"Natural Hair Ain't For Everybody" and other stupid ideas

I haven't been on here since March, and once again, there is a good reason. Shortly after my last post, Rob and I discovered that I was pregnant.. Terrible timing, being that I had just finished UXO school, but we're excited and I have just 6 weeks left till Baby Phoebe is here.. So... Let's recap!  

The Janet Jackson weave, after I had Fierce David cut it. 

Self-explanatory :)

A new sew-in. After just a few weeks, my afro  roots were peeking out along the edges.

Same sew-in, a weekend in Vegas with my cousin Tia. That is a virgin strawberry daiquiri.

Fierce David refused to "Big Chop" me, so I went to the barbershop and let a guy do it for $10

Rob was not a fan of the Big Chop (nor was I), so Fierce David hot combed my TWA and ..

Gave me this fabulous look while my hair was cornrowed underneath.

The top of my sew-in. I love having it sewn in on the net.

Same sew-in, Baby Phoebe and I en route to see daddy in Oregon

Same sew-in, on its last leg, re-vamped with pin curls

Au Naturel

My meaty face and my TWA

After using Kinky Curly-- great for this length

The day after using Kinky Curly

So much shrikage! But I love my tight kinks and coils

My attempt at a faux hawk. #FAIL

Kickin' it old school with some cornrows and a cheap ponytail

Wore the ponytail look for about a month (had the cornrows redone  weekly)

Blowout before getting my hair cornrowed

My hair as of 10/22/2011 after using a little Kinky Curly

I've worn a lot of looks this year.. Spent over $1000 this year on hair. I have an appointment to get micro braids on Monday. I love my TWA now. It really is freeing to feel good about the hair on my head. Even though I'm sporting a little double chin and a full pregnant figure, I feel good about how I look. When I smile at people, I know that they are seeing me, and I've gotten so many compliments from complete strangers about my hair. The problem? The above style, simplistic as it is, takes about 40 min to complete, and another hour or so to dry. In 36 days, there will be a baby here, and I cannot--will not-- spend 100 minutes a day doing my hair. It's healthy and thick, my edges are full and filled in, but it's not long enough for me to wear a ponytail or pin it up just yet. So, I'm getting braids, that will stay in 2-3 months, come hell or high water.

I have come across several posts online about how "natural hair ain't for everybody." I get what people are trying to convey when they say that. I completely disagree with that statement, and here is why: It is the hair you were born with. You learned to hate your texture and look and you (or your mother) opted to use chemicals to alter it. Most of the people that make this statement have relaxed hair, can't remember what their natural hair looks and feels like, and rely on chemicals and heat tools to maintain their hair in an unnatural state. I'm not judging. If my relaxed hair was as long and healthy as it was when I was 10, I'd probably still have it. I just remember how limiting relaxed hair was to me.

I travel a lot and once I'm working as a UXO tech, I'll travel even more. Rob and I love the beach, we love to do things outdoors, go sightseeing and enjoy new experiences. There have been so many times, Rob has suggested we go somewhere and I have opted out because of my hair. After paying $65 for a relaxer or $300 for a Remy sew-in, snorkeling in Hawaii is out of the question. I have also opted out of going places because I felt my hair didn't look right. This hair on my head has been such a hindrance over the years. With my TWA, I can spend 40 min in the mirror, put a flower in my hair and be ready to go out on the town. I can hop in the pool or the ocean and be comfortable with my hair just coiling up close to my scalp. Two weeks ago, we were at a football game, it was windy, I was wearing a cheap ponytail and was so scared it was gonna blow away. I let Rob and his parents know that if it did blow off, I was going to need them to chase it down, because at 7.5 months pregnant, I'm kinda slow. 

I have been using the Kinky Curly products, and I love them. They define your natural curl pattern and they're all natural-- a little pricey, but worth it. I don't feel like using them every day though, as it takes about 40 minutes. One application usually lasts me about 3 days, cause I play in my hair too much. I bought an afro pic, some Argan oil and some headbands. I also rock my full fro from time to time. It's like black cotton candy. It feels weightless. When I rock my fro, that is when I get the "natural hair ain't for everybody" stares from people. Older black men seem to love it, and brothers with braids and dreads seem to appreciate the boldness. I can always count on some hot young thing in a lace front wig with fake eyelashes to throw me the side eye. Women my mother's age also seem to take issue with the fro. So what? I'm in transition. I love my hair.. and my fro is "fresha than a mutha.."

