Seeing Red

I come from red-headed people. Not Carrot Top redheads, but the russet to auburn spectrum. My mom used to describe my dad’s teenage hair as “like an Irish Setter,” and I had a flame-haired great aunt who was in the roller derby. So, apparently, I come from people with recessive genes who also skate roller derby. Although those might be the same thing. But, I digress. Even my hair, before it rudely developed an inch and a half of gray roots which turn pink if I try to stay red, has always naturally been more auburn than anything else. And I have intentionally gone more vibrantly red at times because I think it suits me. Something about being a red-headed woman sends a message to the world. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had complete strangers remark on an action or statement of mine with some reference to knowing “how redheads are.” And no woman who is trying to blend chooses to go red. Just as studies have shown that women in red get approached more often by men, red hair seems not only to send a signal but emboldens the head it’s on. While being a redhead isn’t always met with social approval, I’m enough of a general oddball that I have always embraced it. And my favorite redhead of literature is Ludwig Bemelmans' little French powerhouse Madeline. She is brave and brassy and as unconventional as a girl from two-straight-lines land can be. Vive la rouge!

http://www.amazon.com/Madeline-Reissue-Ludwig-Bemelmans-Illustrator/dp/0670445800

http://www.madeline.com/