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I have naturally curly hair.
It's big, fluffy, wild, kinky, curly, crazy hair. It's wavy in some places, tightly coiled in others, and there's still that chunk of bangs in the front that's nearly straight as a board from years of flat ironing. But those bangs are getting the idea and falling in line. Six months after I started this transition and I can measure a good four inches of fluffy new growth clouding above my forehead.
It's awesome.
I love my hair more than I ever have before. And I am not a woman with major hair issues. The women in my family all have strong hair, a genetic gift from my Grandmother. Our hair grows well, it grows even better when we leave it alone. But like many black women we did a variety of things to our hair that weren't always for the best. A straight press was standard issue. I am intimately familiar with the peculiar scent of a heated pressing comb. That distinct combination of heated iron, oil, and burning hair.
I remember sitting in the kitchen next to the stove late into the night on a tall, wide stool with an orange vinyl seat that stuck to the back of my thighs. My mom heated an iron comb with a wooden handle on the stove's open flame, and pressed my hair with grease. Summer, of course, was the best. Summer meant cornrows or eight fat braids haphazardly hanging from a middle part. To my mother's consternation, summer also meant me coming in as the street lights came on with leaves and twigs caught in braids that had started to unravel after spending all day climbing trees and riding bikes.
The summer before I started fifth grade, my mom started working full time at the Post Office as a mail carrier. Gone was the time to care for my head of thick, sometimes unruly hair. So, she took me for my very first process, a Jheri Curl. From age 9 to 17 I evolved from the Jheri Curl to a relaxer that ultimately made my hair break off. Although I got over it, my mom never did. I couldn't even joke about the one time she took me to the beauty school and how they cut off my hair and it never grew back.
I swear, I was only joking.
My mom didn't think it was funny.
It was press and curls after that. A hair dresser I had in college, the woman who spoiled me for all other hair dressers, took care of my hair so well that it more than made up for those years spent hooked on the creamy crack. At her suggestion, I even went native for the year that I spent studying abroad in Scotland. It was all braid outs all the time. And when it wasn't hanging wavy and loose, it was braided, tucked out of the way, and covered with a scarf. It's a style that I continued to return to over the years.
The interesting thing about living in Scotland and making my first foray into natural curly hair in that environment is that it was more freeing. I was nervous the first time I wore my hair that way here in the States. Being in Scotland where I had no expectations of what black people would be like or what they did or did not do, I felt that I had carte blanche to try whatever I wanted. Plus, my awesome hair dresser had already given me the low-down on how I was going to take care of my hair while I was away.
Fast forward many years later and I am back at the gates of the Natural Hair Movement. It was a fluke that I fell into it in the first place. Poverty, boredom, and the softest post-hot oil treatment hair coalesced into a perfect storm of curiosity that led me to the internet and introduced me to a movement of black women learning to embrace, love, and care for their naturally curly hair. For me it was initially about trying new styles since I couldn't afford to go to the salon. Pretty quickly it evolved into my own journey into self-awareness.
Women's hair, like their bodies, is highly politicized. Society catalogs and tags you based on your appearance. What happens when your appearance flys in the face of the traditionally normalized beauty standards. Traditionally, for black women at least, long, silky hair represented beauty and desirability. Highly textured "black" hair that tends to grow big rather than long meant you don't get to be pretty. Remember the field slave/house slave debate? Where do you fall? Society draws all sorts of conclusions, dictate all sots of nonsense based on ideas of beauty that don't necessarily have any real basis in reality. For black women, wearing their naturally curly hair is revolutionary, it's personal, it's sexual, and it is defining. Who are you? What are you about? Where do you fit in a world that despite leaps and bounds in promoting cultural diversity still idolizes skinny, light skinned, straight haired women. When will we get more gorgeous, awesome TWA's like Viola Davis wore to the Oscars? When will that hair be applauded and normalized so that it's not a debate or a commentary?
Embracing my naturally curly hair has meant letting go of ideas about what my hair should do and how it should look. After years of casual braid outs, braid outs that kept my hair very well contained, I have have fallen in LOVE with my big hair. But, again, I had to let go of the idea that my hair would look like anyone else's. Curl envy is HARD to let go of. But you gotta let go. The hair is going to do what it's going to do, and sometimes that may not be what you want it to do. But that's okay. I've learned that.
Rocking naturally curly hair is like being in a club. I see women with their out and we exchange smiles, we exchange tips, and product lists. I've been approached by women at the gas station, the grocery store, and once a white waitress at the Marie Calendar's. All curious, all admiring, all offering their support of my journey. In my turn, I encourage them to give it a try. When they're ready, of course. It's not for everyone. Maybe forever, but maybe just for right now. My BFF, who has hair issues deep as a crater, has been rocking a TWA on the weekends. Even she is feeling her inner goddess and letting her curls out.
This ride has been amazing and as my hair grows out (cause it don't grow down), I am enjoying myself more and more. Big hair requires big earrings and hair accessories. My personal style is evolving along with these new curls. I'm busting loose! And it is amazing!
