June Gray Progress Report

Happy June!

My hair is a hot mess these days - split ends, wavy, mostly air-dried and crazy looking. But I keep getting compliments on it, so I'm going to try to relax and go with it.

I'm thinking about cutting some long bangs, just to give it some shape. The texture is changing, both from the gray and from the natural shampoos and stuff I have been using (still haven't gone "no 'poo"). I like the texture, but it is definitely NOT Pantene Luxe. It is only shiny when I go for a day or so without washing it. Oil-slick style. It is moderately soft (softest on aforementioned unwashed days). And it doesn't swing beautifully in the breeze or cause you to want to reach out and touch it. I used to have hair like that. In high school. No, really, I did. Soft, mahogany hair that I would roll up into hot rollers so I could have these huge bouncy coils of shiny hair. I loved my high school hair. Sigh.

Les told me out of the blue last night that he really likes my "multicolored" hair, and that he thinks the natural wavy, unkempt look is pretty. That means a lot to me, since I was afraid he would decide that I am starting to slide down the hill into the abyss of unattractiveness.

True Confession: Despite the fact that I really want to get some bangs or something, I actually really do LOVE my hair so far. Most days. I get self conscious about it, and I still feel slightly compelled to tell everyone that I am doing this experiment so they do not look askance at me, but most days I really like the wavy craziness of it. And the silvery streaks.

Never would have expected that.

Giving Up the Poof

I, like many of you, have cohabited with a scruffy-looking plastic mesh body scrubber for much of my adult life. The basic idea is that you squirt some micro-beaded Moisture Magic Shimmering Cashmere Body Wash onto your poof, and the rough plastic poof rubs off your yucky dead skin cells while the Magic Cashmere rubs perfume and silk into your arms and legs and torso.  This process will make you look sparkly and sexy, smell delicious, and make your skin feel like smooth smooth pudding.

Well, it does. Doesn't it? I still remember the first time I used Caress Body Wash in college after years of muddling along with whatever Suave-generic-cheap stuff my mom would buy for us to use in high school. I couldn't stop petting my own shoulder or sniffing my own forearm. I smelled incredible. I felt like silk.

But now that I'm over the whole fancy body wash thing in favor of natural bar soap, my faithful poof has dangled forlornly from the shower faucet for weeks:

Sad. I'm going to give it one last tour of duty to scrub out the icky mildew in the corners of the shower tile with some baking soda before it gets the boot.

But now that I'm using soap instead of body wash, and I don't want any new plastic in my life, what am I going to do about exfoliating? Ashen legs and scaly elbows are unbecoming to even we the crunchy granola.
I'm glad you asked.

Meet my new frenemy:

This is my all natural Yerba Prima Cleansing Co-Worker.  You are supposed to use this stiff-bristled brush on dry skin to rub away all your flaky cells before you get in the shower.
It's super English. Apparently everyone in the UK scrubs themselves before they hit the tub. If you can remember the pre-book launch party prep scene in Bridget Jones, she's rubbing her thighs with a similar brush. The invigorating pressure is supposed to reduce the appearance of cellulite and help keep it from forming. Cleans, scrubs, and reduces cellulite? Naturally? Sign me up.

I bought this brush at Whole Foods for like $12 or something. It hangs on a nail near the shower, and I try to remember to use it before I get in. I don't know if it is beating up my cellulite or not, but I will tell you that rubbing this brush over your thighs and legs and butt in a firm circular motion feels somewhere between "Aaaahhhhhhh...." and "AAAAHAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"  It feels good, in a painful sort of way.  And you can tell that the dead skin is coming off, because it swirls around a bit like sawdust as you go to town on your wintry dry legs.

I will miss my happy orange body poof. There's nothing quite like a good, exfoliating scrubby-scrub with a poof and some magical chemical body wash. Nothing, that is, except some supernatural vegetable based soap and a cellulite-fighting Yerba Prima Cleansing Co-worker.

