Being a Ginger

So for my advanced comp class we had to write a personal essay, and so i decided to write it on being a redhead. i'm not extremely satisfied with the ending, and i struggled a lot with a good way to end it. anyhoo, enjoy it.

On July 24, 2007, a group of about fifty redheads banded together in front of a Wendy’s fast food restaurant in protest of their logo, which they claimed does not represent redheads well. “GIVE WENDY SOME PIGMENT!” resounded through the streets; the passionate redheads protested their seemingly important cause. One redhead pointed to the logo and explained their shouts to an onlooker: “That is not what a redhead looks like, my friend.”

Upon viewing this protest on the internet, I was exceedingly aggravated with the redheads. “Like they need to bring any more attention to themselves,” I thought. “I can’t believe how ridiculous they’re being. They’re making redheads look weird!”

I am allowed to hold such strong feelings against the protest for good reason: the color of my hair is red. Although, the color of my hair is not really red; it is more like ginger or copper. It is not red, although I am commonly referred to by friends as “Red” or “Redhead.” Perhaps a change of nickname is in order.

But I have a confession to make.

I hold a slight prejudice towards some of my fellow redheads: I have never been attracted to redheaded males. This is mostly because I shudder to think of all the comments we could receive in simply walking down the street together. “Aww, what a cute redheaded couple!” No, it’s not cute. I don’t make comments about you because you both have brown hair!

I know that our audience would make comments for a fact because I have already experienced it in different settings. When I was around eight years old, my cousin, sister and I went out with my uncle and aunt. Of course we are the only members of our family who have red hair, and it was just the five of us. Old women began exclaiming about how we were such a cute redheaded family. Japanese people began snapping pictures of us. The word redhead was being thrown around as though we were not even there. I was honestly embarrassed at the reaction that we received from the crowd. I suppose I hadn’t realized how rare my breed is.

You see, these prejudices of mine are a result of our society. I have never minded being in the extremely small minority of redheads until the remaining population feel the need to make comments to me. I wonder how many times I’ve been asked if I’m Irish. “No,” is my response. “I have absolutely no Irish in me. But I guess you’re Chinese because you have dark hair.” Those asking don’t know how to respond to this, and I believe they begin to realize the foolishness of their thinking. I also tend to be questioned about whether I have a fiery temper. There is no better way to incite a fierce response than to be incessantly asked that absurd, disrespectful question. My reaction is not often consistent with my reply—my eyes widen and my nose scrunches as I belt out a piercing “NO! I DO NOT HAVE A FIERY TEMPER!” Generally, my questioner laughs at my response, under the impression that I’m making a joke.

Last year I was speaking with a fellow redhead about such comments as these, and she began to educate me about why we have red hair, and I was informed that we are both results of genetic mutations. She explained to me that hair and skin color are results of different types of melanin, and when there are two mutated genes, the product is a redhead. As a result of this conversation, my answer to where I got my red hair from has changed. “My parents both have brown hair, but I guess they both have this mutated gene that makes red hair. And apparently there’s only a one-in-four chance of having a redhead, but they have two redheads, so I guess that mutation was pretty strong!”

But I do not mind being a genetic mutation; I have in fact enjoyed being able to dress up like famous redheads such Anne of Green Gables or Ginny Weasley. I enjoy the uniqueness that it brings me, and how I can receive very pleasant compliments because of it. Sometimes random strangers begin talking to me because I have red hair, and I love having the opportunity to talk to new people.

However, I detest the redheaded stereotypes that I discussed. When I was younger, schoolmates would sometimes associate me with Pepper Ann, a redheaded cartoon character. Any comments implying that I was Pepper Ann were always greeted with an I-can’t-believe-you-really-just-said-that-scowl and some harsh words. I also was associated with Raggedy Ann and Anne of Green Gables, which leads me to believe that there is some conspiracy in which all ginger-haired characters must have the name Ann. I dislike that in being a redhead, it is hard to get away with a lot: I am not able get free things twice because I am easily recognized. I dislike that people can’t always keep their mouths closed about my hair. I dislike that I would be automatically associated with those protesters outside of Wendy’s.

I found out later that the Wendy’s protest was just a joke and realized the funniness of the situation. It would be so unusual to see so many gingers at one time in the same place. Perhaps the best part of the hair color is the uniqueness that it brings you, even if stereotypes are attached to it.