I’m 33 years old and married, and like a lot of other American families, my partner and I are looking at our budget and trying to rethink our spending habits. I don’t think I spend a lot on personal grooming products, but I do wear make-up most days. I get professional haircuts a few times a year. My only salon hair-coloring experience was when I studied abroad in college and went to London’s Vidal Sassoon training school for an afternoon of adventure. It was fun! But on a typical day I don’t spend a lot of time fixing my hair. A couple of years ago, when I started to notice more gray hairs, I started to wonder if I should do anything about it.
Some of you are probably rolling your eyes as you read this. I fully admit that this is not a major moral issue. The Catechism doesn’t have a section explaining official Catholic teaching on use of salon products, and for good reason. But I do believe that every decision we make is a moral decision, and that as Christians we should think about our patterns of behavior and about how our behaviors shape our character. As a feminist I am concerned with the messages women and girls hear—through culture, relationships, religion—about our bodies and about what it means to be “good” and “beautiful.” And as an American my moral formation has occurred in a culture dominated by consumerism.
But do my grooming habits really shape my character? Does the Christian moral tradition have any wisdom to offer when I walk through the Target aisle and consider whether I should purchase deodorant, shaving cream, razors, teeth whitening strips, nail polish, or anti-acne face wash? These products are not exactly “basic goods necessary for human flourishing.” But most Americans wouldn’t see these items as luxury products either (although I’m sure the companies who sell and market these products don’t want me to challenge the assumption that these aren’t necessary for “the good life”).
One feminist voice says, “Coloring your hair is not necessary, but if you can afford it and if it doesn’t hurt anyone else, and it gives you some self-confidence and helps you feel pretty, what’s the big deal? This is not exactly one of those fundamental option-kind of discernments. Lighten up.” Another feminist voice says, “Self-love is not about liking your hair color when you look in the mirror. It is about accepting yourself for who you really are, gray hair and all. Thinning and graying hair is a natural process of aging. What you need to do is simply accept this, and accept yourself. Resist the cultural and marketing messages that tell you to reject the natural aging process by coloring your hair.” The American consumerist in me says, “Go ahead! You deserve to be pampered! You work hard, and you’ll look great when you cover those grays.” The social ethicist in me says, “How can you even think of paying for something so silly when children are starving in Somalia?” Ok, good point Ms. Social Ethicist. That does help to put things in perspective a bit.
When I think about the major questions I should ask myself in any kind of discernment, I think of questions like: Will this make me a more loving person? How does this action influence my relationship with God? Whom else will be affected by my decision?
In general, I want to avoid the slippery slope of scrupulosity, which can sap a person’s moral energy and lead you to fret over the small questions so much that you lose sight of the big issues. While my current discernment is about hair dye it could just as easily be about fashion, shaving my legs, applying nail polish, eating fast food, buying fair trade coffee, or upgrading my cell phone. All of these are moral choices, and yet there is some wisdom to the idea that the most important questions are about that fundamental “yes” to God and a loving response to my neighbor. But as my family trims our spending, can we hold on to some of those unnecessary-but-fun products without landing in a state of sin?
So, if you’re read this far, and you want to help me discern this very small moral question that I’m pondering today- please chime in. I’d love to hear your thoughts.
I will suggest that your concern is largely one of preference. If, however you are in such dire economic circumstances that coloring your hair would be detrimental to the stability and well being of your family, or interfere in your relationship with God, then that is another matter. Prudent reflection on your circumstances will help you understand the course of action you should take. You should always have room to love God and neighbor. God wants you and all people to have a good life. Sad to say, there will always be people in greater need than you.
I stopped coloring my graying hair five years ago, after grappling with just the issues you raise. The clincher for me was when I asked myself “Would a saint color her hair?” I decided that no, I don’t think she would. It never held the same appeal to me after that.
I think Emily raises two important ethical questions here. One is about luxuries and the other is about feminism.
First, it’s so important to ask ethical questions about the things we buy–even if very few people around us would consider them problematic. That’s the only way we’ll ever be able to cut back enough to feel the abundance that is ours AND give more money away to those who are truly needy. It’s true that we will never fill all the needs, but we can do so much better. Of course, our specific answers will differ. This not the realm of moral absolutes.
Second, why is that it that women and men accept graying hair in men but not in women? Women do a lot of things to their bodies to look different. Some things are just fun, but I wonder what we’re doing when we can’t feel good about ourselves without them. I admit that it is sometimes difficult to be the only (partially) gray haired woman under 70 in the room, but then I think about Dorothy Day. I want to be more like her.