If you don't like natural hair-- don't go natural. Just be sensitive to the fact that it takes courage to start this journey. It's hard to let go of your hair-- no matter how unhealthy my hair was, the thought of cutting it into a Teeny Weeny Afro scared me. I went into this knowing that it would take 3-4 years for my hair to really grow and thrive. I transitioned for 7 months before I big chopped in June. I'm barely a year in. Transitioning for me was a stage of fear and denial. I knew I should've just chopped it all off and rocked a TWA, but I couldn't do it. I was so worried that Rob would hate it, and he did, but I also hated it. Within 24 hours of my Big Chop, I was in Fierce David's salon, getting Remy sewn in. I had finally let all the dead hair go, but I still needed some length to feel comfortable. I was attached to my weave.. and I still dream of the day when my hair is long enough for me to wear in the same styles I used to have sewn-in. 

At the end of the day, I am learning my hair. I know what my hair needs now. I know what products it responds to. I know what it looks like when it's healthy. I don't have to worry about finding a black salon or someone that can do black hair in every city I move to. I am free to move about the country and to travel the world. I can jump into pools and bodies of water on a whim. My hair will sit on top of my head, and not always be in the forefront of my mind. When Phoebe looks at me for the first time, I will be in braids. I want her to know that she is beautiful just the way she was made. She will not watch me fret over my hair. Hair will be just hair to Phoebe and I. It has been such an unnecessary source of stress in my life, and my going natural is about taking that control back. It's about loving myself from head to toe, weaved or not, and being free to wear my hair just the way it is.

Black Panther Salons and Miss Jackson the Drug

So, it's been a long time since I blogged and I've had some good reasons.
        1. I went to UXO School and had to learn about the awesome world of explosives and build explosions for my new career as a UXO Tech I.
           
        2. I've been trying to find a job in said career field, (I'm hoping I got a contract here in Cali, will know soon) and have moved 4 times since February.

I have a confession. That sew-in I got back in December? Yeah, I kept it in weeks past it's expiration date. WEEKS. On Super Bowl Sunday, my lovely Rob helped me take it out. It was ugly and I cried, as usual.

After removing the sew-in, a comb broke off in my nappy head while trying to comb through it. Awesome.

 After a week of wearing my hair tied up like a Siekh, Rob gave me the gift of a hair appointment (which is quite expensive here in Cali) for Valentine's Day. The weather is quite lovely here. It's always at least 70 and sunny. Now, it's close to 90. So I'll blame the Cali sunshine for my delusions at the hair store.

I decided to get a sew-in because what I discovered was quite scary. The Natural Hair Movement is quite militant in LA. We were gonna drive down, make a day of it, and get my hair done. Not only were the prices crazy, but there were salons that required I come in for a hair consultation and discuss my "hair goals." Uh, hair goals? Yeah, I'mma pass. There were a few stylists who got defensive when I asked about a sew-in. They had real spiritual and political convictions about the use of weave. I just wanted to feel pretty and not cry in the mirror. A weave is needed until I get thru this ugly phase. Big ups to the proud sistas with the teeny weeny afros (TWAs). I have a meaty face. I will still rock weave after I grown out my hair, if I want to.


I got Wet N Wavy hair, in 12 inches. I wanted 8 or 10, but they didn't have it. I planned to have my new fierce hairdresser, David, trim a few inches. When I showed him the hair, he immediately told me I made a mistake. I got "Milky Way" brand 100 % Human Hair. He said it was going to shed. That is quite possibly the understatement of the year. I am shedding like a muh-fucka. Yes, that word is the only one that will accurately describe this situation. Like a MUH-FUCKA. I am ready to remove the sew-in, and I'm sure Rob wants me to as well. But it cost me about $300, so I ain't taking it out yet. Shed on.

While Fierce David was doing my hair, he sewed it in on a net cap, which is much more comfortable than having it sewn to my cornrowed scalp. I love the feel of it.  That being said, with it being on a cap, and shedding like a MUH-FUCKA, you could see the netting on the top. Not a problem! Fierce David told me I could drop by for a touch-up any time. So I did, and he added more hair to cover the spaces. However, the shedding continues and the netting is now visible again. So, you may see me on MediaTakeOut or LMAO Twitpics for my jacked up sew-in. I am cheap and I am vain-- but cheap always wins.

One of the many spaces that need to be filled in..

I know this is unacceptable, so I have been accesorizing so I can hide the problem. Hats, scarves, headbands, ponytails-- I'm doing my best. I plan to go back to David this week to have him fill in the spaces and cut the hair. Oh, I forgot to mention..

