I really do love my hair. I enjoy the soft weight of it against my shoulders. I delight in brushing it across the chest (or lower down) of a lover. I am pleased that I can plait it, bun it, put it in a ponytail, curl it in fat pigtails, or just clip it back.
And I love the colour of my hair. It’s a luscious dark brown, with red and auburn highlights in the sun, and has delicate silver hairs radiating out from my temples.
My hair reminds me – often – of my mothers. But while I used to assist her in dying her hair every month (to hide her grey, which she hated), I really love my silver hairs. The contrast, the strength, and the beauty of them.
I started to go grey in my mid-twenties. My mother started to go grey in her thirties. My brother was starting to go grey when he was just thirteen. But it’s all about perception. While mum dyed her hair, and my brother keeps his shaved short, I call my grey ‘silver’ (because it is, really – nearly white), and don’t have the slightest desire to hide it. My hair is as it is. And I love it.
Photographs by Demeter. She really is amazing!