As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a redhead…
When I was 11, there were only a few things I wanted in life: some green frog hairclips from Bow Bangles (now Claire’s Accessories!), Monica and Rachel’s apartment as my own living space (this was 1997) and red hair. Tight corkscrew curls of a deep crimson colour, to be precise.
It didn’t really matter that I was enjoying the last days of real, long blonde hair (I got it all chopped off at 15 and, sadly, it never grew back. Bye bye blonde). All I wanted was that fiery red – because everybody knows, redheads have the best fun of all.
Here is my personal hall-of-fame of beautiful, beautiful hair. Some of it looks like it fell straight out of a pre-Raphaelite painting. Lily Cole makes me feel a little queasy with jealousy for having such heavenly curls (and the winning combination of a slightly deranged Playboy shoot and a double first from Oxford).
Another redhead lover (who maybe takes it a bit too far, in a murdery sort of way) is Jean-Baptiste Grenouille from the film Perfume (2006). This is the girl who starts it all, in the grimy backstreets of Paris:
Thelma and Louise is a tale of not one but two ass-kicking redheads, for which Ridley Scott deserves endless love and admiration. I adore this film in more ways than I can possibly describe. Check out the look on Sarandon’s face – and the two pairs of sunnies. Love it. (Ps: a young Brad Pitt. Nuff said).
I still sort of want to be a redhead, but I worry that I wouldn’t be able to carry to off. Could I ever be cool enough? Would I have to prove that I could flout rules, have a fiesty comeback in any argument, and frequent questionable drinking dens before I was let into the club? I think I’d just look like a faker, to be honest. Oh, to be born that way.