It's big, fluffy, wild, kinky, curly, crazy hair. It's wavy in some places, tightly coiled in others, and there's still that chunk of bangs in the front that's nearly straight as a board from years of flat ironing. But those bangs are getting the idea and falling in line. Six months after I started this transition and I can measure a good four inches of fluffy new growth clouding above my forehead.
It's awesome.
I love my hair more than I ever have before. And I am not a woman with major hair issues. The women in my family all have strong hair, a genetic gift from my Grandmother. Our hair grows well, it grows even better when we leave it alone. But like many black women we did a variety of things to our hair that weren't always for the best. A straight press was standard issue. I am intimately familiar with the peculiar scent of a heated pressing comb. That distinct combination of heated iron, oil, and burning hair.
I remember sitting in the kitchen next to the stove late into the night on a tall, wide stool with an orange vinyl seat that stuck to the back of my thighs. My mom heated an iron comb with a wooden handle on the stove's open flame, and pressed my hair with grease. Summer, of course, was the best. Summer meant cornrows or eight fat braids haphazardly hanging from a middle part. To my mother's consternation, summer also meant me coming in as the street lights came on with leaves and twigs caught in braids that had started to unravel after spending all day climbing trees and riding bikes.
The summer before I started fifth grade, my mom started working full time at the Post Office as a mail carrier. Gone was the time to care for my head of thick, sometimes unruly hair. So, she took me for my very first process, a Jheri Curl. From age 9 to 17 I evolved from the Jheri Curl to a relaxer that ultimately made my hair break off. Although I got over it, my mom never did. I couldn't even joke about the one time she took me to the beauty school and how they cut off my hair and it never grew back.
I swear, I was only joking.
My mom didn't think it was funny.
It was press and curls after that. A hair dresser I had in college, the woman who spoiled me for all other hair dressers, took care of my hair so well that it more than made up for those years spent hooked on the creamy crack. At her suggestion, I even went native for the year that I spent studying abroad in Scotland. It was all braid outs all the time. And when it wasn't hanging wavy and loose, it was braided, tucked out of the way, and covered with a scarf. It's a style that I continued to return to over the years.
The interesting thing about living in Scotland and making my first foray into natural curly hair in that environment is that it was more freeing. I was nervous the first time I wore my hair that way here in the States. Being in Scotland where I had no expectations of what black people would be like or what they did or did not do, I felt that I had carte blanche to try whatever I wanted. Plus, my awesome hair dresser had already given me the low-down on how I was going to take care of my hair while I was away.
Fast forward many years later and I am back at the gates of the Natural Hair Movement. It was a fluke that I fell into it in the first place. Poverty, boredom, and the softest post-hot oil treatment hair coalesced into a perfect storm of curiosity that led me to the internet and introduced me to a movement of black women learning to embrace, love, and care for their naturally curly hair. For me it was initially about trying new styles since I couldn't afford to go to the salon. Pretty quickly it evolved into my own journey into self-awareness.
Women's hair, like their bodies, is highly politicized. Society catalogs and tags you based on your appearance. What happens when your appearance flys in the face of the traditionally normalized beauty standards. Traditionally, for black women at least, long, silky hair represented beauty and desirability. Highly textured "black" hair that tends to grow big rather than long meant you don't get to be pretty. Remember the field slave/house slave debate? Where do you fall? Society draws all sorts of conclusions, dictate all sots of nonsense based on ideas of beauty that don't necessarily have any real basis in reality. For black women, wearing their naturally curly hair is revolutionary, it's personal, it's sexual, and it is defining. Who are you? What are you about? Where do you fit in a world that despite leaps and bounds in promoting cultural diversity still idolizes skinny, light skinned, straight haired women. When will we get more gorgeous, awesome TWA's like Viola Davis wore to the Oscars? When will that hair be applauded and normalized so that it's not a debate or a commentary?
Embracing my naturally curly hair has meant letting go of ideas about what my hair should do and how it should look. After years of casual braid outs, braid outs that kept my hair very well contained, I have have fallen in LOVE with my big hair. But, again, I had to let go of the idea that my hair would look like anyone else's. Curl envy is HARD to let go of. But you gotta let go. The hair is going to do what it's going to do, and sometimes that may not be what you want it to do. But that's okay. I've learned that.
Rocking naturally curly hair is like being in a club. I see women with their out and we exchange smiles, we exchange tips, and product lists. I've been approached by women at the gas station, the grocery store, and once a white waitress at the Marie Calendar's. All curious, all admiring, all offering their support of my journey. In my turn, I encourage them to give it a try. When they're ready, of course. It's not for everyone. Maybe forever, but maybe just for right now. My BFF, who has hair issues deep as a crater, has been rocking a TWA on the weekends. Even she is feeling her inner goddess and letting her curls out.
This ride has been amazing and as my hair grows out (cause it don't grow down), I am enjoying myself more and more. Big hair requires big earrings and hair accessories. My personal style is evolving along with these new curls. I'm busting loose! And it is amazing!
