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."
