and some really hot. Whodatunk? But it's just another nice affirmation. 

So in less than a week I've chatted with several men and a few really interesting ones. I'm trying new things, even if tepidly. Okay, even if I feel half-assed about it and feel my energy slightly sucked away when I get a few texts- I really AM the laziest dater- but I'm at least doing something. Starting to feel that internal draw though to slack off altogether... maybe I'll just wait until one knocks at the door. Hell, it worked for Mom. :)

Silver Sister Strut

I often talk about the Cafe Gray forum (see link on the side) and for good reason. It's full of lovely, supportive women who help you through the rough times of tri-tone hair grow out. So if we're just talking hair here, why would it be necessary to ever meet in person?

This is an underlying point that growing out your grey is sooo much more than hair color. When you decide to defy social norms, you expose a lot of vulnerabilities you didn't know you had. You become aware more than ever what people think about you, how they look at you, how they react to your words- all this awareness is overwhelming and, quite frankly, a bit exhausting. You find yourself on this forum, dabbling into the pool of vulnerability, dipping your toe ever just so, and acclimating to this world of openness and honesty. You admit your insecurities, help others through theirs, and never really think about the fact that these women are virtual (pun intended!) strangers. You see, you have at some point dove head-first into this pool and openness and honesty are now your go-to tools.

Then you realise one of these lovely sisters is in your area. You decide to meet up for lunch. Now anyone with the common sense of a fruit fly can see that a girl who blogs about grey hair will have no trouble filling an hour-long lunch with talk of... hmm... hair, but meeting a sister on Cafe Gray is really like, well, meeting a sister.

The first Silver Sister (SS) I met was Penny and we hit it off straight away. It was like we knew each other for years. We went on a couple of shopping trips and had Sheltie play dates. Yes, it's probably an American thing but anyone who has Shelties knows how much they love a dog that looks just like them and even have a special yip just for other Shelties.

Later, we found that there were several of us in NC and we met up for a Saturday lunch. I had a date that night but that wasn't nearly as high on my agenda as meeting my silver sisters. After all, we hit it off right away and all talked like old friends. I think we spent two hours chatting and having a great time. There are real friendships that are formed on this site and it's a constant support.

Now every year in the September-October range there is the grand poo-bah of events: the big Silver Sister meetup. This year it was in Chicago and it always has a fantastic turn-out. Due to my federali status it just happened to occur at a time when my furlough status was unknown and I couldn't book an expensive trip, but I have every intention of attending future events. However, our Cafe Gray founder and the author of Going Gray, Looking Great - Diana Jewell (also a Carolinian) joined us for lunch in Charlotte a couple weeks later. You can see the pic of our Silver Sister's strut and what a great time we were having.

Looking back I'm sure passers-by were wondering what sorority we used to belong to and how could they get the bartender to make a cocktail as strong as ours must have been, but at the time we were oblivious to our surroundings and just having a great time. So I encourage you if you are a silver sister, a potential newbie, or if you see a silver muse, encourage them (and yourself) to go to Cafe Gray and meet up with a local silver sister. It's a great forum for support and a launching ground for great friendships.

14-Month Itch

It’s my 14-month anniversary today and it feels pretty great. Long gone are the days when I worry what someone thinks about my hair. It doesn’t occur to me that anyone could think anything but, “WOW! What a stunning shade of silver you have!!” Is this accurate? Who cares! I love it and I’m not looking back.

And although I no longer worry about the painful skunk stripe period, I DO have impatience to see the final result. It’s an urban legend that you can look at the roots and know your greying pattern or what shade you will be. There are a million shades of grey (not just 50!) and it varies from moonlight to pewter to sterling, etc., etc. So even on the eve of your final graduation cut you have no true idea what your final result will be. 

I have heard this tale time and time again. Because of this I finally stopped trying to guess my outcome (sort of). I’ve seen many sisters on Café Gray and was just as surprised by their final outcome as they were. Some looked lighter, some more of a vanilla, some looked darker. The point is that you won’t know until there’s nothing for that grey to reflect off of. 

As a child I was an anomaly. I never wanted to search for the hidden stash of Christmas presents, I loved the surprise. One morning I came out to the breakfast table and saw a wonderful little Snoopy and Woodstock vanity mirror. I was so excited (and slightly befuddled) as to why I would get a present for no reason. My mom saw me playing with it and immediately got mad because she thought I had snooped around and found it. When we realised she had forgotten to hide it, we were both equally upset: she because she gave me a present before Christmas and I because I had one less surprise. 

You would think I have the same feeling about my hair; that I don’t want to ruin the surprise- you couldn’t be more wrong. I am annoyed that I have no idea what I’m going to look like. I get SUPER annoyed when the ends reflect on my virgin hair and someone mistakes me for blonde or sandy brown. I get annoyed that my bathroom light changes how grey my hair looks from day to night. I get annoyed that I have no real ending date for graduation (will it be 18, 21, or 36 months?). And I am also annoyed that this is one of the few forums I can whine about it because the rest of the world’s priorities are slightly marred and they don’t find my daily hair growth a discussion as fascinating as it is! 

