I have never given my hair that much thought before. It’s light brown in colour, pretty straight and average in length and thickness. Other than a questionable fringe that I had cut into it at age 16, it has never given me much cause for concern, nor have I ever considered how my hair could impact the way others perceive me or even the way I perceive myself. Surely identity is wrapped up in your thoughts, opinions and actions, and the relationship that they have to the rest of the world? Surely, something as simple as hair colour could not have the power to clout this?
As I pulled into the small seaside village of Crosshaven, Co Cork, one rainy weekend in August, I very quickly discovered that the redheads of the world would strongly disagree. For one weekend a year, Crosshaven is transformed from a quaint coastal village to a bustling celebration of all things ginger, much to the delight of the redheads of the world and the village locals. Unbeknownst to me, the Irish Redhead Convention, in aid of the Irish Cancer Society, is one of many festivals worldwide that proudly celebrates the rarest hair colour in the world, supported by only between one and two per cent of the population worldwide. They include, among others, the Ginger Pride Rally in Melbourne, Australia; the Redhead Days in Breda, The Netherlands; the National Meeting of Natural Redheads in Porto Alegre, Brazil; and, indeed, the Irish Redhead Convention in Cork, Ireland.
“Oh, you’re down for the redhead festival then?”, an elderly lady on the 9am train from Dublin to Cork asked in response to my mutterings about my plans for the day whilst pulling a scone from her handbag and waiting on the tea trolley to arrive. Clearly, I was missing a trick. In its six years of running, the festival had gained far more recognition than I had previously assumed, a recognition that extended for miles beyond the limits of a tiny seaside village. Noting the Irish Redhead Convention posters that filled the windows of shops and houses on the taxi ride from the station to the village, our taxi driver (in a thick but melodious Cork accent) happily gave us an introduction to how the festival has grown over the past number of years, explaining how he now drove organisers, volunteers, traders and performers alike to the festival, a testament to the numbers that the event was expecting to attract this weekend. Driving along the winding road that traced Cork harbour, we noticed the space between posters abating, the number of window boxes filled with fresh flowers increasing and a flurry of luminous activity in sight. Pulling into the village, I was immediately struck by the sheer volume of redheads that surrounded me. For the first time in my life, my brown hair was in the minority. While simultaneously getting out of the car and wondering what I had gotten myself in for, our driver pointed to a crowded building just across the road and said: “Best ol’ craic will be in the bar over there, Cronin’s!”. We thanked him and assured him that we would definitely keep his advice in mind.
Pulling into the village, I was immediately struck by the sheer volume of redheads that surrounded me. For the first time in my life, my brown hair was in the minority.
Almost immediately, it became evident why so many people had decided to venture down south to this remote seaside village. Nestled in the Cork Harbour estuary with views overlooking Currabinny Woods, it was far from difficult to understand how this former fishing village had grown to be so popular with tourists, and indeed, why it had been chosen as the home of the convention. With its small independent shops, vast surrounding green fields and views of Cork Harbour, which were interrupted only by colourful sailboats, this village was like something off a postcard. Even on a day that was clearly trying its best to be sunny despite the showers, this place was truly gorgeous. I found it remarkable how that feeling of being on your summer holidays could be only a short train journey away, and I was instantly reminded of summers spent holidaying around Ireland as a child. Noticing the sheer volume of young families around me, I was delighted to see that this kind of tradition still stands. But this was certainly not your average trip to the seaside, and as we waded through crowds of redheaded families to find the registration point, this fact became especially apparent. Seemingly, I was outnumbered.
The main festival area was already rife with activity. The music that played from the mainstage of the festival (or “Foxygen” as it was formally known) could be heard throughout the various stations of the event, which included a “Ginger Speed Dating” area, a ginger sheep shearing site known as “Red Shearin” and Jörg Köste open-air ginger portrait studio. We were greeted at the “REDistration” by a number of volunteers, who helped us sign in and presented us with our brightly orange coloured Irish Redhead Convention goodie bags (which we would later delightfully discover could be conveniently folded down into the shape of a carrot). Much to my dismay, I failed to receive a “Certificate of Genuine Foxiness”, unlike my redheaded photographer, and was forced instead to settle for a programme of events and a can of Fanta. Evidence of the growth of the festival was visible through the large number of volunteers that were seen to be running to the event, who, like the attendees, had often travelled from afar to be involved in the day. But while one German volunteer had planned her tour of Ireland around the festival, another Crosshaven local had simply been “roped in” by the festival’s organiser, Joleen Cronin, who seemed to be something of a local celebrity.
