Red Is The New Black | Northern Lights
Did anyone say Thursday is the new Thursday? Well blow us… for starters, it’s from dining alfresco at the Ivy Chelsea Garden (King’s) to the great indoors at the Cuckoo Club (Regent’s) in one fell swoop. There’s nothing communist about this red revolution. Perchance it’s survival of the
cutest fittest. This dying breed is looking very alive. We’re on fire! It’s front stage at the last chance (hair) saloon. The Titian takeover is in town. Let the ultimate Celtic Revival commence. Enter the children of Brehon. We’re alpha not betagh. Pedigree’s all that matters. Girls and boys aloud. And this diaspora ain’t goin’ nowhere fast. We’re stayin’ put within the pale. The media might betray us as mad (Bree van de Kamp in Desperate Housewives), bad (Julianne Moore in Boogie Nights) and dangerous to know (Race Imboden fencing). But c’mon Albion guys, that’s us only gettin’ started. Alabaster rocks, porcelain rolls, Gingerella on ice; the rest is the present, the here, the now. Welcome to the Red Hot 100. It’s London’s most exclusive listing, breeding matters, a Pre Raphaelite dawning, one hundred redheads united on a plate, all henna’d up and everywhere to go. The mane event is top photographer Thomas Knights’ calendar of smokin’ hot girls following the success of last year’s boys edition. “I enjoy hearing stories about other people’s experiences growing up with red hair,” Thomas tells us. “It’s such a unique situation!” We wanna be shot, red or alive. Everyone’s on model behaviour; just desserts. Grace O’Malley eat your heart out (she would); redheads will roll. Natch hatch. Lavender’s copper. Lavender’s blue.