CAN WE TALK ABOUT MY HAIR NOW?...

There was a pop song in Italy years ago by some guy with long hair whose name I just cannot remember, which was titled "I Miei Capelli Sono Bellissimi" (My hair is beautiful) - I swear, even though Google doesn't remember either. It was a ballad about his own hair, a serenade if you will. Someone help me out here, who was that guy? Long curly hair if I remember. That song tells you everything you need to know about the Italian male psyche in just the title. The thought of writing a whole long winded post about my own barnet made me feel a bit well, like the guy who sings about how great his hair is. But, after reading the hair stories of Bluepoppy and Gracia, neither of whom came off sounding at all like the Italian guy I found myself going, "Me too, I have a hair story!" But I still just might come off sounding like hair guy.

So, first of all I didn't mention that I had my hair cut at London salon du jour Taylor Taylor.
The interior has been done beautifully - sort of shabby grandeur; all oriental wallpaper and high ceilings. Frankly, I could've done without the birds in the big cage which look very lovely but for the bird poop all over the floor, "Oops I dropped my comb right in it, never mind I'll just carry on without washing it" scenario I witnessed when I was waiting for my stylist. After that I went all Health and Safety and found myself scanning the corners of the gold tiled hair washing chamber for signs of lax hygiene. As a friend later observed, "Too cool to clean."
That's my only complaint, might as well get it out of the way first. So, I had my hair trimmed a bit and just made a teensy change from having the universal sideswept fringe I've sported for about three years to a blunt fringe. To me it was a teensy change, although my hair, not used to being asked to fall straight decided to boiing up at a 45% angle for the rest of the day, which looked quite hilarious and meant I had to wear a woolly hat whilst eating in a restaurant.

But since I got the new fringe something strange has happened. Everyone keeps commenting on "my new hair." And men look at me. A lot. Especially in Paris. Was I channelling a young Jane Birkin? Francoise Hardy? I wish. The French appreciate being well groomed and now I suppose instead of having just hair I have a hairstyle. Maybe my forehead was displeasing them before? Anyway it's a long time since I've been flirted with, smiled at, given the once over as much as I have since cutting my fringe.

The BUT is that because I must pay more attention to my fringeal area; combing, keeping it straight etc I have noticed something alarming. White hairs, sprouting from my head, nestled amongst the brunette. Not just one or two either. I had one or two before, which I snipped out from time to time, not wanting to pull them out in case a forest of white grew in their place.
But these new ones, my nail scissors cannot keep up with their seemingly daily invasion. So what shall I do, accept gracefully that at the age of 30 I am going, not prematurely grey, but white and "make it work for me", or make an appointment with a colourist?