October 6, 2008
In my last post, I complained about less-than-truthful manufacturers who change food packaging in order to shrink it, while charging the same price and remaining mum on the subject.
I feel a bit hypocritical about that, when I consider my own packaging, or at least a part of it. So, in the spirit of truth in advertising, I will make the following declaration:
I color my hair.
My hair is not (naturally) now, and has never (naturally) been the shade of red that I currently sport. Or any other shade of red, for that matter.
Not auburn, not strawberry, not roan. Not copper, or carrot.
Perhaps titian would have described it. That is the word used to describe Nancy Drew's hair in the earlier books in the series that I devoured as a child. The word comes from Titian, the Renaissance artist, who frequently painted redheads.
While titian is a perfectly lovely color, it is not quite red. It is sort of half-red. My brothers were both blessed with actual red hair, although most certainly neither of them would have described this feature as anything like a blessing. Red hair on guys was not cool. Especially growing up in the 1960s. Plus, redheads are very pale, and prone to freckles. Also not cool.
But still, they were good-looking boys whose hair color stood out (only 1-2% of the population has naturally red hair). Older brother Jim had the auburn variety, a perfectly lovely color in my book. It looks great on women. Younger brother Keith had hair of a coppery shade that would glow in a translucent way in the light. Also beautiful on a female head. Both sort of wasted on the boys who wore them, who did not want to stand out in this particular way.
I had the not-quite-red. Until I met up with Robin, my friend and hair stylist. She was the person who informed me that I should have been a red head, because of my skin color. I was in my early thirties, and did not need much convincing. So, a redhead I became.
And have remained, except for the nine months when I carried Spencer and didn't want to mess with the chemicals. I graciously accepted all compliments about my hair, which because of Robin's vast skill and artistry looked as if it grew out of my head that shade. The color has varied a bit over the years, sometimes more coppery, sometimes a little more auburn, but always a perfect fit.
Lately, however, I have been wondering if continuing to color my hair well into my fifties is such a good thing. Every time someone looks at my son Spencer's naturally coppery head and then at my own and jokes that, of course, I would be Spencer's mom, I feel a little...duplicitous. At this point, my real hair color is probably not even titian, but more of a dull brown with some gray shot through.
Red hair in general usually changes in color as people age, turning brown or sandy. Dyed red hair is similarly difficult to maintain, as the dye is more unstable than other colors. So, a woman in her mid-fifties with coppery hair most likely dyes it regularly, which can be expensive, and gives her "roots".
In my last post, I complained about less-than-truthful manufacturers who change food packaging in order to shrink it, while charging the same price and remaining mum on the subject.
I feel a bit hypocritical about that, when I consider my own packaging, or at least a part of it. So, in the spirit of truth in advertising, I will make the following declaration:
I color my hair.
My hair is not (naturally) now, and has never (naturally) been the shade of red that I currently sport. Or any other shade of red, for that matter.
Not auburn, not strawberry, not roan. Not copper, or carrot.
Perhaps titian would have described it. That is the word used to describe Nancy Drew's hair in the earlier books in the series that I devoured as a child. The word comes from Titian, the Renaissance artist, who frequently painted redheads.
While titian is a perfectly lovely color, it is not quite red. It is sort of half-red. My brothers were both blessed with actual red hair, although most certainly neither of them would have described this feature as anything like a blessing. Red hair on guys was not cool. Especially growing up in the 1960s. Plus, redheads are very pale, and prone to freckles. Also not cool.
But still, they were good-looking boys whose hair color stood out (only 1-2% of the population has naturally red hair). Older brother Jim had the auburn variety, a perfectly lovely color in my book. It looks great on women. Younger brother Keith had hair of a coppery shade that would glow in a translucent way in the light. Also beautiful on a female head. Both sort of wasted on the boys who wore them, who did not want to stand out in this particular way.
I had the not-quite-red. Until I met up with Robin, my friend and hair stylist. She was the person who informed me that I should have been a red head, because of my skin color. I was in my early thirties, and did not need much convincing. So, a redhead I became.
And have remained, except for the nine months when I carried Spencer and didn't want to mess with the chemicals. I graciously accepted all compliments about my hair, which because of Robin's vast skill and artistry looked as if it grew out of my head that shade. The color has varied a bit over the years, sometimes more coppery, sometimes a little more auburn, but always a perfect fit.
Lately, however, I have been wondering if continuing to color my hair well into my fifties is such a good thing. Every time someone looks at my son Spencer's naturally coppery head and then at my own and jokes that, of course, I would be Spencer's mom, I feel a little...duplicitous. At this point, my real hair color is probably not even titian, but more of a dull brown with some gray shot through.
Red hair in general usually changes in color as people age, turning brown or sandy. Dyed red hair is similarly difficult to maintain, as the dye is more unstable than other colors. So, a woman in her mid-fifties with coppery hair most likely dyes it regularly, which can be expensive, and gives her "roots".
Aging is a part of life that we all need to accept. It is not reasonable to expect that we will continue to look as if we are in our thirties when we pass the half-century mark. Why can't we just look like attractive, well-groomed people who are aging gracefully?
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