Grey Matters. Does It?

Pre-Christmas I had my my haircut. It was a red hot, dry, brittle mess and needed some TLC. I just had a wee trim and was joking with my hairdresser saying "If you find any grey hairs, tell me."

And then I expected her to say - "Oh Lexi, there's no grey hairs."

But alas, Kellie responded with "Oh yes I did just find one."

I was agog, I was aghast was my hair turning into an old lady's at last?

I almost fell out of my chair and asked her to show me this ruthless grey. She hunted around and found it. I asked her to pull it out. She declined. I told her to show me where it was - and I yanked that sucker out.

Just two weeks later, I asked my sister Sarah to check if I had any unruly greys. She found another.

This is Bad News Boulevarde.

And now this week? Two more of those crazy grey bastards. Assimilating with the rest of the brunettes as though they're meant to be there. 

What to do?

I'm having a quiet sad-on that they're out there, Mulder. I'm quietly going grey, and I hate it. I've studied why I hate it - because it's beyond my control. 

I know. I am Captain Ridiculous. With grey hairs. 

Wrinkles Are Better Than Plastic Surgery

Halleluljah! Monica Bellucci is preaching to the converted over here at Chez PottyMouthMama.

What was it I was banging on about, how almost refreshing it is to see women ageing gracefully a la Dame Judi Dench, Cate Blanchett et al.

I don't want to look at an inflated face that can't express. Not only is it immensely difficult to read facial expressions, but it looks like a fembot meets Stepford Wife.

Emote. Emote. Emote.

I've also been thinking about the message botox sends to our small people. That we value youth. And at any cost, we'll try to cling onto those last moments of youth, by injecting our face with a toxin. That ageing isn't valued in our society.

I'm out on a limb here. Botox for cosmetic use is age-ist. It says: I'm afraid of getting old. I don't want anyone to see me as old.

Ageing can be confronting. And it does sneak up on you. But you're never going to stop it. So you might have a puffy volumised face, but the rest of your body heads south all the same. Sorry, it didn't get the memo.

Read more here.

image via here

I'm Having a Mid-Life Crisis. And Other Crapola.

Today at work, someone told me that they thought I was like an older person trying to cling onto their youth (my youth, not theirs), because I abbreviate my words, such as "the youshe" (the usual), "totes" (totally - courtesy of Pip), and other words I use such as "ace", "awesome", "rad".

The person continued telling me what they thought of me. A kind of character assassination while I went about making myself a cup of tea. That's what old people do apparently.

I offered in response that I thought they were mean.

They agreed.

And I informed them that just because they were 12, didn't give them the right to dissect my vocab.

Now, on the flipside, I now feel like I'm having a midlife crisis.

I've hated being 31.

31 is like nothing. 31 is neither here nor there.

30 was fine. I loved 30. But 31 for me, it sucks.

I think reading "Revolutionary Road" perpetuated my little mid-life crisis, a little.

The idea that you think you're special. That something amazing is going to happen to you, the idea that by the time you're whatever age you imagined, you're going to have a house, life will be easy, life will be easier. You'll be all sorted. And yet, when you reach that oft imagined age, none of what you'd dreamt of earlier has been attained.

I've not won Lotto. I think it's my lucky day if I find $2 on the footpath.

I work 4 days a week.

I pay bills late.

I sometimes buy groceries and when I go to pay, my keycard is declined.

I often drive the car around on empty.

I thought that by now I'd be grown up. But I don't feel any different. I don't feel like how I imagined I'd feel. I don't feel like I am truly an adult. And yet here I am. 31. Two kids. And a kidult.

Apologies for the Emo post. I'll resume with upbeat posting tomorrow. Promise. I'll eat more chocolate and be happier. That's fo' shiz.

Going Grey. But Not.

So a while ago, when I was out and about with my sister, I was sitting in the car, full sun, looking at my hair. It was a day like any other. We were out shopping for a birthday present together.

It was a day like any other, until I found a hair that looked like no other.

Grey?!?

I pulled that sucker from my head immediately. There was no way it was going to grow anymore in those nanoseconds - pluck - and it was out. Out for me to study it more closely.

I couldn't tell in the light if it was grey, but I remember feeling anxious. I took that hair, careful not to loose it, and found a spot in my wallet, popped it in safely so I could bring it home to Matt so he could study it further.

I am a nutter. I'll cheerfully admit it. But that grey, well it struck me for six, and fo' shiz, I wasn't going to go down without a fight.

So when I got home and remembered that lone 'grey' hair in my wallet, I pulled Matt aside. Thankfully Matt has a keen eye for colour and nipped my fears in the bud. It wasn't a grey, it was a stray blonde hiding in my brunette 'do.

Phew.

Weeks later and I told Matt that at first sign of grey, I'm colouring my hair. Terrible I know. I can take the wrinkles. Can't accept the greys.

image via

So I'm An Old Troll Am I?

just a shot of me getting my make-up done, via

Following on from my previous post, someone kindly told me I was an old troll. Of course they're hiding behind the old anonymous shield. But I think they had a typo - I think they meant doll.

My previous post wasn't a - woe is me, I'm almost 30, it was a - hey look at the way society is evolving. It was about the fact that I have 26 year old friends doing 'preventative' Botox in the hope it will make them look younger. It was a - hey - I've heard if from beauty editor's mouths - girls are getting younger and younger, and are looking for ways to stop time itself.

It was about the fact that I have a daughter (and heck, while I'm at it, my son's vulnerable too) and I don't want them to feel like they need to meet any aesthetic standard except their own.

In essence, it makes me shudder to think about the length some people go to preserve their looks.

Where and when did things change? I can blame a whole lot of things. But then really, we all have to point our fingers at ourselves in some ways. Media deliver things you and I 'want'. Magazine sales go up when they show pictures featuring models and superstars sans make-up. The catwalks show impossibly thin beauties pony-stepping. Madonna is a work in herself. Oh and here comes another 14 year old front cover beauty - I can't ever live up to those standards. Not to mention the photoshopping. Oh and did I mention - Botox has become an adjective?

There is no magic potion that stops wrinkles from appearing. But by looking after yourself, you can look your best. And by reading, eating well, exercising, laughing, living, you can live the best life you can. Nurture yourself. Love yourself. So I think that's what I was talking about... So Anonymous, thanks for giving me the opportunity to expand on my previous post.

Embracing Ageing

I'm fast on the heels of 30, and to be honest, it doesn't worry me. I'm not losing sleep over it. I think I've done a lot in my short time, and I intend to do a lot more.

I intend to collect a few more wrinkles. Grab a few more lines. I like the look of those that are comfy in their own skin and their face can tell a story.

A few months ago I remember being transfixed by this woman's face. I just wanted to keep looking at her. For-all-the-wrong-reasons. There was something odd about her face. And after a couple of days, I finally realised what it was. Her face had no line. No wrinkles. Nothing. Her lips were overtly perky. And I couldn't take my eyes off her. She was some sort of fem-bot.

I'm fighting the fem-bot look. I'm embracing ageing. I'm going to fit my skin and own it. I'm going to get fit for my thirties. I remember when I felt my best, when my body was strong. I'm going back to that place. I'm going to love the crinkly laugh lines that find new homes on my face.

Because after all, there are so many people in the world that never get the chance to age - for whatever reason, so for them, for me, and as a role model for my little family, I am going to age gracefully.

Being 30. Bring it.