I Love My Hair

“Don’t need a trip to the beauty shop, because I love what I got on top. It’s curly and it’s brown and it’s right up there. You know what I love? That’s right- My Hair! I really love my hair… I love my hair. There’s nothing else that can compare with my hair. I must declare… I really, really love my hair.” Sesame Street

Women always tell me how lucky I am to be “mixed” because I have that “good hair”. Sometimes I want to scream because they can never appreciate how many times I’ve stood in front of the mirror with scissors contemplating cutting it all off and going bald. Hair is soo much work.

I remember one time when I was about 3 or 4 I took the scissors and made myself bangs just like my Barbie… unfortunately this was the type of Barbie who’s hair grew back… well it took a lot longer to grow out my bangs.

And then there was the constant flux between parents, households, and foster homes which included multiple *bad* perms. Well in the middle the Millionaire told me I was old enough to take care of my own hair. I thought I was brushing it, but I only scaled along the surface. As it turns out my hair matted in large clumps that later had to be cut out. Imagine my shame and horror at being the only bald third grader.

High school was better, my sister took care of my hair. It was always freshly permed. We experimented with highlights…but it was still short: a little past my ears but not touching my shoulders. I thought I was too cute! But I hated the harsh scabs that I would have after a bout with Dark & Lovely. And I hated always checking for new growth or having to wash your hair with special shampoo when you went swimming. Even worse I hated how my hair would fall out in clumps and it never bounced but was always stringy straight.

College: Thank the Lord I was too poor to do anything about my hair in college. Unfortunately it always looked a mess. Until my cousin bought me the Chi… *Thank you LC*. Now with perfect weather conditions: no rain, no humidity, below 75 degrees; I can have silky straight strands that reach the bottom of my bra strap. It’s also made me love the winter 🙂

But i like rocky my hair curly also. Especially freshly washed with the curls are dynamically defined. I whip my hair back and forth… and smile with contentment.

I’m still young in my hair horror stories… though the bread incident still incites my family into peals of joyous laughter *cough*; but I’ve learned not to be scared of my hair. If cut, it will grow back. If permed, it will grow out. If dyed, it can be dyed back.

I’ve also realized what hairstyles look great on me: big bouncy curls, long luscious waves, piled high, chignon’d low… it works.

It’s taken me a long time, but I’ve learned to embrace my hair and love it for doing what it does. I love the subtle signs that signals the need to wash it, oil it, comb it. I love how soft and light it is. I love how it moves in the wind and still winds back into shape. It’s mine… I love it… and I’m a Black Girl who Rocks!

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