After Nearly 4 Years, I Broke Up With My Gray Hair

Here's why I did it and why I certainly have no regrets.

Kristina Wright

Published December 13, 2024

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Last month, my hair stylist, Sarah, asked, “Any regrets?”

She was talking about my decision last summer to start dyeing my hair again. Like many women during the pandemic, I had a choice: Either DIY-it with box hair dye or let it go. At a time when everything seemed so damned hard and scary, I opted to let my gray come in.

And boy, oh boy, did it.

I started changing my hair color the summer I turned 15, dousing my mousy brown with Sun-In and watching it lighten in the Florida sunshine. I switched to boxed hair color when I was 17, transforming the brassy-blonde mess into a glorious sunset in shades of red. By the time I was in my early 20s, I was changing my hair color with the seasons — from shiny copper to dramatic burgundy. In my heart, I was a redhead and thought I always would be.

Then, 2020 brought a pandemic that shut down the world. The question of whether or not to color my hair at home felt frivolous and shallow. Sad, scared and distracted by how quickly everything had changed, I decided to let my gray grow in. Three months later, I was ready to buy a box of hair color and dye it myself.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I documented the process of going from red to gray on Instagram with the tagline, “Finding my silver lining.” I found a community of women online who were going gray like me, were already gray or had never covered it in the first place. These women were my role models, embracing their gray with grace and attitude. I wanted that.

By the time the demarcation between silver and red reached my chin, the world had started to open up again. I scheduled an appointment to get my hair cut, and, when I walked out, I was completely gray with a short, cute cut. I cried all the way home. Then, I snapped a photo and posted it on Instagram, captioning it: “Never going back.”

I wanted to love my gray hair. I would stand in front of a mirror, admiring the different shades, from pure white to steel gray to shimmery silver, with some of my natural brown threaded through. But I couldn’t see myself as anything other than a redhead.

My hair color also changed other people’s perception of me, especially when I was with my tween boys. I could practically see the “Mother or grandmother?” thought bubbles above the heads of strangers, teachers and school friends. It was hard to convince myself that it didn’t matter when I was still shocked every time I caught a glimpse of the stranger in the mirror. I told myself that growing it back to shoulder-length would help me feel more like myself.

It didn’t.

In the spring of 2023, I found myself scrolling through hairstylists’ accounts on Instagram looking for gray hair inspiration, but instead kept returning to photos of redheads. I was ready to admit to myself (and only myself) that I was missing something that had been part of my identity for so long.

I went back and forth for months: Did I really want to start over? I wasn’t sure, but I made an appointment anyway with a stylist I found through social media. One who loved red hair and big transformations.

“I’m ready to be a redhead again,” I said when I sat in Sarah’s chair for the first time in August 2023. And I really was.

I abandoned the Instagram account dedicated to my silver-hair journey. The caption, “I’ll never go back,” serves as a reminder to myself to never say never. After three-and-a-half years, I’ve re-committed to the time, money and upkeep of being a redhead — and I’ve never felt more like myself.

Last month, when Sarah asked if I had any regrets, I didn’t hesitate. I smiled and said, “None.”

How many of you have gone gray? Let us know in the comments below.

Kristina Wright has written for a variety of publications, includingCosmopolitan, Good Housekeeping, Healthline, Narratively, Scary Mommy, USA Today, and theWashington Post. She is also a regular contributor at BookBub and writes a monthly column for the Washington Independent Review of Books. Kristina lives in the suburbs of Richmond, Virginia, with her husband, two teenage sons, two Goldendoodles, a ginger cat, a green conure, and alotof books.