I'm torturing my husband. With my head.

Not actual physical torture, of course. More psychological. Because my lovely husband really adores my hair. His nickname for me is all about my hair. I'm pretty sure he married me just for unlimited access to my coppery curly mane of hair. My hair, you understand, is red.

But I keep, you know, messing with it and it's freaking him out. Although he's doing his level best to be brave, I can't help noticing the flash of fear that crosses his face when I tell him I'm off to get a haircut.

Phase One of the torture happened in 2006. I cut it all off. It was becoming dull and thin and bedraggled for a whole bunch of reasons. We were living in France at the time so I ran away to Australia and cut off all my hair, thinking distance would soften the blow. Yeah. Not so much.

My husband, being the most loving and diplomatic soul that ever walked the face of the Earth, told me he still loved my hair, provided it was really short or really long. At this point, to get it really long again would involve running away to Australia and hiding there for five to ten years. So, really short is how it stayed.

And then it happened. The grey. The odd gnarled grey twig of a strand became a forest of petrified wood sprouting out of my head in all directions. One minute I was all "Yes, grey pride!" followed by "Does L'Oreal do a semi-permanent in copper-gold?". Does that grey flash make me look old? Arty? Mysterious? Worldly? Indifferent to personal grooming?  Enter Phase Two of the torture. I headed to the salon and had a proper semi-permanent a couple of times. The most recent one was two days ago. They do an amazing job, getting very close to my original colour, if a shade darker.

My man loves the cut. Very short. But he took one look at the colour and plaintively asked where his flame-haired girl had gone. And I'm a total sucker for plaintive.

The next morning I'm kickin' around the web and I come across this
http://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/beauty/it-pays-to-be-grey-20101201-18ftj.html

Helen Mirren is a sex goddess, so I go and look at this
http://goinggraylookinggreat.com/
and this
http://women.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/women/beauty/article6948640.ece

and I've pretty much decided to see how I can rock the ashes-of-flame look.

Is it all about the cheekbones? Style Hug # 2

Dressing up is a bore. At a certain age, you decorate yourself to attract the opposite sex, and at a certain age, I did that. But I'm past that age.

You either love her or hate her, but there's something about her that makes her compelling. Some say it's those knife-sharp cheekbones, others point to the feisty personality both on and off-screen, and for others it's the no-nonsense New England clipped accent. OK, maybe not the accent - I don't know anyone who liked her voice.

But for me, it's always been her style. Boyish, practical, unapologetic in its androgyny and yet strangely desirable, never detracting from her rather odd beauty.

When she glammed up, it was less about girly frills and more about clean lines and understated elegance with a good dash of dramatic strength in the details.

In fact, she looked awkward in softer, more feminine get-ups. Probably wondering how anyone could play a round of golf in this little number.

And there's something pretty cool about not giving a damn about what people think of your clothing choices and just doing what makes you happy. In a time when society was rather particular about who should wear what, she marched around in her trousers, men's shirts and saddle shoes because it suited her and her active lifestyle. I can't help but admire her self confidence and chutzpah. She didn't dress for the pleasure of other people - she flipped them the sartorial bird and dressed for her own pleasure and comfort and personality. It's a brave position in a competitive and image-conscious world, but not an impossible one to live by.

Next time I'm standing in front of the wardrobe, wondering what's appropriate to wear for the occasion,  I'll rephrase that question into "What's appropriate to wear for me?"

If you obey all the rules you miss all the fun.

Thanks, Kate Hepburn, for being proudly yourself.