How My Hair Hurled Me Into Authenticity

My hair and I have been in a tumultuous relationship since the day I was born. I’m pretty sure my already pre-natal lustrous fro was even visible in my mother’s first ultra-sound.  My hair added extra meaning when the doctor yelled "you're crowning". Pfft, crown simply didn't encapsulate how large and in charge my hair was. A black girl with natural hair in Southern California is a guaranteed formula for self-doubt.  I used to marvel at Disney Characters with their svelte figures, daring spirit, and enviable hair. My parents have a rock outside their house that is THE same rock that Pocahontas stands on (yes, the same one from the movie), as her gorgeous quaff whips dances gracefully along with the wind. Upon seeing the film, I took a t-shirt and placed it around my scalp standing on the rock pretending that my dad’s 2XL cotton Hanes undershirt were thick Indian locks. 

My mother would twist, tug, yank, and part my disobedient curls, while I winced from the sheer boredom of having to sit in one place for more than 30 minutes. Betwixt these tangled evenings I thought of my flaxen haired friends with the abilities to have a ponytail that they could twirl between their fingers; the girls who could use rubber bands without getting them tangled in their hair; the girls who could wear scrunchies. Oh my aching 90s baby heart, breaking fro my lack of scrunchy-ing abilities. 

My mother recognizing and then combing through my hair issues worked diligently to give me a healthy self-image.  Black dolls filled my toy chest along with books featuring a dark skinned female protagonist embracing the world with a head full of barrettes and braids lined my shelves. I now thank her for it. Growing up I was inundated with images of women with straight hair, it’s no wonder I associated beauty with relaxers, weaves, and permanents. I had never seen a woman who looked like me, naps and all. How many woman in modern entertainment have natural hair? Even Ms. Sasha Fierece herself, the symbol of girl-power rocks presumably the world’s most expensive hair extensions. This does something detrimental to young girls. If you only see one image and symbol for beauty and you possess none of the qualities portrayed on billboards and magazines, it makes you question, “what’s wrong with me”? I recently made the decision to channel Naomi (pre-crazy) and get a weave. The first night of my feaux follicles, I tossed and turned, my scalp was itchy and on-fire. I thought, Why in the hell did I do this to myself? They say beauty is pain, I realized it’s only painful when you are forcing your face/figure/hair to be something it isn’t.  I decided to push myself and other’s perception of beauty, style, and confidence by shaving it all off. I made an announcement on Facebook (I know, it’s a bit narcisstic) but I was a little nervous about have a scalp in le buffe and I knew my friends would encourage me. I was amazed to see that half of the comments were skeptical and the other half encouraging. The skeptical comments were the catalyst, I called my hair dresser and said “I want to shave this now, are you free”? 

I had been growing my afro out for six-years and it had become a staple, like Cyndi Crawford’s mole. My puff was often the topic of discussion amongst new acquaintances and started to define who I was. I was scared to cut it off, scared of the reaction which is precisely why I knew it had to be done. How had I become so attached to hair? Something that grows back. Women dedicate time, money, and tears to their follicle upkeep but why? As the buzzer started to vibrate, quickly removing years upon years of stress, I started to feel lighter, free (yea, yea I know what you’re thinking but if you had 10 inches of wool textured hair in the dead of summer, you’d feel free too) . The women around me looked on in amazement, many of them saying “are you sure you want to do this?” “Why cut off all that pretty hair?” It made me smile, I knew I had done the right thing because people were asking questions. As I walked out of the salon, I felt powerful, and I can honestly tell you I feel the most confident I ever have, yes thirty pounds heavier with extra helpings of cellulite and I feel AMAZING.  I always tell my clients to be who they are, I always say “if even 1% of you believes you can pull something off, then you 100% can, you just have to get over your fear”;  I took my own advice and owned the wisdom I have been sharing with others. Now with a buzzed head and lilac dye, I finally have the haircut I was never brave enough to have. I suppose I feel so fabulous because I am living authentically, forcing myself to be the brand I share with others. I thank my mother for never encouraging me to change what I was given, chemical relaxers were never allowed in our house or in my scalp and I’m so thankful to understand the freedom in owning who you are. Now it’s your turn, what will you try?