Little Breakthroughs (88/90)

I used to cry when I got my hair cut at the salon.

Actually, I’d be my sweet little self in the chair, holding my tears, disappointment and frustration until my Mom picked me up. I’d always ask her to do the talking before she left me sitting there in that chair in the hands of some adult that I was too shy to speak with.

 Tell them not to cut it, I’d remind her naggingly.

Sometimes she would, sometimes she wouldn’t. Sometimes they’d listen, sometimes they wouldn’t.

I’ve always had healthy, strong hair. Which for me meant that I had no qualms about abusing it through excessive heat and color treatments (once I was old enough). But, the heat and chemical damage would always catch up with me.

I’d cringe as I watched my hair fall from my head, to the apron tied loosely around me, to its final resting place on the floor, snipped quickly and carelessly by the stylist.

Still, I’d sit with my book in my hands, pretending that I wasn’t even fully aware of what was happening. I’ve always tried extremely hard not to be difficult, even if it meant I’d have to cry later.  Once the stylist was finished and handed me the mirror I’d glance too quickly to see anything.  Then, I’d smile, give a nod of approval and push the mirror away.

My mom would breeze in and begin laughing and talking with the stylist, the way that she does with just about everyone. I’d grow irritable and anxious as I sat waiting to get in the car to whine and complain and figure out how to work with what had just been done.

***

I’ve never been one for change when it comes to my appearance.  I’m a minimalist; I find basic pieces and styles that work and add personality with (still very basic) accessories.

And pull it all together with the hair. I allow the hair, more than the clothes, to speak for me.

When my team for my capstone class decided to add a little flair to our professional dress to match our fashion forward retail client, I immediately said, I’ll blow out my hair, but that’s all I got.

And so I finally went through with it for the first time. I blew it out that morning and rocked the big hair and a little bit of attitude. Of course, it was a little uncomfortable, but it was because of the big hair that day that I felt as fashionable as the girls that accessorized our all-black attire with fancy make-up, shoes and other bright jewelry.

***

In the year that I’ve been natural, I’ve done little by way of maintenance to my hair.  Aside from being busy and a little lazy there’s a lot I’ve still got to learn in terms of caring for natural hair.

Needless to say, I’ve gone without a trim the entire year. My hair has been shedding and knotting like crazy and, as I’ve read on the natural hair blogs, that’s how you know it’s time. Past time, actually.

After a few days of the blow out I decided to give the trim a shot. Myself.

I held small sections between my fore and middle fingers, pulling each one straight and trimming all that I could see through, as I’d inconspicuously watched the stylist do to my relaxed hair for so many years.

It took double the time I thought it would—two hours— and I needed to trim more than I anticipated. I didn’t fret too much about the length because one of the great things about natural hair is that it grows like weeds. It’s already longer than when I cut it last year.

But, I did hold off bringing the curls (and shrinkage) back to life with a fresh wash.

Until tonight, specifically because I knew I was in for a shock. I’ve got so much thick, fluffy hair that it was hard to tell any difference when it was still blown out. But I knew the trim would be apparent after the wash.

And it was. My hair feels much better and was easier to detangle, which was the point.

But, I can’t look in the mirror. Not for long. Still, I’ve decided to skip the whining and complaining and go straight to figuring out what can be done with what I’ve just done. 

Interview Hair (82/90)

I've got another interview this afternoon; one that I'm really excited about. I really feel like this opportunity may be a perfect fit for me, so cross your fingers.

Outside of the whole selling myself thing, sometimes--okay, 99 percent of the time-- I worry about the first impression; how the interviewer will sum me upon first glance.

Before the last interview I worried a lot about the clothes, knowing that I probably should have been dressed in an all-black professional suit. But after an unsuccessful and discouraging search for new business attire I went without the jacket and wore just the button down and slacks.

The problem: that attire doesn't feel like me. Which is weird because I live in patent leather loafers and cardigans. And that feels like me. But, the traditional business suit just doesn't, which when I think about it, has a lot to do with my body and trying to fit it into a traditional business suit and still look and feel good.  I'll have to be okay with that for now, until I figure out what feels like me and still looks like the company that I will represent.

Today, though, I'm worried about the hair. I don't have interview hair.

