Hair Apparent

Grappling with the march of time, strand by strand...

Eric and I are talking about hair again. Or to be honest, he’s mostly listening while I talk.

What to do about my hair is a recurring question that goes away and comes roaring back like the blast of a Sassoon hair dryer circa 1982. The questions (“should I go grey? Can I ever grow out these bangs? And how can I get a haircut and not end up looking like a tribute to Jeff Beck?”) had been cropping up and then this picture appeared from the fest Eric played at in London this past weekend and things became more urgent.

Photo by Dave Gurman, no shade on Dave who I think is fantastic

I kind of think it’s a cool picture. I just wish it was of someone else. I’m not sure when I turned into a hippie beach bum but it’s probably been in the works for a while. The problem is, I don’t see myself as a hippie beach bum, don’t mean to appear as one if I can’t at least have a tan, and that tanning ship passed about a dozen years ago with my first bout of skin cancer. I mean I knew my hair needed cutting and probably coloring too, but the photo was a shock. I look…like that?

Walking around the festival in Clerkenwell, I clocked every kind of look on man, woman, Spizz and in between. There were swinging mod chicks, fifties film star sirens, beatniks and babes. And that was just the men. The ladies impressed me with their British flair for putting stuff together without looking like they’re trying too hard. I’d dressed for the weather that might rain, I’d dressed to help Eric move his equipment— oh god, I’d dressed for comfort! Sure I had some decent jeans and a western style shirt and okay suede sneakers. I’d even worn eyeliner and mascara after a few weeks with an eye irritation. I didn’t feel bad about myself, maybe just a little like I do when I head into NYC sometime, like a mountain woman coming down from the wilderness into the big city. The best way to enjoy myself in these circumstance is to not think about it too much.

But the photo told me I need to make a little more of an effort. You see, there’s this imaginary spectrum of female grooming with Patti Smith on one end and maybe Queen Elizabeth on the other. The Queen is dead and perhaps that kind of intense grooming for women of a certain age went with her and her generation, I hope so. I adore Patti Smith and think she looks fantastic. But her look is all tied to who and how she is. Unique. Tall and thin. I keep an eye on Chrissie Hynde and I think she looks marvelous too. She’s gone back to coloring her hair and for being on stage and projecting the image of a fierce rocker, it works great. I recently found a photo from about 2008 or 9, when Eric and I ran into Chrissie and her guitar player James at WXPN in Philadelphia. I was nearing fifty and look like a goofy starstruck kid. Chrissie is nearing 60-something and looks…fucking cool as always. Maybe she was in that in-between place I feel myself in now —trying to decide how much to try. Probably not, like Eric she’s just always known how to be a rock star.

We don’t extend the same open-mindedness to men coloring their hair. If Sir Paul went back to the brown locks, people would give him so much shit. A discussion on Everything Is Fine podcast about how much women are obliged to spend money on looking a certain way made me remember menopausal rage and I’m mostly past that now. Maybe reframe it and think “women have many more options how to present themselves than men do”? Yes some are obligatory in certain fields but I’d rather be more positive about it. I think (hope) rage at how my father felt he had nothing left to live for in the end wiped out the last vestiges of self-pity I was feeling towards the end of my fertile feminine journey. Maybe a good thing, a freedom that menopause offers , is the ability to think more in terms of human problems and not male vs female. A leveling of the playing field sort of. Only —wait, men can procreate up to and probably from the tomb so…forget what I said, I’m just spitballing here!

One of the best things I can do to feel okay about myself in the day to day and those pesky photos is take control of my weight and I’ve been working on that for the last month and a half, tracking calories on an app and trying to walk at least three miles a day which is a lot easier here in England than in car-centric Catskill. I don’t have a scale but I feel sure I’ve dropped a few pounds and am going to keep trying.

And—I went and got my haircut today. Just took a chance, found a salon, booked an appointment, told them no funny business (no mullet, no Rod Stewart layers, just shape things up) and…it’s a start.It definitely looks healthier. There’s still the greys to deal with though. I’ve kind of gotten to like my Cruella white streak but think the rest needs some definition. I pass salt and pepper ladies on the street and think “Great” but can’t extend that open-minded spirit to myself. I know there’s no fixed answer or one that works for everyone.

I haven’t been able to keep up with the later episodes of the second season of And Just Like That, but I left on a high when Lisa Todd Wexley, the gorgeous “how does she do it all so perfectly” character with curls, bangs and cheekbones to die for blithely whipped off her wig to reveal everyday older woman meager hair underneath. I wanted to scream and cheer her vulnerability. (mostly the show had been making me scream with embarrassment, even as I watched alone since Eric would have no part of it this season).

I still find the thing that makes none of it matter as much is when I have a job to do. Being at the festival without a guitar made me more self-conscious. Even though I did have a lovely time seeing old friends and watching Eric play, I missed the feeling of “let me just show these folks what I can do.” But it’s also important to be able to feel okay just being in the world. So I remind myself to practice guitar, keep working. But also follow every hair stylist under the sun on Instagram, looking for the perfect mix of salt, pepper, past and present fun and authority all rolled into one look. It’s good to keep trying; to maintain a little hope for improvement.

In case you wondered about the haircut…I do feel better