Gingers Unite

If you are a brunette, do you notice other brunettes on the street?
If you are blonde, do you take a second glance at another blonde at a boutique?

Redheads notice other redheads. Or at least I do. And when I see a little baby, or a young child with red locks, I can't help it, I automatically smile.

You see, we are rare. I think I was the only redhead in my classes in elementary school, and there were only a couple more in high school. There's some understanding between redheads. We know how rare we are, and we empathize with each other.

Unlike blondes, who are always purported to "have more fun," are described as "bomb shells," and are sought after as a prize or trophy by many men, redheads are not described in those ways. We aren't a top pick. We're seen as fiery, with quick tempers and strange ways.

And while a brunette can be "exotic" and beautiful, redheads tend to be, almost, feared. That is until we are somehow acceptable again.

We seem to come in and out of fashion like clothing styles. We cycle around every 25 years or so and become the fad.

Our shades of red can be anything from almost blonde to orange and everything in between. Some of us have pale skin, so pale it's almost translucent. Some have freckles so thick it's almost a skin tone, and others of us can actually tan, and do. Some have skin that tans dark, and have auburn hair and eyes to match. Some have green eyes, some have blue. And I read recently that the red hair and blue eyes combo is extremely rare. So if you're one of these, celebrate the unique treasure that you are!

As a redheaded child, I was made fun of, teased and called all sorts of names through high school. Pumpkin head, carrot top, red. Though some of these were tossed out as affectionate nicknames, more often they were a jab. (By the way, a carrot top is green, people. Just sayin'.)

Looking back I find it comforting that I never was tempted to die my hair. I didn't want to change it, even though no one else seemed to like the color. I embraced who I was, and though the name calling hurt my feelings a bit, I let it go, knowing that I was special and they just couldn't see it.

Almost every time I've gotten my hair cut, from the east coast to the west, the hairdresser has commented on my hair color, and how they just can't get that color in a bottle.

So here we are. It's 2014, and a spread in Vogue magazine is celebrating the beauty and mystique of redheads.

We're in again, my fellow gingers!

Enjoy it while it lasts, but when we lose favor don't fret. We've still got each other. If I pass you on the street, in the aisle at the grocery store, or waiting in line at a play, I'll give you that reassuring look of acceptance.