First, I forgot to mention that I did it. I finally did it; I made good on my promise and wore my hair fro'd fluffy and free. And the freedom of it did feel good. I was proud of myself, especially that by the end of the day, when it had expanded from the heat and humidity to three times the size it was when I left the house, I let it be, resisting the hair ties that I'd worn around my wrist and the headband I'd tucked in my bag.

But mostly I was vulnerable and uncomfortable, as I expected. I want that to feel like me though, because it is me and my hair in all its glory.

Still, I worried about what I'd do with it today come interview time. The girls in the office all gasped at the idea of straightening it, but agreed that I should put it up. Somehow. Because as much as it's not a political statement or an act of rebellion, it's also not interview hair. Not yet. Not for this internship that I want so badly.

I've only begun fighting this battle in my personal life. I'm not even sure where to start in my professional life.

I guess I'll search for one of those interview hairstyle guides, and hope that there's one for the girls with  big, fluffy, 'fros.

Finding Me In The Media, Part 1: Natural Hair (47/90)

The influence of the media is powerful. Especially in our perceptions and attitudes about appearance. It seems natural to want to see a vision of ourselves represented in the media. It serves as some sort of validation, without which we too often  go to great lengths to conform to whatever it is that is represented and appreciated,  at the cost of the beauty that is our individuality.

I've decided to begin a search for myself in the media. I'm curious to see what aspects of my appearance are represented in the media, and which aren't and explore reasons why.

First up: Natural Hair.

I've pulled ads of  several ads of people with natural hair from two issues of Essence magazine, a publication that targets African-American women. I expected that it would be easy to find representations of natural hair in an African-American publication. And it was.

                                              

                                                  

Of course, there are still some issues. This ad, for example, is full of irony. Mizani is a black hair care line. In this ad, the featured product line is for natural hair. Only this model has a head full of weave, with a curly, kinky texture. What is that saying? To me it screams that real natural hair isn't good enough, not even for a natural hair product line. 

Then I searched in five different mainstream magazines. And here's what I found.

I'm pleased with the amount of ads featuring people with natural hair, but  again, I expected what I found there. It's a black publication and the advertisers tailor their ads for their target market, which are African-American females. 

As for the five mainstream media magazines that I searched and found only two ads with natural hair, I'm disappointed.  I think it's sad that I had to search several magazines and found only 2 non-weave, natural hair images. And I'm sure there are more, if I search. But should I have to search, becomes the  question. 

But this is only my experience on finding me in the media, what's yours? 

It's A Celebration (43/90)

Monday marks one year to the day of my life new life as a natural chick.

I’ve decided that this is a day worth celebrating. Actually, I may just celebrate all week. And I’m sure this seems silly to some, and I’ve decided not to worry about the some that don’t get it for right now. Those that do though, I invite you to celebrate with me.

And, let’s celebrate the newness of things in your life too, hair or otherwise.

I’ve come across several natural hair celebrations and they were an inspiration for me to continue through my journey from relaxed to natural hair and gave me something to look to look forward to once I reached the awful awkwardness that followed the first few days and months of my Big Chop.

Of the celebrations that I have seen so far the most common were video montages that chronicle the hair journey, length checks; which often times mean flat ironing the hair for the first time, adding color, or pampering the hair with special treatments like Henna and creating homemade shampoos and conditioners with all natural ingredients.

I think all of these are awesome ideas, and as said before they were inspiring to me during my transitioning stage and first months in the natural club. But, this is my celebration and I want to do something original and share it with you.

But what? That is the question.

I’d love to know what people want to see as I celebrate my first year natural. I’d love to answer any questions you may have about the hair or this natural journey. Also, what would you like to see/read/hear from me?  

And, I want to know what you’re celebrating, so I can join you in your celebration as well.

 Let’s talk, and CELEBRATE! 

Invisible Fence (39/90)

I’ve made promises that I’d start wearing my hair big. Because several people have asked. But, more importantly because I want to wear it big, in its natural state, which was the whole point of the chop.

I’ve made excuse after excuse, even going so far as to say that that I feel restricted because of where I live and the lack of diversity therein.  And I even feel silly typing that. Because freedom is not predicated on one’s environment, although my perception has had me convinced me otherwise.

