Apparently there’s this unwritten rule that women over a certain age aren’t supposed to have long hair. We’re supposed to enter our forties and adopt a shoulder length bob and then as we approach our fifties and beyond, lop all of it off into some sort of boyish cut, like “mom jeans” for the head and by this I mean along the lines of that analogy they used: you’re a not a woman anymore, so don’t try to look like one. To this, I reply Bullsh*&.
I will not go quietly into the long dark night of short hair for women over forty five.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, because I’m sick of my hairstyle. It’s been about the same for ten years. Actually, most of my life. I have tried short hair. I look terrible in it. I’ve tried bobs. But the left side of my hair flips up and out, and the right curls down and in, so whenever I wear the bob, no matter how much hairspray, I look like I’m caught in a perpetual crosswind from my right.
I’ve tried color. For a while in my twenties, I had auburn hair. I thought it looked okay. It made my eyes “pop”, everyone said. Except my husband. Who didn’t notice my color had changed from my natural shade of dishwater blond. (I don’t know, I think the Cubs were on.)
My daughter wants some colored highlights in her hair. I’m thinking about it. She’s thirteen. It’s a mostly harmless way for her to express herself. But I wonder if she would still think pink highlights would be cool if her mother beat her to the punch.
Do not suggest a perm. I am still not fully recovered from the disastrous one I got in my senior year of high school.
It can’t be too short, either; I like to be able to pull my hair back into a ponytail. Not just for work, but for running and yoga, too. For a while, I was even thinking of helping out Mary Tyler Mom with her campaign to get ChicagoNow bloggers to shave their heads to raise money for St. Baldricks Mary Tyler Mom: Barbie vs. Cancer She was asking the guys to do it, but what if a woman did? I know! But I am such a chicken. And I bet I’d get into trouble at work, which, now that I think about it, could make it worthwhile.
About five years ago, a well-meaning proprietor of a boutique clothing store told me my hair was inappropriate for a woman my age. A woman my age. You know what, bite me. Forget about it. I’ve decided I’m gonna be the old lady with long grey hair, the eccentric character that always lives next door in all the movies; the one with the big heart and an earthy wisdom that she always spouts whenever you see her out in her garden. Which gives me an idea: maybe green highlights.
Filed under: Fashion