Gay ginger

ImageofAlex Hopkins by Lee Butler

"Ew, he's a freaking ginger!" The slurs had been ongoing for several weeks before I erupted in all my red-haired magnificence. "Yes, well, it is a better option than possessing uninteresting brown hair, the shade of... POO!" I shouted back. That sealed it. Paul and Derek rushed at me, forcing me to the ground, kicking my rucksack and pulling at my hair: "Ew, it even has a strange texture."

And "strange" (or unusual) was constantly how I perceived myself -- from my very earliest years -- singled out not just by my extreme timidness, though, rather by the hue of my locks. The irony (quite a paradox) existed in the fact that what I possessed atop my head rendered me noticeable -- it implied I should be courageous and perilous -- completely the opposite of my anxious disposition and tendency to shed tears anytime my (ginger) mum abandoned me at the gates of the school.

I embodied each and every stereotype linked to redheads (or "GIN-GERS," like the term got voiced afterwards when I started at secondary school, and the mistreatment escalated). My appearance was frail and sallow, I performed poorly at sports, and I lacked friends. Incredibly, the sole redhead characteristic I hadn't acquired was the dreaded freckles.

As I turned eighteen, intense action was deemed essential -- I grabbed for the Nice 'n Easy and made an attempt to transition to brown. Instead, I turned a dark black color. Then also purple. And numerous times a vivid henna. And I didn't even end there. I'd simply uncovered sex, so it appeared purely natural that collars and cuffs were required to correspond. "Who desires to engage in oral sex with the ginger jungle?" the director of Hard on Holiday (my inaugural and sole Ibiza-based porn spectacular) commented. It wasn't until years later, upon revisiting the archive film, that it occurred to me that a jet black bush positioned against alabaster skin doesn't constitute the optimal appearance, particularly when that Celtic skin in question had manifested a vivid chemical-stimulated crimson rash... furthermore, you're required to film an energetic scene inside a profoundly chlorinated jacuzzi the subsequent day.

However, this was normal during my twenties -- during a phase when my red locks represented just one element of my extensive self-dislike. It would require nearly ten years of losing self-worth including integrity -- for the purpose of establishing what I had persuaded myself was "self-esteem" -- prior to my commencing to undertake activities on my own conditions. Acknowledging that the gay commercial setting I had stumbled into stood every bit as cruel and judgmental concerning appearances just like playground tormentors definitely contributed to the facades I felt destined to don.

Nevertheless, during youth, there exist very few extremes that redheads won't go to as a means to alter and even conceal their genetic legacy. Indeed, it was solely whenever my locks initiated receding at twenty-eight that I ceased tinting it, plunging my funds into a long-term Propecia prescription instead. As my age increased, I have come to embrace my looks -- it's ironic, but age has gradually faded the tone of red. We never truly value that which we possess whenever we have it available.

Being both gay and a redhead possesses its own advantages, too -- that's certainly an observation that I never entertained making; indeed, it would be justifiable in stating that I've rarely sensed such high popularity. Colombians may express sentiments like "redheads possess a certain odor," however, I've rarely encountered one who has shunned (so to speak) upon being presented with a fiery red pole. Then as for the Brazilians -- let's just avoid delving into the subject matter! "Oh, Alberto!" Evidently, what could be considered unpleasant for one holds an exotic allure for another. Preferences transform -- we explore different appearances, in the same manner in which we experiment with one another. Anything different from that turns humdrum.

Experimentation represents what I'm currently undertaking -- or "enhancing the redhead's gamble," as a buddy expressed to me just the other week upon scrutinizing the beard-like element that's developing upon my chin. "What spurred you to embark on this?" he inquired. "You've become a member of the beard association." I shrugged my shoulders. "I've never harbored interests in enlisting in any associations. It commenced developing, so I figured I would see what might transpire." Perhaps my actions are compensating for each of those years involving being ashamed of being a ginge -- employing the most conspicuous manner accessible to me -- through a plethora of crimson electrical strands enveloping my mouth, no longer timid including retiring. Will I keep it maintained? Time shall reveal. The only thing that I know can be found in the fact that this instance does not register as 'strange,' and I'd dare anyone to yell out "freaking ginger."

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