I thought for sure that it would be no big deal for me to wear my hair big here in Tampa. This city is truly a melting pot. I knew that there wouldn’t be the questions and the comments that I’m used to at home.

           

And on Saturday when I wore my hair big at the art festival, there weren’t. Only because no one was worrying about me. Or my hair. They were going on about their day, the way that people do.

But I fussed over it all day, and my Mom kept encouraging me to let it be. And I did, because I had no other option at the time, but I pulled it back before I went out to meet friends later that night.

The more that I type, the sillier I feel about actually having such a hang-up. But this is real. So, I’ll continue.

I’m kind of a control freak, and that manifests itself in every area of my life. Including the way that I wear my hair. Next week I’ll be a year natural, and one thing that I can say in retrospect, is that I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

I don’t regret the chop. At all. But, it’s taken me a year just to adjust to the newness. And I can’t say that I’m fully adjusted. It’s odd to have a totally new head of hair. One that I couldn’t predict or prepare for after having my hair relaxed for longer than I’ve been styling my own hair.  

Before the chop, I had my hair down to a science, no pun intended. But, I knew how to work it, how to get it to do what I wanted. I even had certain hairstyles for certain outfits. It was the way that I perfected my image.

And now, I am lost. Things don’t match up in my eyes.  But I guess that’s okay. Because I know that we don’t see the same things anyways. I’ll never see what you see when you look at me. That’s my reality, and the reality of many I presume.

That in mind, it’s foolish of me to try to control what others see when they look at me. Or to blame my fear and discomfort on my environment. Or to hand anyone my freedom.

I can’t control this hair. And already, I’ve grown tired of trying.

It took me several years to decide to transition from relaxed to natural. I endured 8 months of said transition, and decided in a moment of bravado in New York City to chop. I’ve begun adjusting now after this first year of naturalness.

All that’s left is to let it be. Which for me, of course, will be a process. 

The Hair Journey: From Relaxed to Natural (24/90)

So, when I say obsession, I mean obsession. It's only right that I show you a bit of the hair journey. Hopefully this gives a bit more of an  explanation of  the differences between relaxed and natural hair.

My first relaxer was at 5 years old. (Due to an arsoned house and lots of moves I don't have a lot of early pics.) But once the hair was relaxed, it was the same all the time with the exception of the occasional highlights and a few cuts.

So, we'll start somewhere around 2005 or 2006 and go through the transition to the present.

I can tell by looking that this is probably a few weeks after my last relaxer. Smooth edges and straight ends, which means I'd made nice with the flat iron. Yes, even after chemically straightening I'd flat iron my hair. Double damage. And color, which we'll see. Triple damage.

Ok, so this is the day of a relaxer and Dominican blowout.  (Forgive the awkwardness of my man fist, I don't know who I wanted to punch.) I also had highlights then. Now, highlights, or any dye is  especially bad for relaxed hair because the relaxer is one chemical process that strips and weakens the hair and then the color is just another on top of stripped, fragile hair. But, my hair was always pretty strong and able to handle it, so I did all that. Sorry, hair.

Prime example: Here's my honey blonde highlights after a cut that I threw a fit over. (I had a friend in cosmetology school and trusted her with the hair.) This, I believe, was also my last relaxer in July, 2008. Thanks to Nair that shadow over my top lip is now gone too. Uh-huh.

'

This is a few months after that last relaxer. Sad, sad time in my life. The beginning of the transition. What begins to happen is the line of demarcation ( where the natural hair meets the relaxed hair) is extremely fragile. So, the more I tried to keep it straight the more it broke off. And, of course I had just moved and started at BSU and didn't feel very pretty without the longer, much healthier locks.

So, this is a small glimpse of what the transition process looks like. The beginning of the end of the straight hair.

This was my attempt at trying to make the relaxed hair look like the natural hair that was growing. Of course that didn't work.

So, let's get to the chop and beyond already. I won't tell that story again, but here's what it looks like.

This, my friends, is what fear looks like. If you look closely you'll see that there is tons of texture at the roots and the relaxed hair is basically just hanging. Those curls were dying to be free.

And this is what shock looks like. The Big Chop, March 14, 2009. Yep, my anniversary is coming up.

