Growing up in the 80s, I remember that Jheri curls; rap; leg warmers; stretch pants; stonewashed, ripped jeans; airbrushed T-shirts; and Mickey Mouse paraphernalia were in vogue. Although our culture was changing, there were some things that remained constant in the black household, including the ritual of “doing” hair.
On Friday night, Shirley Bassey blared on the record player while my sisters and I took turns standing over the kitchen sink while our mama washed our hair. Afterwards, she would grease our scalps with blue Bergamot hair grease. The following morning, we would congregate in the kitchen to get our hair pressed.
I
had bad hair. “Bad hair” is usually said to be tightly coiled, coarse hair
that is thought to be hard to manage and is usually short. My only advantage was
that is was long. Both of my sisters, however, had “good hair” – that is,
it resembled the soft hair of most whites.
In the summer of
1990, I graduated from junior high school. Of course, I wanted to cut my hair. I
was salutatorian and wanted my hair like Brenda from "227."
“All that pretty
hair,” moaned my hairdresser, Maurice, as I sat anxiously waiting for it to
fall on me and on the floor.
As I grew older, I
continued to experiment with different styles. There was the asymmetrical
haircut like MC Lyte. There was a relaxed, wrapped do that I liked. Then there
was the short-on-the-top-and-long-in-the-back style.
Eventually, I became
a hair model to supplement my part-time job in high school. I had pink, purple,
red, white and blue hair. I had a reversible ponytail. I even had a wetset with
a remote controlled ponytail.
I was an honor roll
student and choir director at my church, but people made assumptions about me
based on my hair. I began to wrestle with my emotions:
Why can’t I just be accepted for my spirit and intellect and not my
looks?
Who was I kidding?
All my life, people had been judging me based on my looks. My own family would
make fun of my broad nose and full lips. Boys at school would say things like,
“You have pretty hair,” but never said I was pretty.
During college, I
wore different kinds of braids, and I wore my hair natural. Natural hair was
cool until I had to go to a speech and debate tournament in Wisconsin for two
weeks. I had forgot to pack my hair care products, and the town we were in
didn’t have “ethnic” supplies.
I was in a dilemma
because I realized the importance of wearing my hair straight when dealing with
white people. It makes you appear less threatening.
In an event where
there were minority competitors from all around the country, I wanted to be
judged on my performance, not my hair. I
sought a quick fix. I borrowed a White teammate’s blow dryer and hot curlers
and made do.
I continued to be natural while wearing a weave for the remainder of college. However, I caught flack from people on campus as a result
Upon college
graduation, my hair was virgin, but I had to get it relaxed. It was a
job-hunting tactic necessary in a white-dominated society.
My first relaxer
apparently came late in life. According
to Peggy Dilliard, natural hair-care pioneer, many girls get their first relaxer
by first grade.
With retouching done
every six weeks, can you imagine how much chemicals have been absorbed into the
bloodstream by high school? I’m real big on protecting the rights of a child,
and I do think that putting a relaxer on a child is child abuse in many
situations. There’s nothing out there that protects the rights of a children when
it comes to toxic chemicals and how they play into asthma and other health
conditions. You can’t give alcohol to kids legally, and I don’t feel parents
have the right to do anything to a child for the sake of beauty.
However, what I find
more disconcerting is the practice of putting store-bought hair in children’s
hair. Little girls in preschool are wearing pounds of hair via braids and
ponytails. Gone are the days of the African-American folk art of barrettes and
decorative ponytail holders.
Little white girls
were plain, but we had style. We could have our barrettes match our outfits. We
could have the round, colorful, plastic ponytail holders around one or four
ponytails. However, parents are replacing this innocent practice with mature
hair styles and provocative clothing. Choosing to wear extensions and weaves is
a big responsibility.
Because industries
often care more about their bottom line than black beauty, a lot of bad hair is
sold. Bad hair is tainted with chemicals that irritate the face and scalp. Bad
hair is low-quality synthetic hair and yaky hair – hair comes from an Asian ox
and is processed to look like black hair. Yes, it’s an animal hair, and they
sell it for around $30 per bag, but it tangles, mattes and smells within days.
Black hair is more
delicate than we think, and the drying agents, heat styling and chemical
processing we often subject it to can make it more vulnerable. However, our
self-perceptions are even more fragile.