If you know me, you know I am a huge fan of Janet Jackson. Huge. So is Fierce David. While I was "gettin' m'hurr did," he was  playing "Miss Jackson If Ya Nasty."  Every Miss Jackson song ever made. Halfway through her Velvet Rope album, Fierce David had convinced me to keep it long. Under the influence of Janet Jackson, this seemed like a great idea. Hell yeah, I should keep it long! All 12, shedding inches of it. In my mind, my life was a music video and required lots of hair flipping. I had dancin' to do. A foot of weave makes daily life difficult. Cooking, sleeping, driving, living-- it's a mess.

Today is Tuesday. By Friday, I will have gone back to Fierce David. I will have him fix my hair and cut off some of this weave. I lost my damn mind out here in California.

You can see the thinning at the top, due to shedding.
No bueno.

The Final Fig Leaf

In the movie “Good Hair,” there was the hilarious scene in the barber shop, about not being able to touch a black woman’s hair. A brave black man admitted that he preferred to date white women because their lack of attachment to the appearance of their hair offered more intimacy.  The celebrities in the movie all admitted that they didn’t allow men to touch their hair. Nia Long said that with the right person, she would let them touch her hair, and a shower together could be better than sex.

One of my favorite places to be touched is my scalp. I have allowed few men to touch my scalp, but I love having my hair washed. I can relate to the angst of letting someone really see your hair, void of product and enhancements. It is a new kind of nakedness. I know this will embarrass my mother, but I never feel sexy naked, if my hair is a mess.  With my extensions that hung just below my breasts, I felt like a video vixen.  With my obnoxiously long and thick 18 inch sew-in, which stopped at the small of my back, I felt like Pocahontas-- the Disney version.  Even with my current curly ‘do, I feel fun and flirty. With my natural hair, which is still a mess underneath, I didn’t feel sexy. The bedroom hair we see is pliable, flowing and well... not black. In its natural state, my hair stuck up on top of my head, and I didn’t think it was sexy. It didn’t hide my flaws and insecurities. It stopped at the nape of my neck, was not finger friendly and didn’t move as I moved.  

In my most intimate moments, I found myself wondering how it looked. It wasn’t sprawled across my pillow as I lay on my back; it was extended upward, like a Troll doll. Is that sexy? Not to me.  As my mind drifted into my own vanities, I would feel a strong hand on my scalp, pulling me closer, bringing me back to reality. His hand would bypass the mess that is my hair, to get to my sensitive sweet spot. To him, it’s not about the look of the hair, but the nature of it. He can touch my nappy head, but with my extensions, I would pull away.  To him, being able to touch every inch of me is what matters.

My mood was different with my natural hair. I didn’t want to do anything. I am still so uncomfortable with my own hair. I plan to allow it to grow underneath extensions, but I want to get comfortable with it now. I still am treating the symptoms and not the disease of insecurity.  Even with my current style, I worry about how my hair looks. I don’t wrap it up like I should, lest my mate look over at me in the middle of the night and find me unsexy. I know that the state of my hair is not his concern, but I am still fighting my demons of conformity.

It is very rare to see a love scene that doesn’t involve some hair flipping. I have the image of Angelina Jolie, sitting up in bed the morning after, wrapped in a sheet, with her hair tousled and falling over her eye, as she gives that famous half-smile. Show me a magazine cover that doesn’t feature some “bedroom hair” style on the front.  Even in films that feature black women, they never show them wearing their hair in a head-wrap during sex, or the morning after. It’s part of the reason I hesitate to put mine on every night. It isn’t sexy.  Most black men understand that the head wrap is a necessary evil, but they hate it.

My boyfriend’s father and I got into a friendly debate about the state of black hair trends. He said he loved women that wore proud afros—the bigger the afro, the more beautiful he saw them. He grew up in the era of Foxy Brown, Shaft, and Blaxpoitation films. But for some reason, that very pride became a threat, and an afro was viewed as a political statement, even if it was not. Afros may no longer be as stylish, but even natural kinks or dreadlocks open the door for social scrutiny. I have noticed a place where women with natural hair, kinks and baby dreadlocks are used in the media: in advertisements. You won’t see natural women in beer commercials, lingerie ads, or anything that is sexually suggestive. You will see them in ads about investment companies, insurance, McDonald’s, and medications. It’s a subtle jab at our insecurities as a people. We all hold our own preconceived notions about “natural” sistas. Natural means “earthy” and “trustworthy.”  Dreadlocks take commitment, and they have a spiritual undertone. The chocolate dipped Barbies in the sexually suggestive ads conjure up fantasy, and their look can be purchased and easily imitated.

