With my photographer’s eye, I walked the streets of Istanbul, always looking into people’s faces for their genetic story- the high cheek bones from the steppes of Asia, the Roman noses from the Greeks, Hittite and Assyrians, the startling green and blue eyes contrasting with olive skin tones.

But for all my great observation skills, it took me several days to realize that I appeared to be the only grey haired woman in all of Istanbul. There were brunettes, black haired beauties, occasional blonds or red heads, and thousands of scarves of every hue. For all the contentious debate about women’s head covering in France, Turkey and other countries struggling with the role of religion in public life, never have I seen a word about the benefits of never having to publicly acknowledge this inevitable sign of aging.