The woman in the mirror wore a thoughtful look as she showed me the first visible signs of a rebellion brewing along my brows. It was white in colour. The colour of quiet dissent  similar to the colour used by suffrage campaigners’ refusal against the caricature of women . The rebellion did not surprise me I knew it was coming but the acceptance was difficult. The vanity of privilege is that it adorns feminist and democratic views as a mouthpiece only when it serves it’s selfish purposes. I was no different and thus with silent trepidation I  looked away from the mirror and decided to eradicate them from their roots.

I  summoned the beautician and demanded that the solitary grey hair outshining the perfectly black brow was starting a rebellion and had to be crushed and with the precision of a seasoned diplomat negotiating border lines she started combing through the dense brows. ‘We always presume that there are very few but there are many hidden who are quietly challenging the status quo, there is no point in clinging on to an identity which no longer exists she said. The tragedy of the comic situation was that the only option left for me was to either opt in or opt out.

“Ah,” she said, in the calm tone usually reserved for negotiating peace, let’s give them a completely new colour and blend in yours. There it was the  story of my past years dressed in fresh new colour and in that moment a new identity was negotiated above my eyes.

Perhaps ageing teaches us a valuable lesson that change is inevitable, perhaps it reveals that the original nature of every human being is much the same, and that everything else is bestowed on us. Some choose saffron, some green while there are few who rise above it all and choose a fresh dye call evolution.