Amongst my family and friends that have relaxed hair, weaves, and wigs, showing a man your natural hair is the final fig leaf. It’s a testament of trust. So much energy goes into covering up the flaws of your mane and you get attached to your image. The day after I remove a sew-in is always a rough one for me. In a matter of weeks, the weave becomes my identity, so looking in the mirror takes some adjustment. Your facial features look different based on the hairstyle you choose. As a weave connoisseur, my look was constantly changing, so my face always looked new to me.

I love being able to change my look and experiment with different colors, textures and styles.  I went through a wig phase, and I wouldn’t think twice about wearing a long wig out to brunch, and a short one for a dinner date. It was an accessory and a fashion statement. Throughout the years, I neglected my real hair. I didn’t care how unhealthy it was, because I was gonna slap a wig or weave on top of it. The damage that attitude did was more than aesthetic. It made looking in the mirror painful. All I saw in the mirror was broken off, split ends, thinning edges, and a receding hairline.

 No woman wants to be viewed as fake or phony; we just want to be beautiful. We want to look in the mirror and feel beautiful. We want to catch men admiring us because we are beautiful. We want other women to HATE us because we’re beautiful. I will still wear extensions and experiment with different styles even after I fully transition. I will do so without neglecting my natural hair this time around.

 I don’t judge anyone that relaxes their hair or wears wigs. I just want to love my real hair. I would love to see more black women that take care of their real hair, relaxed, texturized or natural.  I grew tired of being completely dependent on chemicals and enhancements.  Current trends and standards don’t celebrate natural African hair as beautiful or sexually desirable.  As more women strive to take care of their hair, and explore natural styles, the current trends are changing. Hopefully, I will soon be able to view my kinks in a kinky way.

Re-vamping the sew-in with some pin curls.

The dreaded "du-rag."

"Oooh, girl you got NIGGA hair!"

Last night, my lovely cousin Tywana did my hair for me. I asked her to cut as much of the relaxed hair off as possible. She refused to go any shorter than this. Her comb broke while she was combing my hair, as it was nappy, and devoid of any products. Her mother, my aunt Anna, was surprised that I have "nigga hair." Even my cousin, whose done my hair at least a dozen times, was shocked by the coarse texture of my natural hair.

In my defense, my hair will curl and wave with just a dollop of leave in conditioner, but product would have made braiding my hair difficult.

I wish I had the confidence for the mini fro, but I don't, so I'm wearing a sew-in to let my hair grow out. Don't judge me.

I have always been able to pretend I had "good hair,"  as I have a light skin complexion. Why I even felt this was necessary is beyond me. It is an age old debate about the influence of european standards of beauty. I have been given the compliment, "Girl that hair makes you look 'mixed'!" I always considered it a compliment, until I realized that it meant that being all black was a bad thing. I have even caught myself asking other black people with "good hair" if they were "mixed." I have heard my family and friends around the world joke about the benefits of having an interracial baby, and giving the baby "good hair" seems to top the list. So when I got looks of obvious disapproval from old black women at the grocery store when I wore my nappy hair in public, I didn't take it to heart. I did notice that they all had straight, thinning, relaxed hair. They are doing what I was conditioned by society to do. I am now viewed as a rebel of sorts.

In the movie good hair, actress Tracie Thomas said "I think it's unusual that to wear my natural hair is viewed as being revolutionary." I agree.

My natural journey is not to say relaxers are bad and that women that use them are broken. It says that the process of conforming to unnatural beauty standards has broken me. It has broken my spirit as a black woman. I lived in Utah for nearly 10 years, and the struggle to find hairstyles that allowed me to just EXIST there was a constant battle. I just wanted to blend in as much as possible.

I still have a long process ahead of me, but thanks to the skillful hands of my cousin, I can now "whip my hair" for a few more months. My natural hair still must recover  from years of abuse and neglect.

It's Time for a Touch-Up

Every black woman knows what this means. From a very young age, she has either been told this, or heard the women around her being told this. This phrase is usually accompanied by someone running their fingers through your hair, scraping your scalp. What needs to be "touched up" is the new growth of unprocessed hair that has (miraculously) grown, despite being in the harshest of chemical environments. The day before your "touch-up" is spent being scolded, or scolding yourself, for scratching your scalp. Scratching irritates your scalp, and when a no-lye relaxer is applied, you will burn. It will be a chemical burn, that will leave scabs, sores and hurt like a mutha.