And, my first day back to school after spring break. All of the sudden I felt the need to wear a full face of makeup and big earrings, neither of which were a part of my pre-chop life.  That feeling didn't leave for a long time. There were lots of days in the beginning with lots of makeup and big colorful earrings. Kind of over that now, thankfully.

I'm nearly a year natural now and to be honest I haven't done a lot of experimenting with hair styles or products. I keep it pretty simple. I'm queen of the wash and go, nevermind the fact that it takes my hair several hours to dry. Now instead of smelling like sodium hydroxide, it smells of french lavender  conditioner, shea butter and coconut oil.

I've pretty much settled into this puff as my default style. It takes 5 seconds and I don't have to worry about it all day.

But, sometimes I feel sassy and do crazy things that never see the light of day. 

This was the first blow dry after six months natural. Go Fro! But, I've never gone out of the house like this.

Oh I finished those, don't worry! 

Obviously, I like the big hair. But, that doesn't mean I'm comfortable with it outside of my webcam.

This is a journey. One that is not yet complete. When I look at the relaxed hair, I still miss it. A lot. But, I  have a new freedom with the natural hair and it is much healthier.

This has been about discovery for me. Having my first relaxer at 5 meant I, along with many other black women, had absolutely no idea what my natural hair texture was. I spent my whole life being envious of curls, waves and coils, only to find out that I had them all along.

As I said, though, I'm still not quite comfortable with this hair. It's not even a year old yet, and I'll need more time to fully adjust. This has also been about self-acceptance. So, I'm working toward that, step by step.

Conscious Or Confident (22/90)

Today was an incredibly self-conscious day for one reason only: The hair.

For the first time in several months I wore the hair free, with no headband to hold it back or stretch the curls. I didn’t even bring a just-in-case headband, which was a bold move for me.

“You know why I don’t do this, right,” I said to my sister as we sat at dinner after she told me that she liked it.

“I can’t control it,” I said.

It has a mind of its own.

I spent the whole 40 minute drive to school this afternoon hoping that it would look the way that it did when I jumped out of the shower, looked in the mirror and decided to just let it be.

And it was. But, by the end of the night, it was not the hair that I was confident in when I looked in the mirror this morning.

***

There is a moment in childhood, once we are outside of the bubble of our homes that we realize that we are different. That our story is not always a shared story.

Mine wasn’t the day that I was called the “n” word as I waited to join the game of foursquare on the playground by a girl that I’d hoped would be my friend. Or the day that I realized I was the only kindergartner without a homemade lunch, rather $2.00 in a Ziploc bag in my backpack.

After having adjusted to the stares and requests to touch my hair from kids who had probably never seen a black girl before, mine came on a particular day in the classroom.

“Your hair stinks,” a little boy said as he sat at the desk behind me.

I had freshly relaxed hair, which means that day was probably a Monday after a Saturday visit to the salon. It was silky and straight with curls at the ends. After salon visits I was confident. I’m sure that I had been flipping my hair, twirling the ends and whipping my head around all day to be sure that everyone noticed the hair.  

I don’t remember what I did or said back, if anything.  I remember being so upset that the teacher took me outside to talk. She struggled as she tried to comfort me.

“You’re hair is so pretty today,” she said. “Let me smell”

She told me it didn’t stink of course. But she was lying. It smelled.  It smelled of chemicals that are not familiar to everyone’s nostrils. But as young as I was, after one Saturday a month in the salon, it was a smell that I no longer noticed.

I went back into the classroom and was still. I stopped flipping my hair, twirling the ends and shaking my head. The confidence I’d walked in with that day was gone.

***

This was one of the first of many reminders that I did not fit. And the very thing that made me feel like I did was the very thing that reminded others that I did not.  

This was not a black or white issue though.

I always kept my hair long and relaxed. 

I learned to anticipate the arguments from black girls that told me it that it was not mine. There were too many times that one would put her hand through my hair as if she was just enjoying it only to give a tug at the end that she’d hoped would reveal a lie.

I learned to keep it up in an inconspicuous bun except on special occasions. I learned to keep the curls pulled back with headbands.

I’ve chosen confidence over consciousness. The less I could get people to look, the more confident I would feel.

But despite my experiences, that choice is one I required of myself.  It’s one that I’ve grown tired of making.

Because there is no winning in this culture with this hair, unless the winning is inside of me.