A week or two ago someone asked me (as she was drawing blood from my arm), "Did you used to hate your hair when you were younger?" And I answered truthfully, "No, never, I have received anything but compliments." The nurse then proceeded to tell me that she had a redheaded niece and nephew and that she thought redheaded children were the cutest. I had heard of redheaded kids getting made fun of, but, as I was assured, they were the "freaky looking ones" with huge hair, green eyes, excessive freckles, pale skin, red eyebrows, etc.
And I, with "normal" skin, dark brown eyes, brown eyelashes and wavy hair, was not one of these real redheaded children. I was, rather than a "gingerkid," a proud "daywalker." (South Park anyone?)
I was also recently asked by a friend, "Did you get made fun of because of your hair?" No. Never. It wasn't even on the radar. All I have ever gotten was "Oh my god, I love your hair!" And also, recently, "Oh yeah, he has a thing for redheads." The antithesis of being made fun of, if you ask me!
There was one time when I was maybe 10, I was at the pool and I suddenly realized that all these people only see me with a cap and/or wet hair. Maybe I should take my time getting in today to make sure everyone sees I have red hair. Because they probably don't realize I have red (or should I call it orange?) hair. So I kind of strutted my stuff across the pool deck before my coach yelled at me to get in the water. Mission accomplished!
Once, I was at Charles Street Market at around 2 a.m. with my dark-haired friend who was talking with a friend of hers. He's in a fraternity and yes, he was drunk (Not to stereotype). I said something, and he responded to my comment with, "Yeah, listen to Big Red." Big Red! I didn't realize I was the big red type. Oh man. Talk about stereotyping! I mean, my Hebrew teachers called me 'gingi' (GIN-gee) in class, but it was endearing and I felt positively special. Now this guy was putting a label to me because of one comment and the color of my hair?
For the first time ever in my life. I actually thought, "What if I were a little brunette?" They seem ... well, they seem to have all of the fun. And then today I thought "maybe I should dye my hair blonde." I then proceeded to search for pictures of Lindsay Lohan to decide if red really was the best color for her. I was dismayed to realize I find her prettier as a brunette. I obsessed over what color looked best on a natural redhead for far too long. And then I thought, wow, I need a life. Ashamedly, and probably none the wiser, I closed the window on my computer.
Regardless, the past week or two has been filled with unprecedented, existential, self-reflection: I always knew I was a redhead, but it didn't just process like it has recently. I searched Wikipedia for "redhead" last night, and I came up with all sorts of associations I had never heard before: Redheads are hot tempered. Redheads are promiscuous. Redheads need more anesthesia than either blondes or brunettes do. Thomas Jefferson was a redhead. So was Elizabeth I. She was the one who didn't wish to make windows out of men's souls. She ushered in an era of religious compromise. Right? So that's good.
Debra Messing is a redhead. A Jewish readhead! And Disney seems to appreciate redheads: Look at Ariel, and now, Enchanted's Princess Giselle. (And they both have light eyes, compared with my "normal" dark brown ones and brown eyebrows and eyelashes.)
Redheads look good in emerald green. Redheads either tolerate more or less pain, depending on which crazy study you look at. How do you get a redhead to argue with you? Say something. Redheads were seen as the sign of the devil. Redheads were seen as magical and enchanted.
Apparently, nothing conjures such a strong gut reaction, either positive or negative, as red hair. It gave the author a "warm glow," as she called it.
All of these connotations, both positive and negative had my head reeling. Such special attention given to my hair color? A whole redhead culture? But I've always just been ... me. With my friends. Doing whatever we do.
The point is, redheads are a group, a community. And as weird as it may seem, I am one of them. And then I thought, did I need a few years to be self-conscious about my hair and then come to appreciate it. If so, would I have developed an ever deeper pride in my hair color? Would that have enhanced my life somehow, or eased the disappointment of not being able to wear most shades of pink?
You know what? Probably not. If I were teased about my hair? It might have made me self-conscious or defensive or something. I'm perfectly content with compliments.
I'm still trying to work out how I feel about this new concept of redhead identity. I'm not sure if there really is anything to work out, or if there should be. But here's what I have figured out: I'm a redhead, darn it. But why am I telling you that? You probably noticed that already.