My mother meant no harm when she and her friend, Ms. Daphne slathered my 8 year old scalp with PCJ Kiddie Perm. She wasn't trying to get any information about WMDs when she implored me to just sit still while my scalp burned from the previous days' scratching. (Giving suspected terrorists a relaxer would be an effective tactic, trust me.) All my young mother knew was that I was taking swimming lessons, the chlorine was ruining my hair and making it unmanageable, and she was working full time. Before I got my hair relaxed, my mother would spend half of her Saturday pressing my hair with a hot comb. I'd been burned with the "hot comb," which had to be heated by the stove, but it didn't burn like a perm. The hot comb burn cooled quickly, burned only the surface of the skin and scabbed quickly. The perm burn was first a wound that would have to scab and then heal. I hated getting perms, but the way the perm made me feel, kept me chasing that dragon for two decades.

The permed hair was impervious to water exposure. I'd spent my hot comb days dodging the rain, and not sweating too profusely on the playground. My hair would curl up when wet, and that meant my long, straight hair would disappear. Even as a young girl, I knew to run from the rain. With my permed hair, I could take my swimming lessons and comb through my wet straight hair like a big girl. My hot comb hair made me cry, and I couldn't comb it out without assistance. It was thick, curly, and wooly. Once I was introduced to the relaxer, also known as the perm (every drug has several monikers), I never thought about going natural.

I had to use stronger perms as I got older, used them more often, used bill money to pay for visits to salons, and often found myself applying them alone, even though I knew it was bad for my hair. When people said my hair looked good, I'd immediately touch my roots to make sure there was no visible "new growth." Using relaxers never made my hair healthier, in fact my hair got progressively worse over the years. As an adult, to capture that original high I felt the first time I felt my long, straight relaxed hair flowing down the middle of my back, I picked up something to "lace" my creamy crack with: Weave.

Weave covered up my habit. It was like eye drops to cover my weed-smoke eyes. Perfume over my cigarette smoke. Breath mints for my liquor breath. The only thing I had to do now, was "keep my edges right." The "edges" refer to the hairline. If someone has messed up edges and long hair down their back, no matter how "real" the long hair looks, the edges tell the truth. Just ask Naomi Campbell. So began the next saga of my life on the creamy crack. I would have to get a perm BEFORE I got extensions, depending on the style. That's like washing and ironing your clothes before you take them to the dry cleaners.

The world of weave is unreal. Pun intended. You can be anyone you wanna be. I used to joke about my "Puerto Rican" half wigs, or my "Pocahontas" sew-in. I knew that my light complexion and features afforded me the opportunity to look exotic. I never considered that I was hiding who I really was. This is not true for a lot of women. Some women view hair as an accessory, as a fashion statement, as a way to really express themselves. I have friends that can rock purple wigs, blond extensions, fire red braids-- they can work it like champs. For me, I was obsessed with the presentation. I would miss special occasions if my hair wasn't right. I would miss work if I needed to get my hair done. I never veered into the world of wild colors and styles, I always wanted to use the unnatural weave to look as natural as possible.

 I know there are women that have beautiful, long, healthy relaxed hair, and if that works for them, keep slathering it on, my sista. For me, it was really a drug habit. Oddly enough, as I grow out my relaxer, I look like a drug addict. A crackhead, if you will.

Even as I write this, I am scheduled to have more weave put into my head. I am not bold enough to cut off all of my relaxed hair and rock the "mini afro." As I kick my crack habit, I still need my cigarettes. My hair is more than unhealthy. It is broken, confused, and double-minded. I have natural roots and permed ends. The middle is broken off and shorter than the rest.

My boyfriend has scolded me for my obsession with going natural. He will no longer even discuss the state of my hair when there are REAL issues to address. I have his support, I just no longer have his ear, hence the creation of this blog :) To me, this is so much more than my hair. This is my chance to fall in love with myself from head to toe. To love my natural hair that I grew to hate as a little girl. I love the way it feels, and I look forward to the day when I can shed all of my insecurities about my hair.

I don't know what my natural hair will be like. It could curl like Cree Summer or kink like Tracy Chapman. I haven't seen it in over 20 years. But I am determined to get through this ugly stage. I am convinced that at the end of my nappy rainbow, there will be a better version of me.

The road to natural beauty is paved with a little bit of ugly... :)