There was a period of time when I dyed my hair green. It just kind of happened and I didn't hate it, I always kind of felt… out of sorts.
The attention it drew was never really bad or negative and my Leo Moon loved the wild mane… a part of me felt juvenile, like I was rebelling.
My hair, I feel like, has always been a part of my identity. Before I was blonde, my hair was long, like to my waist long, and dark brown. The idea of going dark again doesn't appeal as I’ve begun to see my age in the silver tensil strands I hide with the bleach.
While my mother proudly wears her silver locks, it wasn't until her late 60’s when she began to embrace them. I remember, when I was probably about 4 of 5, I used to take a black Sharpie to my mother’s roots. She’s sit on the floor and I'd sit above her and draw over the silvers with the black ink. She was probably in her late 30’s, early 40’s… as I am now closer to her age then.
It's kind of funny how men have always been referred to as going silver and being silver foxes… yet women, typically, was referred to as going grey.
I'll eventually embrace the silver, even though ironically enough, I tried to go sliver blonde. For now though, I’m going to keep blonde for a little longer.