I Am Not My Hair… Or Am I?

I admit, I have never been good with hair. Bottom line.

I guess you could say I had good hair when I was younger.

As I got older and became responsible for my own hair, I often chose to have it braided (cornrows, whatever you want to call it) because that meant low maintenance for me. I just had to find someone to re-braid it every other week or so. That job usually fell upon my childhood bestie Shawnique and to my knowledge she didn’t mind. She knew that I couldn’t braid hair to save my life.

Now I know what you’re thinking- what do you MEAN you don’t know how to braid hair? Isn’t that like, a black girl requirement?

Yes, I always felt bad because I didn’t know how to braid hair. My mother knew how to braid hair. ALL of my friends knew how to braid hair. Shemaine, Shawnique, Malika- shall I continue? ALL OF MY SISTERS KNEW HOW TO BRAID HAIR!!! What the hell was wrong with me? But I have a legitimate excuse, I promise, ready for it? No one ever taught me how… and that’s the truth. My older sister never really wanted to braid my hair or anyone else’s for that matter, she always had better things to do. Then my younger brother came around and we never really braided his hair. So, who was I to learn from?

I guess in hindsight I guess I could have asked someone, but I never really wanted to bother anyone to take the time out to teach me. It seemed so unachievable, so hard. I didn’t want to waste their time. I was sure that I’d fuck up and they would get frustrated with me and I wouldn’t learn how to do it anyway.

I had a relaxer all the way up until 2003. I loved everything about having permed hair (what we call a perm) except for the part where I had to go to the beauty parlor every two weeks for a wash and set (hair washed, rollers put in to sit under the dryer for 100 years). I also hated the part where I had to go back every month for a touch up (get my hair permed all over again) and have my scalp burn like all hell because I’d been scratching my hair. Even when I tried NOT to scratch my hair, it still burned. It was a complete lose-lose situation.

God forbid you didn’t get a touch-up on time. All of the new growth in your hair started scrunching up and making your hair thick. It was almost impossible to get a comb nonetheless your hands through it… and you just looked like a hot mess.

Yeah, I don’t miss those days. Perms and I were not friends. Which, again, is why I often chose braids instead. Either cornrows or extensions. Now extensions, I know how to do. Somehow my older sister managed to teach me how to do that. I think mostly because when she was putting in her extensions she wanted my help. I usually had to do the back- and now that I think about it she probably made me do the back because if I fucked it up, no one would really see it.

When I was in college, I studied abroad in the Fall semester of 2003. It was one of the most amazing times of my life. Absolutely life changing. I had a lot of time to think about who I was as a person and who I actually wanted to be… turned out those two were not in line. I met amazing people, saw AMAZING countries and maybe I’ll blog about that experience one day.

While aboard the S.S. Universe Explorer I decided to shave all of my hair off. Long story short, it is a Semester at Sea tradition to shave your hair off on the day you first cross the equator. (Again, maybe one day I’ll write about that) So I did it.

Hair is a funny thing. We love it, we hate it, but for some reason so many of us can’t live without it. I never really thought I was attached to my hair. At that point in my life I had a bad dye job (went in for highlights, came out with a big ass bleach line going down the side of my hair- ugh), my hair was breaking from the perms and it wasn’t very long. But when it actually came down to do it, I was second-guessing myself and petrified.

The first cut…             Almost there…

There is a certain type of freedom that comes with shaving off all of your hair. You feel liberated- nothing can bother you. With my new found liberation came deep reflection regarding what kind of person God placed me on this earth to be.

Enter my dreadlocks.

Dreads have always been a topic of major disagreement in my family. I always wanted them and my parents and grandparents AND great-grandparents always said: NO!

I still don’t quite  understand my family’s deep resentment for dreadlocks. I always thought, WE ARE JAMAICAN, WHAT IS THE BIG DEAL? Maybe one day my parents will fully explain.

Truthfully, I didn’t get dreadlocks as a representation of my culture. Though now, I do feel like my dreads are associated to my Jamaican heritage by some people. But, my dreads also get associated with the pot head population here in the U.S. of A. I have had many people say to me: “Oh, you’re Jamaican? Bob Marley dude, he’s awesome!” Uhh no. “So, like, do you like to get high?” Take your bong and go over there. I can’t even remember what I did five minutes ago and you want me to smoke weed? I’ll pass.

Really, I got dreads because I think my friends were sick of looking at my afro- which by the way is VERY hard to maintain. My hair got so nappy and getting a comb or a pick through it was a J-O-K-E.

The afro

My friend Malika, hair do-er extraordinaire, kept offering to twist my hair for me. So I said yes. I thought, if I have dreads it will be so low maintenance and I’m sure that even I can handle that.

Boy was I wrong. My  hair grew so damn fast once those twists came in and there was new growth all over the place! Sheesh. I was at Malika’s door like it was my job trying to get my hair re-twisted! One thing that is good about me having dreads? It is a hairstyle that even I can handle- if my lazy ass so chooses to do so. But, I usually just let it lay dormant. It has gotten so long and I know that it would take me 40 hours to do it. So, I don’t.

Dreads: The early days

Since moving to desert town it’s even worse. There aren’t any dreadlocks hairdressers here and I’m very particular about who I let put their hands in my hair. The last time I had it done I was in New York for my brother’s wedding… IN AUGUST! If I wasn’t so lazy I’d do it myself, but I am.

Now I am at that point again where I find myself attached to my hair. No matter how long it takes me to do it and how long it is actually getting. Never mind that it is disgustingly hot here in the desert and just the thought of wearing my hair down makes me cringe. I hate my dreads and I love my dreads. When I am ready to get rid of them I’ll have no choice but to pretty much start over from scratch with close to no hair… I mean, ya can’t just undo dreads- you have to cut them off. But I’m not there yet.

My hair now.

Really this trip down hair lane spawned from a conversation I was having with a few other Moms on Twitter regarding Cadence’s hair. Some days she looks like a wild child and some days when I’m brave, I tackle the bush.

Cadence does not take lightly to getting her hair done. It is a struggle and she’s tender headed to boot- is she crazy?! You can’t be tender headed.

My Mommy friends were laughing at me because I said I didn’t know how to braid hair. Now to the naked eye, you wouldn’t think that you could braid her hair. Some say it’s too soft, too straight, but you can. I know you can. Two of my Mommy friends have interracial children and braid their hair all the time. Now, all I have to do, is learn how… **cringing**

My hair throughout the years:

And I know you were waiting for it. Here is me, with no hair.

Please, hold your applause.

Tags: beauty, hair, reflection, things I don't understand