Gingembre

When I was eight or nine, my science teacher, whom I idolized, looked with fondness at my copper locks, saying "Habitual, never dye your hair."  This is a hell of a trip to put on a prepubescent girl.  She herself was rocking a salt-and-pepper ponytail that had never seen dye, so I can't say she wasn't practicing what she preached.  Nevertheless, when the onset of adult hormones darkened and dulled my hair a few years later, I started looking for something that would give me that feeling I had when my science teacher looked at me.

What grows out of my head today is a fairly deep greenish-brown with gold and copper highlights.  It's pretty fine in texture, with a smirk-worthy Veronica Lake wave.  Mostly I do nothing with it, not even putting it up unless I feel like it's going to stick to my face or get caught in a thresher or something.  Until quite recently, I was ruthless about burning it with peroxide and getting it all chopped off every month.  I believed it was my enemy. 

It's not difficult to have the wrong kind of hair; there are so many of them.  In my case, I had Nerd Hair.  This style is marked by a disinterest in whatever bullshit products people are currently using on their hair.  Nerd hair can be easily obtained by a scrupulous daily washing with an over-drying shampoo, inattention to dandruff, and a reluctance ever to cut the hair, leading to a gentle taper at the ends.  Mine was limp, yet frizzy, like an ironed cloud. 

The only thing that prevents me from having nerd hair now (debatable!) is henna.  Mashing a paste of this leaf and some acid into my scalp every six months or so gives me the hair I always imagined I had before I looked in the mirror.  I wouldn't be growing it out to this rather absurd length without henna.

My hair now is nice and shiny and silken to the touch, but I'll be damned if I can run my fingers through it.  The henna gives it "body", which as far as I can tell means "a high frictional coefficient". 

I have no pretensions about appearing "natural" (though I do on occasion like to have no roots).  I suppose I have some bias toward a plant-based rather than chemical dye, or a small plucky company over a big evil conglomerate, but what mainly keeps me on the henna is that it is permanent, more than any "permanent" dye or treatment I've heard of.  The color I have on the third day is the color I have on the 300th day. 

So that's why henna, but I feel the more important question is: why red?  When hair color is a choice, it's as good a psychological test as any other costly signal.  If I can simplify the rather complicated sexual politics of women's hair color for a moment here, I'll give you an answer.  Of course the follicles that grow out of your head have no intention, but moving from their color to another (or sticking at a time when everyone else is dyeing) can carry these meanings.

To go blonde is to create yourself as a sexual object: the way you look to a partner will be most important to you when you fuck.  To go brunette is to conceal your sexuality from the public eye, to make yourself a "serious" woman instead of a sexual one.  But to go red is to make yourself a sexual subject, and foreground your own desire.  Like blush, like lipstick, like anger, you're wearing that rush of blood outside for all to see. 

Often I find myself wishing there were subject/red versions of other female signifiers--say, a ginger size of tits.  Oh, also I wish applying henna to long hair by my lonesome wasn't such a bastard--I managed to rip out a whole bunch of hair this time. 

 The red brows, lips and dolly cheeks of this post were inspired by Johanna Öst.