Glancing through the programme, it seemed that although it was only lunchtime, we had already missed out on some of the day’s highlights. The Saturday had begun with a 6.30am swim and bird watching activities, which were followed later in the day by orange lawn bowling, a tug of war between redheads and non-redheads and a redheads-only Céilí. Throughout the day, a series of competitions were also running, with prizes for the longest red hair, the greatest ginger beard and the most freckles per square inch, ending with a crowning of a new ginger king and queen. Now violently protesting that there were definitely red tones to be found in my brown hair, we wandered over to the community centre, where an Irish Redhead Seminar was about to begin with author of RED: A Natural History of the Redhead, Jacky Colliss Harvey.
Throughout the day, a series of competitions were also running, with prizes for the longest red hair, the greatest ginger beard and the most freckles per square inch, ending with a crowning of a new ginger king and queen.
Lining the walls of the community centre was an exhibition of Jörg Köster’s redhead photography, displaying a beautiful array of proud redheads, from tiny babies to elderly couples, perfectly setting the scene for the seminar that was about to begin. “If you’re going to have a redhead convention, it really should be in Ireland”, Colliss Harvey began. I was curious as to how this natural association of redheads and Ireland had formed. If redhair is a worldwide phenomenon, why is it that one often naturally assumes that it is sitting on the head of an Irish person?
Tracing the history of red hair and redheadedness throughout the world, Harvey followed the prehistoric journey of the redhead gene out of Africa, to the ancient world, all the while dispelling the classic misconceptions of redheadedness of the time, including their being either barbarous or fiery tempered. Through an occurrence known as genetic drift, these redheaded genes and their accompanying fallacies settled in the Celtic Belt, primarily in Scotland and Ireland. Harvey then analysed misconceptions of those with red hair during the Renaissance as an indicator of Jewishness during the inquisition or the most attractive look in Protestant England, where it was made notable to many by Henry VIII and Elizabeth I. However, Irish redheadedness was still distasteful to many during this time and continually fed into the perception of the Irish as a people that were ferocious and barbaric, who could not fit into the English way of life. But in what Harvey described as a 16th Century Wikipedia of Ireland and England, Raphael Holinshed’s Holinshed Chronicles (1577) described the Irish as being proud of their great bushes of hair. It was this pride and allure of the redhead that would later be celebrated in literature and art, from the “Yahoos” of Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels (1726) to Gustave Courbet’s Jo, La Belle Irlandaise (1866).
Harvey then moved forward to look at the changing perceptions of redheads in Hollywood, beginning with the original “It Girl”, Elinor Glyn, The Quiet Man’s Maureen O’Hara, then jumping forward to “The Thinking Man’s Leprechaun”, Conan O’Brien, and perhaps the most famous redhead of all, Ed Sheeran, all of whom are connected by holding a pair of chromosomes 16 or 4 and their continued efforts to change the way redheads are perceived.
“So are we dying off or what?”, one redheaded audience member finally called out. The eloquent Harvey responded with a laugh and solid “no”. By taking a look around at the redheaded crowd that had filled the community centre that afternoon, it was certain that there was no fear of that.
On our return to the village square, we decided to take our taxi driver’s advice and make a quick detour to Cronin’s pub, where I instantly knew that we would struggle to find a seat. The bar and adjoining outdoor area were already crowded with redheads, merrily chatting away and enjoying the live music on offer. But Cronin’s wasn’t the only local business benefitting from the influx of tourists that weekend, with Trisha Emery from IMIJ Hair Salon just up the road later commenting that: “It’s fantastic to see so many people being brought into the town. In the weeks running up to the festival everyone is definitely more conscientious, the flowers are out and all the rest. It’s fantastic to see so many people in the village, and for a very good reason.”
It was here in Cronin’s that I managed to get talking to Barry Singleton, founder of an event that I had unfortunately missed earlier that day – The MOGO Awards (Music of Ginger Origin). Singleton explained to me that the MOGO’s had formed a few years ago, in a jovial response to Sheeran’s winning of numerous MOBOs (Music of Black Origin). “About four years ago, Sheeran won loads of MOBO awards, and there was a bit of a backlash against it because, well, he’s not black. I thought that was quite curious, I’m quite interested in prejudice, race and discrimination and those kinds of things. So there was kind of a serious undertone to it, and I just thought, why doesn’t somebody do the Ginger Music Origin awards? … It’s a little bit tongue in cheek, not at all serious, and then somebody said, why don’t you actually do the awards?”. Singleton, a proud redhead himself, took this advice and used his involvement with Redhead Day UK in Manchester to promote the awards, later bringing them to London, and indeed, to Crosshaven. “Who knows where it will be next year, it could be LA!”.
