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by Samantha Sanchis
I am a woman with red hair, and by and large that has always worked
out pretty well for me. I wasn’t bullied as a child (protected, I suspect,
by the redhead’s reputation for a violent temper); as I grew older, I
got used to being told my red hair was beautiful, that it meant people
remembered me. I learned to tolerate, when younger, complete strangers
coming up to me to comment upon or even stroke my hair—an
experience common to many redheads, I discover. I came to an early
understanding of how good looks are public property—something the
RED HOT 100 themselves will be familiar with, too—and how hair colour
is both so very personal, yet—whether we like it or not—entirely
public. In my case, the world’s reaction towards my red hair has been to
my advantage. But this whole paragraph might have been worded very
differently had I been born redheaded, but a boy.
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