Thanks, Emily, for raising this issue! Here’s a question that we taboo as Catholics concerned with ethics, as feminists, AND as academics. It is great to see it discussed openly. It is a moral question, and our traditional avoidance of it indicates that it must be a doozie. I’ll contribute my preliminary reactions.
I will presume here that the degree of grooming-effort woman is expected to expend exceeds the degree of grooming-effort expected of a man in any given analogous situation. If this presumption seems iffy, I submit that a full accounting from each of us of how we spend our mornings before heading to work and our receipts from the drug store and/or dry cleaners is the only way to find out for sure! (Anyone excited about coming forward with that information? Me neither.)
Anyway, I just looked for some pictures of Dorothy Day (to show it to Ms. Social Ethics) and found her no makeup, probably no died hair, etc. However, I did see groomed eyebrows, lots of barrettes, hats and hairbands in common use, and sweaters and other tops that fit her well. These are deliberate things to do/have/wear. Time was spent, and care was taken.
I tried to find pictures of Catholic woman saints. I found lots, and they are portrayed through the ages as glowing, quiet, and beautiful. My trained woman’s eye spots signs of blush, mascara and insanely skillful foundation use in these paintings and drawings. But these are crafted representations of these women, not photos. Their agency when it comes to grooming effort is not represented. So this does not answer the question. It does demonstrate that the tradition of women’s saints favors beauty (presumably as it is understood in the time of the picture’s making). Maybe they are supposed to be naturally, accidentally, unintentionally beautiful? Maybe that’s part of the modesty requirement–not being aware of the politics of beauty, and yet just happening to hit it on the head, every time.
If that’s the case, then the situation sounds familiar. Academics and many feminists have unfavorable attitudes toward taking those extra grooming steps. Academics are supposed to be “above” such petty and banal concerns, and feminists are supposed to see through the trap of all that advertising, etc., that you mentioned above. On the other hand women are favored for beauty in all kinds of ways that are irrelevant and, yes, unjust. So we are supposed to eschew the efforts that are required for meeting the standards of beauty and/or today, and yet we are supposed to have the results, again, accidentally. This, again, sounds familiar.
I have no resolution for this question. So far I like my greys and my memories of my grandmother’s vibrant white hair keep me away from afternoons of goop and tin foil. But this answer does not address the real question. When I decide how far to go, grooming-wise, I think of two things:
1) My women undergraduate students, who know that I am a Catholic and a feminist and who are wondering if that is legitimate, possible, repugnant, fun, attractive, or even remotely human (as they know it). I want to make it complicated for them, and I enjoy showing them that this aspect of life (which is in turns both stressful and enjoyable) is not ruled out when one decides to be professional, over-educated, feminist, and openly Catholic.
2) There is a character in Barbara Kingsolver’s _Poisonwood Bible_ who is everything alert women today fear and hate. She uses sex to gain power and autonomy, she is racist to the core, she is a standard unreflective consumerist. She is also blonde and kinda dumb. (This combination may be a curveball Kingsolver is throwing us.) Toward the end of the book there is a scene (which we get to see through the eyes of the dead) in which she and her sisters are in a marketplace and she is shopping for fabrics, throwing money around, bartering, and doing her snazzy girl-shopper routine.
Her sisters, who are much more likeable people, clutch their purses tightly, frowning at prices and luxuries and not participating in the scene. (I see my Catholic social-justice, feminist self in them. They are activists, academics, poor in solidarity, excellently left-wing.) I thought that the dead narrator, too, would approve, but my hopes backfired when the narrator recognized that these admirable women are behaving the way that they are for one reason: They are just simply… above it. They are erudite. Too smart, too socially aware, too politically astute, etc., to take part in the world of this African marketplace, to take joy in the brilliant fabrics their sister was fingering, to take joy in the mundane tasks and luxuries of of the realms assigned to women. In other words, they are above alllllll those other women in the square, all the women in the world. Meanwhile the character I hated for hundreds of pages moved comfortably among them, speaking their languages, as a woman, on their shared terms.
This eventually rang true for me. Maybe these questions are more complex than I thought. Maybe it is possible to recognize all the harm implicit in the beauty and grooming mandates we hear (and reinforce) and still participate (to some degree) in them. Maybe this is not selling out. Maybe it can be a recognition that I, as a Catholic feminist academic woman (whose training has enabled me to see so clearly the slippery slope to hell that beauty salons are), am still not above the habits and practices of the women whose liberation I envision and still hope to see.
