A Different Perspective

My mother is a single parent. She did an outstanding job of providing the necessities that I needed - which also means that she could not afford many luxuries. For most of my childhood, she did my press 'n curls and relaxers at home (and I probably still have the burn scars to prove it! lol). I have many memories of sleepy Saturday mornings, being perched on a chair next to the stove, wincing in fear as the hot straightening comb came closer and closer to my head.

These experiences instilled in me a willful determination to do my own hair. This also fostered a deep mistrust for hair stylists. I'm sure every black woman has had the experience of not getting the style she wanted, after giving explicit instructions on what she desired. Or, more tramatic than that, looking on in horror as her hair is being swept from the floor, after a 'trim' that was more than what she wanted. For years I have been my own 'kitchen-tician'. I don't believe in getting my hair trimmed every 6-8 weeks. If my goal is to keep hair on my head, then why am I cutting it off? I also don't get relaxers very often, typically I go 3-4 months between touch-ups. Now my hair grows quickly and its very tightly coiled, but having done my hair all of my adult life, I'm adept at taming new growth and several styles to deal with my dual hair textures.

My hair is pretty long now - well past my shoulders. I'm suffering from a sort of hair anorexia. I don't realize how long it really is, until someone else is combing it (which is rare since I don't like stylists) or until it gets caught it the straps of my tote bag or folded into my scarf. Then I am surprised that something is there, and look down with wide eyes that its my hair! In my mind my hair is still chin-length or just above my shoulders.

Lately I've been wearing my hair in a bun. And not a cute bun, either, adorned with accessories or stylishly set. I'm talking about the kind of bun where you brush your hair for a few strokes, gather it up and tuck the ends unto itself. I blamed it on the cold weather but its more the result of my laziness! Yesterday I was determined to end the lazy streak (but still not feeling it for myself), so I went to the Hair Cuttery for a wash and set.

It was actually refreshing to get a different perspective on my hair. I have the typical dry hair that black women have. So I'm not used to women of other races gushing about how beautiful my hair is, which happened yesterday. I complained to the stylist that my hair was cut in layers, but I could not get it to look full and defined when I rollerset my hair. "Your hair is not cut in layers," she said. "Look, its just an angle cut." And she was right! That was a little embarrasing that a stranger could determine things about my hair that I just knew, in all my kitchen-tician expertise.

I have long ago accepted the unique hair texture that I have, and that my hair does not turn out like the typical black woman: wraps don't look right, I don't like heat so flat ironing is out, and my hair doesn't 'lay' in the way it 'should'. So I just rollerset my hair and let it be. Both of us are happy that way. I could continue to fight my hair into submission, but what's the point? As black women have made our hair our 'crowning glory', it is definitely a mark of self-esteem and our standard of beauty as black American women to sport beautiful hair. Having to come to terms with hair that doesn't 'bounce and behave' was a hard pill to swallow. But in the end, when I took into account the individual properties of my hair, and worked with them instead of against them, I became much happier about my crowning glory and let it 'do what it do'.

So while most black women I know hold their hair routine and salon appointments as a cultural badge, I choose to lovingly care for my hair myself. That allows me to not compare myself to others and to remove myself from the unstated hair competition. Now, if I could just shorten the time it takes for me to do a perfect rollerset, I would be in hair heaven...