Tuesday, May 25, 2004
it is a puzzlement...
I’m a redhead?
I’m a redhead.
At least right now I am. And I have been for a few months. Since I had my hair dyed professionally for the first time back in February, I’ve been called a redhead several times. And I just can’t get used to it. I forget that there are people – the people with whom I work – who have never known me as the brunette I have always been, have always considered myself to be, even though I’ve tended to self-dye my hair some shade of red an average of once a year, some colors more vibrant than others. Not because I think I should be a redhead, or I’m terrified of the gray hairs that are slowly making themselves known, but because I just like to have a change of pace and I look much better as a redhead than a blonde. My natural hair color is actually a lovely dark brown, shot through with red (and the ever-spreading gray), so my mind automatically says, “Brunette,” when I think of my hair.
And I think, “Well, technically, since my hair is mostly dark red at this moment in time (if one ignores the brunette roots that are becoming increasingly more obvious), I guess I am a redhead.”
I love having red hair. I really do. Especially when it glints auburn or copper or magenta in the bright sunshine. But how can I reconcile the confusion in my mind when my sales reps, or the reps of my work’s sister company, say things like, “Uh oh, watch out, Carol’s another fiery redhead!”?
I tend to laugh and respond, light sarcasm dripping from my words, “Oh, yeah, this is my real hair color.”
So do let my hair grow out, go back to my natural brunette, the color I’ve always identified with, so that my outside matches my perception of self? Do I stay a redhead, loving molten fire that shimmers and glistens from my scalp?
It is a conundrum.
I’m a redhead.
At least right now I am. And I have been for a few months. Since I had my hair dyed professionally for the first time back in February, I’ve been called a redhead several times. And I just can’t get used to it. I forget that there are people – the people with whom I work – who have never known me as the brunette I have always been, have always considered myself to be, even though I’ve tended to self-dye my hair some shade of red an average of once a year, some colors more vibrant than others. Not because I think I should be a redhead, or I’m terrified of the gray hairs that are slowly making themselves known, but because I just like to have a change of pace and I look much better as a redhead than a blonde. My natural hair color is actually a lovely dark brown, shot through with red (and the ever-spreading gray), so my mind automatically says, “Brunette,” when I think of my hair.
And I think, “Well, technically, since my hair is mostly dark red at this moment in time (if one ignores the brunette roots that are becoming increasingly more obvious), I guess I am a redhead.”
I love having red hair. I really do. Especially when it glints auburn or copper or magenta in the bright sunshine. But how can I reconcile the confusion in my mind when my sales reps, or the reps of my work’s sister company, say things like, “Uh oh, watch out, Carol’s another fiery redhead!”?
I tend to laugh and respond, light sarcasm dripping from my words, “Oh, yeah, this is my real hair color.”
So do let my hair grow out, go back to my natural brunette, the color I’ve always identified with, so that my outside matches my perception of self? Do I stay a redhead, loving molten fire that shimmers and glistens from my scalp?
It is a conundrum.
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United States, California, Los Angeles, San Fernando Valley, English, Carol, Female, 36-40.