Silver Dusted - May Gray Hair Progress Report

As you can see, the roots are more like chunks at this point. The gray is really beginning to be a noticeable color in my hair.  I kind of like it. 

I kind of like it, and I also kind of want to chuck this experiment and go back to edgy chic chocolaty brown hair like this:

This was only 3 years ago!

Maybe a new hair cut would help. I like being able to pull it up, but the "wavy mop of salt and pepper" is only deepening my fear that I am slowly transforming into a hemp-necklace-wearing, sandal-footed hippie with hairy armpits and a closet full of long skirts. (This is a valid fear. I do drink my coffee out of a glass jar now.)

I still want to look put together and confident. I think I can be confident and rock the silver at 33, but it does feel like I need to cultivate "a look" so that I avoid sliding haplessly into a disheveled mess.

Fear is a big driver of consumption, you know? I've found my inner fear-monger trying to convince me that I'm going to have to dress very well and have perfect makeup if I'm determined to keep on with this experiment. Fear tells me that gray = old, and I'm not old enough to be old yet. Fear tells me to run immediately to Sephora and J Crew and suit up with a convincingly cool, confident, "Yes I have gray hair but I am ROCKING it" new look. Fear is making a pretty sly case. I won't pretend that I have not been chomping at the bit to get some new summer stuff.

But I've decided that my first plan of attack to keep the Buy Stuff whispers at bay will be to.... GET RID of STUFF! Yes. This is my new plan.

My wardrobe must be like an art collection or a prize-winning essay.  Ruthlessly edited, focused, honest, and unique. Which means that anything that does not flatter, fit, or fill me with joy must go. Only a small collection of running/yoga and sloth clothes allowed. That way, anything I pull out of the closet to wear will be a winner. It will work. I will rock it. Same goes for makeup. Into the heap with all my random, ill-suited shades and trendy products (when they are gone, of course, unless they are super toxic, and then I will just pitch them). I've done enough research now on safe and green cosmetics that I should be able to pare down my mess to a safe, healthy, beautiful batch of essentials and not bother with the other junk.

It hadn't really occurred to me that clothes and makeup would have much to do with my hair, but the grayer it gets and the kookier I start to look, the more I remember that my hair color is changing. Just like if I bleached myself blond or dove into cherry red. And that does change your whole look, not just your hair.

So if I'm not enlightened enough to give up caring about my looks all together, at least I'll try to face my Fear Buying demons head on, and with a handful of self-awareness and a wallet full of self control.

At least until the next J Crew bonus sale.

Graying Along

So it has been almost 2 months without any dye, and here's how the center part is coming along.  It is kind of like watching plants grow. I watch my roots spread in the mirror as though I were tracking the progress of a sprout I started from seed. 

I saw a dear friend this weekend who I hadn't seen in person in a very long time. She's been reading the blog, and told me that she was surprised that the gray was not more noticeable. Then I finger-combed my hair into a center part and tipped my head down for her. Then she saw something more like the picture above. She commended me for taking the plunge, and said she thought it looked great.

Thanks, Rachel dear. I've actually gotten a couple of compliments on the silvery streaks so far. Les wishes I could just halt the process right now and keep my subtle, somewhat hidden stripes along with the rest of my brown hair. I told him that the blogosphere would have none of that.

I saw a young woman with a short salt-and-pepper pixie cut this morning, and I wanted to give her a high-5. She is definitely the youngest person I have seen so far to rock the "I'm under 30 and I'm going gray" look. Honestly, she looked more like 22. If I could pull off the 80s spike, I would give it a try.

Hair color is a big part of our identity, though. When Rachel and I were out this weekend with our other friend Jill, we managed to convince her that she is, in fact, a redhead. Which was news to Jill.  Sort of like Les insisting that he has brown hair.  I'll give him "dark blond", but he does not look like a brunette to me. I guess hair color is in the eye of the beholder too!

I don't think my brown is dark enough to constitute "salt and pepper", so can I just go with "mink" or "silver dusted"?  What do you think?