A woman’s hair can say many things. It can speak volumes about beauty and sex, power and desire. It can be playful or woebegone. Do its best to attract attention or help its owner blend into the woodwork.
My hair? Has been known to do all of these things.
For most of high school, it was fairly nondescript. Whether short or long, its dishwater blonde locks clung to my down turned face and cowered around my stooped shoulders. But as I came into my own, it gained more personality, sporting golden highlights and glorious curls.
In college, it suffered from an identity crisis. At times it was dark and goth. At others, it mimicked the sparkling blondness of the cheerleading crowd. But when I was feeling most like myself? It was red. Glorious, unforgettable red.
It’s impossible to hide with red hair. No matter where you go, or how you’re dressed, you stand out a little bit.
Red hair says certain things about you. It hints that you’re a little bit hot-tempered. A woman not to be messed with. Someone with the soul of a firecracker, and in possession of a great deal of passion.
It forces you to stand straighter. Meet people’s eyes. Walk around with an attitude of, “yeah, that’s right, I’m right here, buddy. You got a problem with that?”
Most often, the answer is no.
So, if you see me, take note of my hair color. If it’s brown, blonde, or some variation thereof? You can be relatively sure that I’m feeling pretty mellow, and not in the mood to make waves.
But if it’s red? Regardless of whether it’s long and curled or short and sassy, you’d do best to watch your step. I am ready to take on the world—and I don’t take kindly to those who stand in my way.