I’ve been going grey since I was 13, here’s how I feel about it

I got my first period one year and started going grey the next.

I found the first few hairs while waiting for my turn in drama class in year eight. They grew right at the nape of my neck, catching the light while I nervously played with my ponytail. The hairs were a surprise, glinting silver against the dark brown body of my hair, but I was barely a teenager. Concerns about ‘getting old’ were not exactly at the top of my list of anxieties. 

I’m now days away from turning 34 and when my roots grow out, they are well over half grey. The coarse silver strands are particularly concentrated along my parting line and at my temples, which makes sense once you put two and two together and remember that the sun tends to accelerate ageing. Just as you get more freckles and sun spots across your forehead and nose, the hair that sees the most sun will likely go grey first.

For more hair talk, head to our Beauty section.

It’s been 20 years since I found my first greys. That sentence and the fact that I have fully formed memories from two decades ago makes me feel more ancient than the hairs themselves. I got my first period one year and started going grey the next. They’ve been around. 

Just the same, I get my hair coloured every eight to 10 weeks. My roots are a couple of centimetres long by then – if you look closely you’ll see the greys. I’m not trying to hide them entirely but I’m also not ready to go fully grey. I much prefer a glossy, uniform colour like the chestnut brown I currently pay good money for. 

Sometimes people tell me to grow the grey out, that it would look ‘so cool’. Maybe, I think, but on a practical level do you know how long that would take? Even during Melbourne’s extended Covid lockdowns my roots never made it close to my ears. As much as I think grey hair can look striking and dramatic, it doesn’t exactly take years off you, even if you do make it past the messy in-between phase. There will come a time when I’m ready to embrace it but it’s not right now. 

I think I look about my age, but I’m not keen to look substantially older. When people tell me they thought I was younger, I’m flattered, though I know that’s just something nice people say to women. I can also imagine an older version of myself reading this and rolling her eyes. Surely there are more important things in life than looking young? 

We’re all going to die one day, I’m just vain. If you love your own greys or you’ve just decided that you can’t be bothered with the upkeep, you’ve got my full support. 

In the salon the other night, I asked my hairdresser how many of her clients my age are as grey as I am. “Honestly, none,” she says. “But you don’t care. The ones who are really bothered by it, they’re older. I have women in their fifties who come every two weeks and want their roots done before you can even see them.” 

I clearly care a bit or she wouldn’t be seeing me every other month. But I have to think my grey hair worries me less because it arrived so early. I was a child, yet to have my first kiss or drive a car or have a sip of alcohol. Maybe if it were turning up now I’d feel differently. It would be a sign, rather than the same streaks I’ve been seeing since I was 13. 

My mum stopped colouring her hair when I was in high school and at nearly 70, has a fair bit of salt in her salt-and-pepper shingle bob. I think it looks fantastic. And I’ll get there too one day. Just give me another 20 years.

For more about going grey young, head here.