I am writing this while I sit in the hairdressers, waiting for my hair to change colour. Not only do I feel that this is a waste of my time but I am going to pay quite a lot of money too. Many of my friends with children love coming here. It is a haven from family life and a chance to indulge in all things girlie, but for me it is time that I could be doing something more productive. I would happily drop my hair off here and come and collect it on my way back from Tesco. The thing is, having my hair coloured these days seems to be something that I have to do.
Gone are the days of changing the colour of my hair because there was a look I wanted to create or a statement I needed to make. Now I colour my hair because the grey parting looks dreadful.
My mother had gorgeous naturally dark hair and I remember telling her that the best thing she could do was to go grey gracefully, which she has done. So why didn’t I follow this advice? One of the reasons would be that none of my friends have, and I don’t want to look older than them, another is that my hairdresser is skilled at persuading me that the latest colour we have tried looks amazing and the final reason is that society dictates to me that it is not acceptable to look grey at 47… even though there will be very few 47 year old women (and men!) that aren’t grey!
I have also found myself falling into a world that requires me to stay as young as possible in every physical way, although my body is doing its best to prevent me. My friends tell me that comfortable shoes are not acceptable when going out, because they make me look frumpy, even though they know that I will be taking them off at the first opportunity. I have a cream for just about every part of my body to plump, rejuvenate, tighten and brighten, and if I applied them all on a daily basis I would need to get up half an hour earlier to get out of the house on time. I have to make sure my bingo wings are covered, my cellulite plagued thighs are well hidden and make up is applied at all times. I am balancing on the tight rope that is ‘looking good without looking like mutton dressed as lamb’ and it’s not a easy place to be.
I read in The Telegraph (so it must be true) that women are at their most beautiful and attractive at 30. Why the hell didn’t someone discover that while I was still 29 so that I could have made the most of my most gorgeous year? I had a waist then, my hair was it’s own natural rich brown colour, and I had flawless radiant skin…this news has come some 18 years too late! And I looked fab without my clothes on…
… although at the time I truly thought I was fat and worried about cellulite! I yearned to be a size 10 and lose a few extra pounds.
When I was told that youth is wasted on the young I can see now, now that it is too late, that it is so true. I can’t help thinking that the magazines that I blame for our perfect beauty obsession should be helping the youth celebrate what they have, rather than giving them unachievable goals. Hmmm… hindsight is indeed a wonderful thing….
Now, where’s that exfoliator…
Penny x
