By Carol Daly
I don’t think I’ll ever forgive my mother for forcing me to get all those “pixie” hair cuts when I was a five year old—My bangs were so short they almost stood up like a punk hair cut. Many of my little friends had gorgeous long hair that I envied. My mother believed that short haircuts were practical, more manageable and looked good on me. And to top it off my hair was red. Not the fire engine red that screams at you but strawberry blond. Still it was red and it was short. To make matters worse my two older brothers spent all of their spare time coming up with ways to tease me and the red hair was included in their rants, to me, the object of their endless teasing.
When you are eight years old, waiting for your figure to take shape and have a mother who cuts your hair in a pixie and has been doing so since you were five, the situation isn’t getting any better. The boys call you freckle face and you wish you could bleach off all of those cities of freckles that are stained on your face arms legs and everywhere. You’re completely screwed. They are with you for life.
By 11 years old I’m going to “The Bagel Shop” every day concealing my Catholic School uniform as best I can to see some of the cute guys. This enormous factory produced the most delicious bagels to be shipped all over the state. You could watch them, mesmerized, being made from start to finish on those block long rollers going in and out of the oven. One guy in the shop would call me “Big Red” and I wasn’t quite sure if that’s a good thing or a weird thing. I didn’t mind the “Red” but I was dismayed by the “Big”. I wasn’t big and began to feel like the odd girl out. I also knew it was delivered affectionately and by the cutest guy in the shop. Having the red hair is definitely different and sometimes weird but it’s gotten me some attention.
At 12 or 13 years of age, my brother’s friend’s think I’m cute and so maybe the red hair is not all that bad. Still, I had a “black duck” complex and so I attracted and I channeled all that into compassion for other “black ducks”. For example I befriended Charlotte, who had long red banana curls and a tic that made her snort continuously. She didn’t realize she snorted and when we had a fight I would remind her of what I was enduring as her friend. Still, we were best friends and I had a big Italian dinner at her house almost every Sunday without fail.
As I got older I began to like my red hair, especially since the color was not too bright. So, what was a nuisance and embarrassment as a child gradually became an asset. I was proud of my red hair and appreciative of my grandfather who was the only one in the family who was a strawberry blond! Everyone else had dark blond hair and there were perhaps a few red haired genes on my father’s side.
For all I’ve endured and experienced, I’ve learned over the years that there are some myths about redheads that I would like to dispel here and now.
Myth #1: Most redheads dye their hair. Perhaps “I Love Lucy” is to blame, as everyone knew she dyed her hair and tried to lie about it. Some people do dye their hair and you can always tell by looking at the eyebrows. A true redhead has matching light colored eyebrows. My cousin who knows me all of my life commented a few months ago that I was able to find a great color and that my hair was very natural looking. “I don’t dye my hair,” I said and I she said “really now, is that true”?
Myth #2: We are just like everyone else inside. Wrong. We are highly sensitive people with a low threshold for pain and FEEL EVERYTHING. A trip to the dentist is an ordeal and we must have a good massage chair and a dentist with the right chair-side manner. How many shots of Novocain does it take to numb a redhead? Incalculable.
Myth #3: We are comfortable with our red hair. This is a double-edged sword. We can love our red haired uniqueness and we can envy our brown haired sisters who highlight and change the color of their hair as often as they like. Do you know only 4% of the US population are natural redheads?
Myth #4: We look good in red. Redheads don’t look good in red, ever. I was once at culture festival and asked to be emcee for an evening post dinner performance at one of the conferences held within the festival. I agreed but I had no formal attire to host such an event. Shoes and a dress were quickly purchased and the dress, you guessed it was bright red! That is the only time I have worn red. It’s just not attractive to look like a fire-engine.
Recently there is much in the news about the Brazilian keratin treatment and its harmful effects as formaldehyde is used in the treatment. Salons are in a frenzy to find alternative treatments including quinoa protein, olive oil, guar gum and a host of other supposedly less toxic ingredients. My straight red hair has enabled me to avoid the entire coloring and straightening regimens and I am ultimately happy as a “strawberry blond.”
Today as a redhead, I have a few gray hairs in my eyebrows, but none so far on my head. When they come I will welcome them gracefully as a bit of natural highlighting.
