The Moment I Decided to Stop Coloring My Hair
In the spring of 2017, just shy of my 44th birthday, I looked in the mirror and saw the familiar shimmer of silver roots starting to emerge at my temples. I sighed heavily as I thought back to my last time getting painted with chemicals in the swiveling chair, realizing it was only three short weeks ago.
An image of my mother, a week before she died, flashed into my memory: she was 64, with short, post-chemo, salt-and-pepper hair on display for the first time, and she softly joked, “You’ve waited an awfully long time to see me with gray hair.” I was crushed by the idea that she was self-conscious about her hair color on her actual death bed.
As the heartbreaking image faded, I had one crystal clear thought: I don’t want to do this anymore.
What followed, though, was a quick dissolution of clarity, replaced by a rambling series of anxious questions firing in my brain:
How do I stop coloring my hair?
How long will it take to grow out?
Will I look older?
Will I be less attractive?
Will I feel frumpy?
What will people think?
Will I seem diminished?
…And, wait. Why do I even color my hair?
Finally, the sensible part of my brain shook the panicking part by the shoulders. I took a deep breath and started to think.
The most important of those questions—one I had never asked myself—was why I had started coloring my hair in the first place. What was I trying to achieve with this commitment of my time and money, and was I accomplishing it?
Cue the crickets.
I couldn’t answer the question.
I was spending thousands of dollars and nearly thirty hours a year doing something I couldn’t explain. That realization shook me all the way to my emerging silver roots.
Why Do Women Start Coloring Their Hair?
I started coloring my hair around age 38, when a stylist caught my eye in the mirror and said, in a hushed, conspiratorial tone, “Did you want me to cover up these grays?”
Instantly, I felt ashamed—as if she’d noticed a gaping hole in my pants—and I quickly agreed. What I wish I had done instead was ask: Why should I cover them?
She was well-intentioned. She wanted me to feel beautiful. But that’s the problem, isn’t it?
Her suggestion rested on two deeply embedded assumptions in the beauty industry:
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Gray hair makes you look older.
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Looking older makes you less beautiful.
Once these ideas take hold, they spread quietly and relentlessly, like an aggressive cancer. Before long, you’re standing in front of the mirror cataloging everything that has changed with the passage of time—and criticizing yourself ruthlessly.
This mindset, and the behaviors that stem from it, felt toxic, exhausting, and erosive. And suddenly, I wanted out.
How I Transitioned to Gray Hair Without Chopping It All Off
I canceled my next appointment.
I needed time to think, and the pressure of a looming salon session would muddle my thoughts. I didn’t want to feel ashamed about my gray hair anymore, but I also had to process the shift, and figure out how to recalibrate my own expectations in a realistic way. Just because I didn’t want to cover my gray didn’t mean that I wanted to take the next steps alone. As my husband wisely noted, “Diane Keaton looks gorgeous with gray hair, but you know she’s got people on the payroll.”
I found a stylist who specialized in helping women transition to gray. She added highlights and a silver toner, creating a faux salt-and-pepper effect. As my hair grew, we repeated the process once or twice more with less intervention each time.
The result was a gradual, intentional transition to real salt-and-pepper hair, which gave me time to adjust. I just couldn't chop off all my hair and start fresh, but if you've got the guts to do it, more power to you—it's much less expensive and involves way fewer chemicals!
Is Growing Out Gray Hair Hard?
Some days, yes.
Over the first couple years, as I let the colored ends grow out, I definitely had moments of doubt. Some days I felt like the gray made me look a smidge older or a bit faded. Some days I missed the raven look of my younger years. And when I was tired, it occasionally felt a little harder to hide my fatigue.
Working through those moments of doubt wasn’t so hard, though. When my confidence wavered, I had a quiver of tricks to boost it.
I changed my color palette—fewer browns, more blues. I wore a little blush. I styled my hair to highlight the gray rather than hide it. And when my confidence wavered, I thought about my daughters.
Did I want them to remember a mom who was battling the years or savoring them with gratitude and grace?
What It Feels Like to Be Fully Gray (ish)
It’s been nearly nine years since I stopped coloring my hair. My silver now runs all the way to the ends of my long, wavy hair—brightest at my temples and crown. From afar, I still read brunette. Up close, I shimmer.
And what I feel most is freedom.
Freedom from the chair.
Freedom from the chemicals.
Freedom from the constant low-level anxiety about roots.
The only things I do for my hair now? I use our Rosemary Scalp Oil three times a week, and I get my hair cut three times a year.
I feel comfortable, vibrant, and beautiful—maybe more than I ever have.
I look like I'm in my fifties, which feels just right, because I am in my fifties.
I take great care of my body, my skin, and my mind because I understand that every day spent living this life is a delicious gift, and I want to be here—fully here—as long as I can. I now think less about my wrinkles than about the life-long laughter that created them.
Most importantly, without worrying about my roots, I feel more deeply rooted in purpose.
My work in the beauty industry is not about helping people look younger. It’s about helping people feel healthier and happier in their own skin.
If coloring your hair makes you feel good, I support that—especially as lower-toxicity options become more available. But if you’re not sure why you’re doing something, from hair color to botox to your makeup routine, I think it’s worth asking yourself a few questions to make sure you’re not stuck in a habit that originated from an idea you don’t actually support.
By wearing this sparkling silver crown, I hope to model a different relationship with aging for my daughters and for women approaching my age—one rooted in gratitude rather than fear. I intend to celebrate the years I am lucky enough to live, rather than fearing the changes that accompany the unstoppable passage of time.
With love and shiny, silver strands from me to you,
