When it comes to my looks, I’m about as low maintenance as it’s possible to be.
I don’t wear make-up at all, apart from my signature blue nail varnish. Actually, I don’t even POSSESS any make-up. My time-consuming and clinical skincare routine has nothing to do with beauty and everything to do with keeping my acne, rosacea, eczema and blepharitis under control. And I last had my hair cut about four years ago. The split ends which plagued me through my teens and 20s are a thing of the past and my hair just doesn’t seem to grow any more. So why bother getting it cut?
But back in 2010, I decided my hair was getting a bit too grey, so I started dyeing it. I say ‘I’, it was actually my mum. Every six weeks or so (apart from when I took a break because I decided it was making my skin worse), she would apply a semi-permanent dye, which wouldn’t get rid of the grey altogether, but would at least disguise it a bit.
Before Christmas, my mum wasn’t very well and I realised my hair was shockingly bad. I had a rare Christmas party to go to, so I asked my daughter to dye my hair for me.
My daughter is the hair expert in our house. She creates some incredible styles in her own hair, which people often comment on, always assuming Mummy has done them. But how would she get on with dyeing my hair?
It was a strange experience, me sat on the toilet lid, wrapped in towels, while my little girl buzzed about me in oversized plastic gloves, rubbing dye into my hair. And when it dried, it wasn’t bad. Not as good as my mum, but OK. She’d missed the roots further down my head, but the top layer was at least done.
Fast forward to the end of January and my hair needed dyeing again.
‘I must get Grandma to dye my hair.’
‘No, I do it now.’
So I let her do it again, possibly against my better judgement. She used the dye too sparingly at first, but then somehow managed to use it all up before the whole head had been covered. And I wondered if I was a bit mad. Clearly my hair wasn’t going to look great.
What woman in her right mind would sacrifice what tiny bit of looks she has left at the age of 43 to keep her daughter happy? Am I not perhaps mad to care so little about my looks that I would rather get a 10 year old girl to dye it than go to a hairdresser like a normal human being? Should I just put my foot down and put myself first or should I just spare my daughter’s feelings and let her keep dyeing my hair? Because she’s only going to get better at it, after all.
What do you think? Am I mad? Should I care more about my looks? Should I get someone else to dye my hair?