Being a redhead in the music industry is a good thing. It makes you different. It’s a talking point, you stand out a bit more, and you know, red pops in a photo which is good for the promo.
This year, with awards for Best Ginger Newcomer, Best Irish Ginger Musician and Best Ginger Male/Female Musician among others. The likes of Orla Gartland, Jess Glynn, Gavin James and Annie Lennox found themselves on the shortlist with multiple MOGO winner, Sheeran. However, it seems that Singleton has had some difficulty in reaching the two-time Grammy winner and multi-platinum album selling artist to give him his MOGOs. “I tried to get #GetEdHisMogo trending, because you’ve got Ed Sheeran Brazil and Croatia and all of these other places, and they all got onboard. I even rang his management company, and I turned up on his management company’s door, but they weren’t having it. He’s gone and won again this year, but it seems he has bigger fish to fry.”
However, winner of Best Irish Ginger Musician and Best Ginger Female, Gartland had personally come to Crosshaven to collect her awards and to perform on the Foxygen stage. “I’m excited to perform for my people”, the redheaded, Dublin-born singer/songwriter commented with a laugh. Discussing her recent MOGO award for Best Irish Ginger Musician, Gartland was sceptical: “I would have given that one to Gavin James. He was nominated. All it would have taken would have been a little tweet from Gav.” And on her Best Ginger Female award, the humble Gartland assessed her achievement: “So I won over Jess Glynn and Annie Lennox, no big deal … But also I may have completely rigged it because I was the only one who drew any attention to it online.” Who knows? It did seem evident, however, that the young musician had a very clear understanding of what it meant to be a young ginger artist in the music industry today. “Being a redhead in the music industry is a good thing. It makes you different. It’s a talking point, you stand out a bit more, and you know, red pops in a photo which is good for the promo. You can also milk the Irish thing in the States a bit.”
This was not Gartland’s first encounter with Crosshaven and the Irish Redhead Convention. It was in 2014 that Gartland first received an email from Cronin, inviting her down to the event. From her previous experiences, Gartland did not hesitate to return when asked back again this year. “It’s very grassroots. There are 70 volunteers, and it’s all basically organised and co-ordinated by Joleen, she’s the best”, she tells me. “Even in the interim, she was always keeping in touch, always chatting away on Twitter. It’s not ‘we’ll get in touch when we need you’, but instead very consistent. Which is why when they asked me back, I was like … no-brainer.” It is this sense of community that I was really beginning to grasp, giving me a greater understanding of the festival’s appeal. For Gartland, as a performer, it seemed that it was this environment that she was only too happy to be a part of. “I’ve played so many gigs that are very serious, where everything is always about what stage you’re going to be on or how long you’re going to get for your set, if you’re going to have a band. There are always just so many things to think about, whereas here, the atmosphere is very chilled out and enjoyable. Because it’s not primarily a music festival, I find that actually more fun to play, because people really appreciate music when they’re not there for it directly.” Evidently, this would not be the last time that Gartland made the journey to Crosshaven.
In the centre of the village square, a collection of tiny redheads had gathered around what seemed to me a Disney princess of sorts – a lady with long red locks, a dainty crown and a welcoming smile.
Wandering back to the Foxygen mainstage from Cronin’s, I noticed that even more redheads had arrived to celebrate their tresses. Never before had I seen so many happy, little freckled faces in one place. In the centre of the village square, a collection of tiny redheads had gathered around what seemed to me a Disney princess of sorts – a lady with long red locks, a dainty crown and a welcoming smile. This was no Disney princess but instead 2015’s Ginger Queen, Cork native Grainne Kenna. I watched as she happily stopped to talk with a gathering of young children who seemed to be in awe of her, gazing up at this figure who wore her red hair with pride, cheerfully posing for photographs with them and even shared her crown. It was easy to see why last year’s judges had chosen Kenna to be one of the festival’s main ambassadors over the past year.
Kenna later told me that she had heard about the festival through its partnership with the Irish Cancer Society. “Each and every year I hear the Irish Cancer Society discussing the Irish Redhead Convention because obviously having red hair you have fair skin and freckles and you’re more prone and susceptible to sunburn and even skin cancer, so it was through that that I became aware of the festival itself.” Chatting to Kenna made me realise the very important reasoning behind the festival, and from then on I became more aware of the Irish Cancer Society volunteers that were graciously collecting money for the cause around the festival and the Irish Redhead Convention merchandise stand that was also supporting the charity.
Kenna also explained to me how being the Ginger Queen of the festival meant more than just promoting the festival and its cause throughout the year. Part of her responsibilities as queen was “to allow anybody out there, especially the younger generations, to realise that growing up with red hair is an asset, which is beautiful and something you should be very proud to have, because it represents your country, your culture and who you are. Of course it’s your physical identity, but it means a lot more than that, and that’s what should be cherished.” In the final few hours of her reign, Kenna had helped me understand the true essence of the festival, just in time for a new king and queen to be crowned.
