I’ve spent the majority of my life being transformed. It’s the nature of being a model. When I look in the mirror, it’s so hard for me to describe how I look.
I’m a funny-looking pale redhead. I don’t look in the mirror and say, Oh, my God, that’s a supermodel. I often have a little chuckle to myself, like, How have I been able to wing this for so long?
When someone first asked me to model, a girl who was my neighbor started laughing and said, Well, you’re not exactly an oil painting, are you?
I was actually more blond when I was a kid. A strawberry blond. I have a fraternal twin, and she’s gorgeous. My sister should have been the supermodel, not me. She has olive skin and brown hair and gets a tan.
When I was 18, I started dyeing my hair bright red. It happened when I worked with the photographer Steven Meisel on my first Italian Vogue cover. It took Meisel to mine me out. The hairdresser, Ward, dyed my hair and gave me this little punky bob. When I looked in the mirror it was the first time in my life that I was like, This is me. The inner became the outer. And I kind of ran with it.
I was teased for having ginger hair when I was a kid, but I’ve amped it up, and I’ve made it brighter. All the things people made fun of, weirdly, have been the things that have catapulted my career.
Karl Lagerfeld took me under his wing. He loved my pale skin, red hair, and how I was more unusual than some of the models he’d worked with. Chanel did a press release after a campaign I did with them, and it was Karl explaining that I look like an alien and I’m a mutant from another planet. Anyone who knows Karl knows it was said with great love. I knew he loved the way I looked, and he was championing that. It was like, You look like this sort of otherworldly alien-like creature. The British press can be pretty scathing. I’m from the wrong side of the tracks. And that was the story, the poor working-class ugly girl has now become a big Chanel model, and if there’s hope for her, there’s hope for all of us. That was difficult. That made me super insecure when I was younger.
I remember after cutting my hair and shaving my eyebrows off, I had this extreme look. All the good people—Meisel, Pat McGrath—got it. But I would go on shoots, and people would say, You’re never going to make it. You’re just going to be a flash in the pan. Or, You’re weird looking, you’re ugly. And I had to really come to terms with that, that I’m not for everyone. The older I get, the happier I am about that.
A year ago, I was more into having fiery-red hair. Now, I’m a more natural, coppery color; it’s more summery. I see Marwa Bashir in Nashville once every two months.
I would be an absolute mess if I didn’t wear sunscreen every day. I am a sunscreen-aholic. The first thing I do every morning is put on a factor of 40 or 50. I’m not going to get a golden tan. I just get bright red—my skin feels like it’s on fire.
I’m vain enough that I’m glad I’ve worn sunscreen, because I’ve seen what the sun has done to people who haven’t. I wear it simply because I don’t want to get burned. And the after-effect is, lucky me! But the pursuit of looking young is just exhausting.
Do I fit the stereotypical, vivacious Jessica Rabbit–type redhead? No, maybe not. But I definitely think I’m more of a Pre-Raphaelite ginger.
There’s the Sylvia Plath poem about rising out of the ash with her red hair and eating men. There’s a uniqueness to being a redhead and standing out in a way that isn’t too audacious. In history, redheads were very much muses for artists. My boyfriend and I just bought this beautiful painting, and it’s a redhead screaming.
I also love all the fun that comes with being a redhead. Like walking down the street, and there’s always an old man or a grandad who says, “I love your red hair!”
I’m off-kilter, and that’s my thing.
Karen Elson is a model, singer, and author of The Red Flame
