For Kiss a Ginger Day, I can’t help but think about Jolene and about the years I spent wishing I looked like someone else.

I was born with naturally auburn hair. Not fiery red, not strawberry blonde. Auburn, the kind that shifts with the light and refuses to be easily categorized. And for a long time, I didn’t know what to do with it.

Growing up, the standard of beauty felt clear and unquestioned. Blonde was aspirational. Marilyn Monroe wasn’t just admired—she was held up as proof of what beauty should look like: soft, sun-kissed, universally adored. Red hair, by comparison, felt complicated. Too noticeable. Too different. Something to correct rather than celebrate.

So I tried to trade it in.

More than once, I chased blonde, with disastrous results. The kind of blonde that never quite worked with my skin tone. The kind that required constant maintenance and never felt like me. Each attempt was less about hair color and more about belonging. About wanting to be easier to place in a world that rewards familiarity.

And then there’s Jolene.

Dolly Parton didn’t write Jolene as a villain. She wrote her as a force. A woman whose beauty was so striking that it didn’t need effort or intention. Jolene didn’t seduce or scheme; she simply existed, and that was enough to make someone tremble.

What stands out now, especially in my 50s, is how Dolly framed that beauty. It wasn’t trendy. It wasn’t sanitized. It was vivid, rare, almost mythic. And it wasn’t apologetic.

Somewhere along the way, between aging, healing, and letting go of the need to measure myself against old ideals, I stopped trying to fight my reflection. I stopped trying to soften what was never meant to blend in.

Accepting my red hair didn’t happen all at once. It arrived quietly, the way most real acceptance does. Less about pride, more about peace. Less about reclaiming youth, more about honoring what stayed.

Now, I see auburn differently. Not as something I endured, but as something that has deepened with time, much like I have. It holds history. It reflects resilience. It doesn’t ask to be overlooked.

Kiss a Ginger Day may sound lighthearted, but for me, it marks something deeper. A recognition that beauty doesn’t need to conform to be worthy. That which once made us feel out of place may be the very thing that gives us presence.

Maybe that’s why Jolene still resonates. She represents the kind of beauty that doesn’t chase approval. The kind that unsettles because it’s honest.

And maybe growing older is learning to stop trying to become Marilyn, and finally allowing yourself to be Jolene (but don’t take someone’s man).