An anonymous person submitted the following to me to post, so I figured I'd indulge her:
"My name is Georgia and I’m a fake.
Despite having both maternal and paternal aunts with red hair, I didn’t make the cut and was born with nondescript no-color brown hair that clung to my head like a scraggly shadow. Even as a child, I knew I was in the wrong body. Outshone by other little girls with tousled blonde curls or glossy brunette braids, I hid, despaired, invisible. I knew if I only had a different hair color my life would change. The real me could step out into the World. I wasn’t perky enough to carry off blond. Never sensible enough to be brunette. But red! With red hair I could be vibrant! I could laugh loudly and generously! I could sing! Dance!
So I did it. Those first steps toward titian tresses seemed innocent enough. The dime store was my dealer. Little capsules of auburn dye mixed with water hesitantly combed thru my 12 year old hair, fearing if I left it in too long I’d be caught. Then came those tall plastic bottles of Roux Rinse. Imagine my humiliation when it rained and my auburn highlights washed out in public. The shame.
Obviously my craving for cardinal tones had to be satisfied with higher quality chemicals and imagine my surprise to find my stepmother was a willing enabler, ready to meet me in the kitchen with plastic gloves and a box of Colorsilk. I had made the Choice and knew I’d have to live with it.
Yes, yes, there were times I questioned my decision. When being ‘natural’ was the trend, I swapped out my chemical enhancers for powdered henna leaves. If they were organic then surely was I. In the 90’s I was allowed into the sanctuary of Sally Beauty Supplies where my descent into faux ginger accelerated. Loreal, Clairol, Wella – the call of the sirens. My kitchen chemistry efforts resulted in strawberry blond, plum auburn, apricot frost, even nuclear pink for a few days. But always, always, I was red. My ginger hair described me, freed me, provided the excuse to take risks no medium-brown or ash blond woman would ever consider.
As I’ve matured, I’ve settled into a routine as we all do. Wella 729, 20 percent developer. I entertained the idea of adding a Bonnie Raitt highlight, but thought it would be unfair to her. Bought a wig in Vegas one time when my craving for variety brought me low. But, I’ve stayed faithful to 729.
Still, every 5 weeks I have to face the mirror and own up to the confidence game I’ve been performing for almost 50 years. I am not a true Ginger, I am only an augmented auburn and every day I fear someone (usually taller than me) will look down at my dark roots and call out to the world “Fake!”
So now you know and hopefully understand my deception. Being Ginger has enhanced my life spectacularly, as you natural born Gingers already have experienced. I confess, I took the easy way and have accepted compliments that should have been given to an authentic Ginger. I’ve been weak.
And in all these decades, the only thing I’ve been able to give back to the Ginger Nation is the birth of my redhaired son. Born on a sunny day at noon in May, his firery tufts evident from the moment of his first cry. An Authentic Ginger-American [SIC]
But wait. Does that mean I’ve been harboring Ginger DNA all this time? That while it doesn’t naturally show on my outside, I am in fact a Ginger Breeder?? Oh, the guilt I’ve carried these many years is slipping away! I AM part of the Ginger Nation!
I wonder if I can sing?"
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