I think I’m a “hairpocrite”. I have coined this term by combining the words “hair” and “hypocrite”. I think it has a resonant ring to it, don’t you? Maybe I should trademark it or something. Hmm…

You may be asking yourself what I mean by “hairpocrite”. Well, my inquisitive readers, I will tell you. My “hairpocrisy” started the day I noticed gray hairs spouting from my scalp. This was perhaps 10 years ago, while I was in my mid-30s. They weren’t too noticeable at first, just a little shimmer when light would hit them just right.

I was already getting highlights in my hair occasionally and one day my stylist, Annabelle, said, “You know, the gray is starting to come in, do you want to cover it or let it go?” Without a blink of hesitation I said, “Make it go away.” This was the exact opposite thing I told my mother about 25 years earlier when she started to go gray.

My mother has beautiful, thick, curly Sicilian hair. If she doesn’t blow dry it, the kinky curls take over. When I was about 10, Mom asked me if she should color her hair to hide the gray. I adamantly said, “Absolutely not, Mom! It’s unnatural to color your hair. Look at some of those old ladies at church with jet black hair, pretending that they’re young. They look like freaks!”

So, Mom let the gray come in and it is lovely. She has the classic “salt and pepper” thing going on with her hair. Luckily, it didn’t come in all in one spot, like the middle of her scalp, rendering her a human Pepe Le Pew.

I didn’t even consider keeping the gray when it happened to me and I think I know why. One of the parts of my appearance that I’ve always appreciated has been my hair. Yes, I’ve wished for it to be less big. (Remember my recent relaxing experiment? A total fail, by the way.) All in all, though, I have great hair. When the gray started making its presence known, I felt like I was losing one of the things I really liked about myself and I couldn’t let that happen.

I “should” be able to look into the mirror and be evolved enough to love myself as I am, gray hair and all. That’s what all the self-help talking heads tell us, right? Maybe one day I will, but today isn’t that day. Call me vain, immature or yes, even a “hairpocrite”. But as Rhett Butler said to Scarlett O’Hara: