That Awkward Moment When Your Hair Is Orange

It was easy. My blonde, flawless ringlets effortlessly bounced up and down everywhere I went. I didn’t even have to try. Being a kid was easy- no worries, no responsibilities, no cares. And hey, life is fun when everyone thinks you’re adorable. My elementary school career was as carefree as my curls. You wouldn’t expect one year to make that much of a difference, but once you enter 6th grade, you are bound to get struck by the middle school curse. Some people walk into the room of puberty and come back out looking like a twenty-year-old centerfold. But myself… well, let’s just say the Ginger Gods finally found someone to pick on.  

That perfect world I once knew of blonde curls was shaved away with a razor blade and replaced by an entirely new world that was red, frizzy, and hard to manage. I wasn’t like the other girls who could just roll out of bed in the morning and be ready to go with their straight, brown hair. It was hard. I was different, and I didn’t know how to handle it. This wasn’t just a physical change. I started to get more insecure, nervous, and anxious. I was scared that my hair wasn’t up to the standards set by five-foot-tall girls in Abercrombie skirts and Sperry's. The only thing I wanted, like all other seventh graders, was to fit in. However, this was really challenging when you looked like Merida from the movie Brave. While most of my friends were experimenting with their styles and cliques, I was experimenting with hair products. Mousse, gel, cream- you fucking name it. I bought it all. I would have done anything to make my hair look normal.

Looking back, I realize that the stages of my hair ran parallel with the way I grew up and the person I turned out to be. In high school, I grew into myself. What I thought was a curse actually made me the confident person I am today. I have to be loud and proud to out-stage my hair, anyway. My hair defines me. It makes me unique. I matured when I realized that I don’t want to be like everybody else. Nowadays, everyone tries desperately to stand out, while my frizzy, red curls do all the work. Take that, Ginger Gods.