Shaving my head was actually a positive turning point for me in my treatment. It felt sickening to keep losing chunks of hair as I had been, to know that bald spots were sprouting up in places I couldn’t see them, to have to spend so much time mopping up piles of hair everywhere I went. There was freedom in not having to deal with any of that anymore. And there was freedom in losing something that had been such a central part of my identity, and still being… okay. Still being me. When I went out with my bald head proudly showing, I felt strong, beautiful, and fierce. As an added benefit, it seemed like being bald made most strangers be nicer to me.
Two and a half years ago, I wrote an article for Allure.com about growing out my grays — something I'd wanted to try before my cancer diagnosis. For the piece, I interviewed my colorist at Sam Brocato Salon, and my stylist at the time, asking them for tips about how to go about doing it. While I’d fantasized about the freedom that would come with letting my hair be its natural gray, I only made it three months. I couldn’t go through with it and cracked, running back to the salon so my colorist could return me to my “natural” color. The dreaded line of demarcation as the dye grows out was one of the most difficult obstacles to surmount — that and my fear that I would no longer be mistaken for being so much younger than I actually was, and that I would gaze in the mirror and see someone unrecognizable, who looked older than I felt myself to be.
When my hair first started growing in again after my chemo it was fine, wispy, and white — and stuck straight up. I called it my “baby chicky fuzz.” There were tiny, barely-visible dark hairs just starting to break through my scalp. My hair came in salt and pepper, with the darker strands following a few months after the initial white ones. I was gray at 43, after over 20 years of diligently working to cover up any sign of aging creeping into my hair. I was also done with treatment and cancer-free.
At that point, I could have started coloring my hair again. But it was a big expense to keep up with covering the roots. I’d always been so insecure about the gray roots as they grew in, constantly aware of them and what angle people were at in relation to me and if they could see them, so I knew that if I started, I probably would have been going every three to four weeks to keep the gray totally covered. More importantly, the research is inconclusive about whether or not hair dyes are carcinogenic. If I’m going to be putting a solution on my head every month for the rest of my life, that’s not convincing enough to me that it won’t cause any harm.
Shaving my head eliminated having to suffer through the dreaded line of demarcation. Cutting my hair into a pixie made the grow-out process a lot quicker and less painful. During those years when I previously fantasized about growing out my gray, I had stealthily checked out women who appeared to be around my age on the street, confident with their gorgeous silver strands. But now, there are Instagram accounts like @grombre celebrating women with naturally gray hair, it’s become much more acceptable and mainstream, and there’s so much gray-hair inspiration should you need it. (I was thrilled to be featured on their timeline this summer.)
Today, just a few years later, I am one of those women I’d admired on the street. While I definitely would not have chosen gray hair, now that I have it, I love it — and I’m keeping it this way.
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