Im 65 years old now, and though Ive always been relatively unfazed by my appearance, lately the white hairs have been winning the battle. Not just the odd strand here and therewhole patches, especially at the roots. Going to the hairdresser no longer seemed as easy as it used to. Between the time it took, the cost, and the endless waiting around, I started to wonder if it might not be so terrible to dye my hair myself at home. After all, Id coloured my own hair most of my life. How badly could it go?
I popped down to the local chemist, not a proper hair salon. Told the young girl at the counter that I was after something to cover grey. She asked what colour I fancied and I replied, Just a regular brown, nothing fancy. She pointed at a box that looked perfectly ordinary, with a woman sporting lovely hair on the front. It promised 100% grey coverage. That was enough for me. I didnt bother reading the rest. Went home convinced Id be sorted in an hour.
I pulled on an old t-shirt, grabbed a tatty towel, mixed up the solution according to the leaflet, and applied the lot while peering in the bathroom mirror. Everything seemed normal at first. The colour was dark, just as always. I sat down to wait it out and, in the meantime, tackled the washing up and gave the kitchen a bit of a tidy.
After about twenty minutes, I caught something odd out of the corner of my eye. When I checked my reflection, my hair didnt look brown at all, but rather purple. I told myself it must be the funny bathroom lighting. Surely it was just my imagination.
When it came time to rinse out the dye, I already sensed Id made a serious mistake. The moment the water touched my head, I watched as it ran purple, then dark brown, and finally almost black. I stared into the steamy mirror and there I washair cast in hues of lilac and violet, finished off with a shade I couldnt quite name. The white hairs had vanished, yes. But at what cost?
I tried drying my hair with the hairdryer, hoping the colour would settle down as it dried. It didnt. If anything, it became even more vibrant. I looked like Id just stepped out of some disastrous teenage fashion shoot, rather than being a sensible 65-year-old woman. I couldnt help but burst out laughingwhat else could I do?
I rang my daughter on a video call, and as soon as she saw me, she almost choked with laughter. She asked, Mum… what have you done? All I could say was, Book me in at the hairdressers, love.
The next day I had to go out with my new look. Threw a scarf over my head, but the purple still peeked through. At the local shop, someone asked if it was a new style. A woman at the bakery told me how brave I was to go for such colours. I nodded along as if the whole thing was totally intentional.
Two days later, I made it to the salonwithout an ounce of pride left. The hairdresser took one look and understood instantly. She didn’t judge me. Just said, It happens more often than youd think.
I left the salon with tidy hair, a much lighter wallet, and a lesson I wont forget: there are some things you might think you can still handle like you used to… until you end up with purple hair. Ive learned two things since thenwhite hairs come whether you invite them or not, and some battles are best left to the professionals.
Not a family drama, just a true story from my own life, and one thats left me far more cheerful about what really matters.
