‘I’m 27, And Covid Has Made My Hair Go White’

I was 19 when I found my first grey hair.

While on holiday with a friend, she was helping me straighten my hair for a night out (oh, sweet hindsight) when she let out a low yelp and informed me that… well, I was going to be a teenage silver fox. Except I wasn’t, at least not straight away. After endless panicking intervalled by googling “how to stop ageing” and “why is this happening to me” over and over again, I didn’t spot another grey for years.

I assumed it might have been a blip, an innocent mistake on biology’s part, so I went on my merry way and tried to forget all about it. It was going to happen someday, but it looked like I wouldn’t go white at 19 after all. Or 20, or 21. By 25, I was noticing a few more silver strands by my temples, and even though my mother and every article I’ve ever read always instructed me not to, I stubbornly plucked them out one by one. But when I turned 26, things took a wild turn. When was my 26th birthday, you ask? That’s right, February 2020.

Fast forward nineteen months, and the back of my head is practically translucent. My family and friends often remark on it. My partner lightly makes fun of how old and wise I seem to be, at least according to my hair. When I put it up in a ponytail, I always carefully (skillfully, too -it’s been a steep learning curve) make sure to place a few brown locks at the top on my sides, so they can cover up the grey ones. When I recently caved and asked the hairdresser to dye it all, she said I should probably have come in a long time ago, as “you can’t really see it yourself but if I give you a mirror to look at the back, you’ll cry.” Thanks, girl. Quite the pep talk for the £200 price tag.

Now, I’m not saying COVID is the only reason I am going white. I am approaching 30, and my situation is not unheard of. The stress of the pandemic, however, has noticeably aggravated what should and might have otherwise been a gradual and natural process.

Stephen Garfit, consultant trichologist at The Leeds Trichologist Clinic and member of The Institute of Trichologists, says we should “consider that the stress caused by the pandemic could have increased the potential for hair to grey sooner” and that “a number of studies indicate a link between increased oxidative load due to psychological stress and premature greying of hair in predisposed adults.”

But what counts as premature greying? “While the average age at which the onset of grey hair occurs is 35,” Stephen says, premature greying can occur “before the age of 20, or 25.” He explains that “this can occasionally be seen in patients with pernicious anaemia or autoimmune thyroid disorders, with a genetic predisposition to inheritance of this condition.” As someone who’s suffered from severe anaemia since she was a teenager, I am not surprised by this but I do feel less alone.

My mum often scolds me for forgetting to take my iron and zinc supplements, and it turns out she’s absolutely right: Stephen says that nutritional deficiencies including Biotin, B12, B6, Iron, Zinc, Selenium, Vitamin C and Vitamin D can contribute to premature greying, and that suitable supplements may be recommended in preventing or slowing down the process.

It’s important to remember that genetic disposition is still, always, the main factor at play. In 2016, a study of more than 6,300 people by human geneticists revealed that the IRF4 gene, in helping regulate melatonin, was responsible for characteristics such as skin, eye, and hair colour. Kaustubh Adhikari, the main author of the study and a researcher at University College London, said at the time that variants of the IRF4 gene might “account for 30% of gray hair, with environmental factors — including, perhaps, stress — accounting for the rest.”

While stress is surely part of life, it’s quite something to realize that the unlikely historical happenstance of living through a pandemic might have exhausted me and countless others to the point that our bodies now tell the story of the past nineteen months for us.

On my best days, I tell myself I should follow in the footsteps of more and more women on my Instagram feed and embrace the grey à la chicest French icons. On my worst ones, I mentally add up the cost of dyeing greys from 27 until, what 80? That’s some serious money I don’t have.

I recently discovered @Grombre, a 237k strong community started by Martha Truslow Smith, who found her first grey hair at 14, to share real stories in “radical celebration of the natural phenomenon of grey hair.” I spent way too long scrolling in admiration, realizing I’d very rarely seen celebration of something that is still widely regarded as taboo. In Milan, where I live, defiance of the passing of time is the norm, and acceptance is the rare exception. Glamorous sciure (Italian dialect for elegantly dressed elderly ladies) pave the streets and set the trends, whereby not letting your roots show for as long as you possibly can is the only sensible option.

But I was never one for following trends, and I’d love to emerge from the Covid emergency a braver woman. A grey-er one, perhaps, but when we’ve survived something as tragic as a pandemic, who’s keeping score?

Sophie Fontanel, a Parisian fashion journalist who documented letting her grey roots grow out on Instagram with the hashtag #uneapparitionsophiefontanel, says “it’s like snow; snow is beautiful. It’s like a Greek house.” And while I don’t care much for snow, I do love the idea that I’m building a Greek house on my head. It’s not quite ready yet, but one day it will be, and it will be beautiful. We’ll have a white party, and you’re all invited.