Reality check- yes, this is something that most people don’t see as very interesting or important. But it actually is a very big deal if you’re going grey. You are choosing to delve into so many unknowns. You don’t know how people will react, how many completely inappropriate comments you will get about your hair, whether the silver will suit you, and will you even like the end color? Once you’ve invested this much time you really just want to fall in love with the results. 

This is a tricky stage because I’ve been excited about this from day one. I stood up for myself and my grey, I’ve fought through that awkward skunky stage, and I’ve ventured out and tried all sorts of things to welcome my grey. After all, I’m writing this blog, I’ve changed my makeup and wardrobe, I tried short hair, I updated my outlook to style, I’ve been open and honest and accepting of who I am. And when you’re in a culture that only values youth, there’s a layer of vulnerability that goes right along with that same pride. 

So this is a pretty big deal, and a pretty big stage. It will be several months before I have enough length to trim off more of these ends. But in the interim I can celebrate the milestones I’ve undergone, and they’re quite a few. I may still be impatient to see the results but it will be a very welcome gift when it finally gets here.

Candy Corn

I love Fall. There, I could just write that one little sentence and it would sum up so much about me. I Love the cool weather, wearing jackets, all my knitted goods, the Autumn colors, how happy my dog is that she's not panting- everything! Fall is also the time for woodfire-scented candles, apples, and Halloween. 

If you're American and not Southern Baptist you really do up Halloween. Preparing for trick-or-treaters, watching all the scary movies, planning your own costume, carving pumpkins... the list goes on.

I've always loved Halloween and seeing how a Tim Burton movie really speaks to me, one does not have to wonder why this is one of my favorite holidays. I also love Halloween candy. I love the Smarties, mini-Snickers, candy apples, and popcorn balls. But when I grew up there were some sick puppies out there that gave you candy corn or that weird peanut butter congealed mass wrapped in orange or black wrappers. Ick, I still inwardly shutter at the thought. 

 It is this memory of corn syrup candy corn taste that makes me think of when I was still coloring my hair. I would go to the salon and hope they got the color right. When the roots grew out I had an intensive red conditioner that would dye the roots somewhat close. And when it was time to really cover those roots I had my Frederick Fekkai 6R and I would use half the box (it costing $30 a box) to dye the roots and then unevenly zhoojh it through the overall color.

I was always under the impression that people saw a ginger and her rebellious mane. I thought that until my Priest came up and commented how cool my hair looked, "Wow, that's really neat. How did you get your hair three different colors? The lines look perfect!" His innocence was marred by the horror-stricken look on my face. I had no idea I was strutting around all these years with a head that looked like candy corn! And on top of that my hair photographed traffic cone orange for the church directory. Ugh. 

I still go to this Church but now have nearly 7 inches of natural silver. Last Sunday I looked around at all the 300 heads of female hair. More than 90% dyed their hair and those that didn't were either teenagers or less than a handful of women in their 70s. Now my church is mostly Mediterranean and maybe this is a cultural thing to a degree but when I looked at the heads of hair in that church I did an honest assessment. The teenagers that dyed were doing that ombre effect and the ends were not blended well and looked scraggly. Most women went for dark color that matched the hair of their youth making their skin highlight the signs of aging and looking way too harsh against their face. Other women decided to go blonde which if you're not naturally blonde often looks strawlike and yellow against your skin. Most were single-process colors and the years of bleach made their hair a fire hazard. And then there is the worst haircolor- some sort of peachy-blondey-taupey color. It's the color of flesh and for some reason the color of choice for White Anglo Saxon Protestants.

I also looked at the handful of good dye jobs- those that still had some shine and bounce, were multi-dimensional, and coiffed. Not all of these were the right color for the woman and seemed too dark but then you see a woman who could really rock the red or had a lush brunette mane. It was nice but a whole lot rarer than I ever would have thought. And then I saw the burgeoning skunk stripe on these good heads of hair and I really felt their pain of being on the dye treadmill.

The list of "DON'Ts" above is exactly where I fell in when I dyed my hair. My hair was always single-process color, dry and frizzy, and held shine for less than an hour after I styled it. I had a hate-hate relationship with my hair. I wanted to love it and finally embraced being a ginger after a lifetime of wishing I had long straight sable hair like my family. By this time I was probably more of an ash brown with silver so the red gave my complexion a sallow hue.

It's kind of a sudden urge to become silver, at least it was for me. There was never any musing about it or saying "one day I'll be silver..." no, I never expected to stop coloring. And now? I see any change to my natural color as a significant decline from what I have. Why would I downgrade?? I have gorgeous layers of variegated silver, pewter, pearl, and sable hues. I now find women in Church staring at my hair while the wait in the Communion line. I have no idea what they're thinking, whether it be positive or negative. But I do know that they no longer categorize my hair in their ranks- it's something unique and different, sparkling and shining from health. I also know that my next Church directory photo will show a stunning head of hair and that's more than enough for me.