In my twenties, I dyed because I hadn’t yet made peace with my naturally red hair. However, in my thirties and early forties, it was about covering up the grey.
After some soul-searching (who knew something as trivial as hair could be such a big deal?), I realized I felt ready to at least *try* embracing a new chapter in my life; a chapter where I’m no longer trying to pass for 35 years old!
I decided early on in my transition that I wouldn’t be taking the “salon route” to grey, as I had read so many horror stories of people’s hair getting ruined, as a result. (Besides, all the salons were still closed!)
To add insult to injury, my “styling battles” would be rendered useless as soon as I stepped outside, as the damp UK air instantly caused an abundance of frizz and flyaways, no matter how many anti-humidity products I tried.
I chopped it into a short bob, and then took the clippers and buzzed it into the shortest crop I’ve ever had. As the hair came off, my heart was racing, but – to my surprise – I actually felt more beautiful, not less.
I get more compliments on my new look these days, now that people have gotten used to it; plus – with hair salons re-opening – my hairdresser has clearly done a better job than I ever could!