In fact, maybe they knew about all this even before I did, and maybe, over magazines and nail polish bottles, they talk about it in a language that I need to learn.
Thanks, friends, for chiming in! I have really enjoyed reading everyone’s comments. I appreciate the affirmation that this is not a stupid question and that we really should think critically about all of our spending habits. And I’m glad that the male/female double standard came up. But I also appreciate the beautiful reflection by Tumnusethic on Barbara Kingsolver’s novel (which I’ve read but a long time ago), and the idea that if I decide not to color my hair, I need to be careful to avoid a feeling of moral superiority against people who do. Maybe we can recognize some harm and still participate to some degree, as you write. I agree with you, Julie, that there are no moral absolutes, but that this is something we need to continue to think about.
Hi Emily– I’m so glad you posted this! It is so helpful for my project on luxury – especially reading the wonderfully-insghtful comments. I too think that these are the questions we (=Catholic moral theology) do not ask enough. Intentionality is good, and somehow it needs to be distinguished from scrupulosity. But the distinctions are very, very hard to make. In addition to what others have posted, I’d add:
1. The concept of intention, honestly assessed, really matters in these consumption choices. It is one thing to, say, buy local food because it is more just for the farmers, and another thing to do it because it’s what other trendy people are doing. It’s one thing to buy a Honda because they are reliable cars and last a long time, and it’s another thing to admit you can’t imagine driving around in a small Chevy. Etc. Etc. I’ve been realizing through a lot of reading how much people’s consumption habits are influenced by what others around them will think because they “see” the consumption.
2. I think the notion of vocation also matters. It’s tricky, but it matters. In Aquinas, material possessions in governed in part by “what is fitting for one’s station” – we (in theory) don’t have stations – but hopefully we have some sense of call. “Call” means having a quiet place to study, for example, or an extra-comfortable chair may mean something to us that it wouldn’t for others. We want to be able to be hospitable to others. It is apparently true that Peter Maurin rarely bathed and wore the same suit all the time, right? Should we teach like that? Why or why not? Again, this doesn’t answer the question about grooming one way or another – but it does suggest another kind of intentionality about our spending, how it does or does not help us fulfill our vocation.
I feel compelled to respond that being an “academic” or “excellently left-wing” gives you no particular insight into the question. There is a point when something perceived as a moral dilemma is nothing more than a matter of simple prudence and preference. Sure, there are cultural issues to contend with. Vain glory in all its forms however should be avoided. Legalism too is to be avoided as it undermines critical thought. I recommend a conscience rooted in an ethic of the via media. Towards the end of the scholastic age, there did come a time when reflection and thought became an exercise in vain glory, pretention and unreasonable attention to minutiae.
Emily,
I am late to jump in but just allow me to second all the praise in these comments on your willingness to write this post. I like your approach in asking “what kind of person will this make me? Will I become a more loving person if I color my hair?” I am often perplexed by similar questions to this, not so much about hair color (no grays yet!) but about makeup and overall grooming. One perspective that I like is actually my husband’s. He encourages me quite often not to wear makeup, not because I don’t look great in it (i assume he thinks I look better with makeup than without), but because, as he says, “I want to grow in our relationship to know what you really look like, without makeup, so that when you wake up in the morning, I’m not surprised by the stranger in the bed beside me. Makeup should be what surprises me, what causes me to look twice at you, not your unmade-up face.” I think the same thing would apply for hair color.
I’ve discovered that self-love works in a similar way. When I go for days wearing makeup, I do not learn to love my “normal” face in the mirror. It always seems imperfect, in need of change. I think grooming has an important place in our daily rituals, and I do think these are moral questions, but I guess what I would ask is whether or not you think you will ever be able to grow to love the woman with gray hairs if you cover them up now?
I have discerned about this issue myself and take it seriously. When I was younger, I never thought I would color my hair, but then in my mid-30s I changed to a stylist who specializes in color and is very enthusiastic and persuasive. Around the time I turned 40, I succumbed to pressure to color AND perm my hair and it quickly felt like I was spending way too much time (and money) at the salon. Did not feel right. I cut back to just a cut & color every 6 weeks, and now in my late 40s, it feels like healthy self-care. My stylist is like a friend, and I savor the hour and a half as a time of relaxation, a sabbath of sorts.
Saw this today on Huff Post:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/shannon-kelley/feminist-values_b_928170.html