As the awards for the 2016 competitions were distributed, we saw the award for Furthest Travelled Redhead go to a young woman called Hannah Joseph from Melbourne, Australia and the award for the Most Porcelain Skin go to a Molly Murphy from Ebbw Vale, Wales. With awards for the Best Redhead Family and the Redhead Bonny Baby Award following, it was a pleasure to see how much everyone at the ceremony seemed to be enjoying themselves, redheaded onlookers and award winners alike. The crowd in the square continued to grow, as children were pulled onto their parents’ shoulders and photographers searched for better views of the stage, and I suddenly realised that we were now gearing up to crown this year’s redhead royalty. The coveted positions were given to Alan O’Neill and Emma Ní Chearúil, who indeed boasted some glorious red hair, fit only for king and queen.
As the ceremony drew to a close, I noticed another kind of redheaded royalty making her way through the crowd towards me and was delighted to pin down Cronin. Overseeing the festival’s development since its launch in 2011, it was certain that Cronin had a lot to be proud of, even if the role did prove quite demanding at times. Beginning her day at 6am to join the swimmers and birdwatchers, it was clear that the work had now been done. Cronin was intent on getting the most out of this weekend: “I mean, I’ve been running around like a headless chicken, but everything is going incredibly smoothly.”
In seeing the festival grow over the past number of years, it now seemed to mean more to Cronin than she could have ever initially anticipated. “When we started out, I had no idea what it meant to people, and I hadn’t really thought about what it meant to me. Suddenly, people were asking if I was bullied as a child or if I felt somehow different, and I wasn’t. I was just like, ‘you know what, I’ve got red hair’. I was kind of more worried about it being a bit frizzy! The event has opened my eyes to what red hair means to people. Especially in terms of the sense of pride that it gives people and the confidence that it gives people too.” Looking around at the number of children at the event, it was easy to see who was benefiting from this boost the most. “A lot of parents come to me and tell me how the event has made a difference in their kid’s life, how they didn’t feel tremendous about having red hair and then you come to something like this and suddenly, you can feel very special because of it.”
A lot of parents come to me and tell me how the event has made a difference in their kid’s life, how they didn’t feel tremendous about having red hair and then you come to something like this and suddenly, you can feel very special because of it.
Giving a child the opportunity to celebrate something that may otherwise make them unhappy is a very commendable act in my eyes, but still, the festival faces challenges when looking to the future. “Really, the event needs to be financially invested in. It’s literally run on a shoestring, it’s not even funny like how little money goes into this and how far you have to make it stretch. We just rely entirely on volunteers and people’s good will towards the event. I really believe that the event has got so much more potential to grow and to develop and to be nurtured, but it just needs a little bit of support.” Seeing the enjoyment that Cronin’s work had given to so many young families that weekend, you could not help but wish her all the luck in the world. Not only did she deserve to see the festival flourish but so too did the many tiny redheaded humans that made it so special.
With the awards well and truly finished and a new monarchy now instated, it was time for the parade. “If anyone who is not a natural ginger could stand on the side and cheer us, that would be great!”, I heard from afar. It seemed that Cronin had got her hands on a megaphone. As the new King and Queen of the Redheads positioned themselves in an open-top 1950s Triumph at the front of the parade, the Carrigaline Pipe Band readied themselves for their march around the village. All the while, a crowd of redheads were gathering behind, happily waiting for the march to begin and cheekily waving at their non-redheaded family members who were lining the roads and waiting for them to pass. When the bagpipes suddenly started to play and the march began, redheaded faces young and old instantly lit up with delight. As they happily walked along to the beat of the pipe band’s drum, the reasons for this festival’s success suddenly seemed so simple.
There is nothing extravagant about a mini music festival, nothing excessive about crowning a king and queen and certainly nothing exorbitant about marching around a village. This festival is not loved for its flamboyance but instead cherished for its simplicity. By not taking itself too seriously, it invites its guests to do the same, and in doing so, the event celebrates difference in the most perfect way. The sense of fun that permeates the festival breaks through any doubt that one may have about that which makes them different and helps them replace these doubts with a sense of pride. Indeed, it would seem that there is a lot to be learned from carrot tossing championships and redheaded tug of war tournaments after all. As I cheered and clapped for the redheads that passed me by, it dawned on me that what had seemed daft a few hours ago now seemed completely acceptable. Still absolutely daft, of course, but daft in the most glorious of ways.
