CREAMY CRACK / I DON'T WANNA BE WHITE / IT'S MY PREROGATIVE......

I have been a 'natural' gal for over 3 years; natural meaning my hair has not been chemically straightened. The journey from getting relaxers to no chemical straightening was much easier than I thought it would be. However, the maintenance of that existence is just as difficult as I imagined it would be. It all started when, I decided, I needed a change after wearing different variations of the mohawk hairstyle. There's only so much you can do with a mohawk, so, I decided to chop it all off. I didn't do it with the intention of 'going natural;' I just liked the way I looked when I held my hair down and could see nothing but face in the mirror. I literally said, aloud, 'Damn, I'm pretty!' The barber who cut it off and shaped me up agreed.

I wore the brush-cut style for months, then I decided to let my hair grow back. I figured, once it reached a certain length, I could get a relaxer and a different hairstyle. But, when it grew and I saw the true texture of my hair (that I hadn't seen since I was about 12, 13 years old), I liked it. In fact, I loved it. I remembered having a 'nice' texture of hair but didn't quite recall what that looked like. I'm a 'nappy girl,' for sure, but there's a wide range of 'nappiness' and I happen to fall into the 'not-so-bad' range. Now, I'm not one of those people who uses the term 'good hair' (which is usually used to describe someone's hair that is straight, wavy or curly, with not a nap in sight) nor do I believe, 'there is no such thing as good hair.' People can try to make themselves or others feel better by saying that, but (I'm sorry), it's just not true. On one extreme, there are some curl patterns that are extremely tight & dense (that I wouldn't even describe as 'curl' patterns) which makes the hair hard to manage and difficult (or impossible) to mold or manipulate into any styles other than braids or an afro. On the other extreme, there is straight hair, with not a hint of wave or curl that makes it difficult to wear most hairstyles in its natural state. That's what I would call 'bad hair.' However, there are many hair types in between that allow for alot of maniupulation, variety and beautiful styling. That is what I would describe as 'good hair.'

I'm not really sure where my hair fits on the a-b-c (hair types) scale but I like to describe it as 'cotton curl.' It looks good and is quite manageable in its natural state. When it's wet, the curl pattern is tight & springy; when it's dry, the curl pattern is tight and soft. I like to wear it in various forms of the afro and I also like to do different kinds of 'twist-outs' (where you braid or twist the hair then keep it in that style for a few hours or overnight, then unravel hair to create a curly, coily or wavy hairstyle). However, maintaining the health of my hair and creating hairstyles takes A LOT of time, energy and product (money). I look forward to getting much (if not all) of my original length back but the more my hair grows, the more frustrated I get with the upkeep. Which is why, thoughts of the 'creamy crack' cross my mind, often.

'Creamy crack' is the name somebody (probably a naturalista) gave to relaxer products that are used to straighten the hair. Although there is a great number of women who have 'gone to rehab' and gotten their naps back, there are still many women who are still addicted to what the relaxer does for their hair. I was once addicted and though I no longer need that fix, at times I sure do want it. Sometimes, I want it, to be able to wear my own hair in certain styles and feel the air on my scalp as my tresses bounce and blow in the wind. Sometimes, I want it, so I can wear certain weave styles and get my various states of 'diva' on. And sometimes, I want a relaxer, because my hair would be much more manageable and require less daily maintenance. Whatever the reason is, it ain't got a damn thing to do with denying my blackness or 'wanting to be white' or being 'brainwashed by europeans' or any other shitty notion some people come up with to try to make a sista feel guilty, bad or 'less-than'. I don't care how I wear my hair, I know I'm a black woman, I love being a black woman and I am going to express my black woman-ness in straight hair, curly hair, nappy hair, weaved, braided, long, short or round-the-way hair. Whatever style I choose, these facts will remain constant.....I'M BLACK and I'M PROUD! BLACK GIRLS ROCK! MY BLACK IS BEAUTIFUL! ....got it? Ok.

LOVE or HATE?

There’s been a lot of talk about our golden girl, Olympic gold medal-winning gymnast, Gabby Douglas, who, at just 16 years old, not only led the U.S. women to Olympic gold in gymnastics but she has also landed magazine and cereal box covers. So why are people – black people, mainly – talking about Gabby’s unkempt hair instead of her achievements? Some would argue that ‘that’s our problem now’, we are always focused on the ‘wrong’ things. We would rather talk about hair and other superficial matters than important stuff like, a young black girl accomplishing her dream of becoming an Olympian instead of somebody’s baby momma or the fact that dedication and hard work paid off in Olympian gold for Gabby not celebrity-inspired gold bought by a drug-dealing boyfriend or the fact that Gabby is more concerned with keeping her body fit and healthy in order to perfect her gymnastic moves and not ‘drop, stop and poppin’ moves. While I agree that sometimes, we (black people) do get caught up in appearances, material things and glitz & glamour, we're not the only ones (hey, fellow Americans!) and I think there’s another perspective to this hairstory.
First of all, we are taught, from an early age, that one must put forth their best appearance as first impressions are critical and appearance does matter. A person who is neatly dressed and coiffed will have the edge over someone who isn’t. A person who is fashionably dressed is received better than, say, a plain jane. Not that any of that has a darn thing to do with the skill it takes to become an Olympian, but I’m just saying (our obsession with appearance didn't just come out of nowhere). Secondly, I am a woman and mother of a daughter. Throughout my life, if ever I had some place to go (or not), my mother kept my hair done. If there was a special occasion or an extra-special destination I was going to (say, London for the Olympics as an Olympian), my hair would be extra-tight. Not extra tight in a painful way but extra tight in a way that every hair would be perfectly in place and shining like the sun. I was taught that you should always try to put your best face forward and when out in public, you are representing not only yourself but your family, too. So, when people started saying, ‘Why wasn’t Gabby’s hair done?!’ I thought it came more from a familial, loving and protective place than a place of misplaced focus, unordered priorities or hateration.

I’m not gonna lie. When I saw her on the Olympic floor, I said, ‘Now why is her hair like that?!’ This was while beaming with pride from seeing a black teenaged girl doing her thing on the Olympic floor, instead of somebody’s club floor. I know nothing about the Olympics, their schedule, if/who was responsible for getting Gabby’s hair done – maybe she missed her appointment, maybe the stylist didn’t show up – but what I do know is that, in her most glorious moment, she should’ve been coiffed to perfection – just like all the other girls were. Well, I guess I shouldn’t say ‘all’ because I haven’t actually seen them all but all the ones I did see had their damn hair done. I’m not suggesting she should’ve had a long, wavy weave, 40 inch ponytail or bone straight tresses blowing in the wind. But I do know that the ‘do she was sporting could’ve been done much better than it was. A little bit of gel and a few – okay, maybe more than a few – jewel-adorned bobby pins could’ve turned that ‘who didn’t do it’ into a pretty, perfectly pinned pony. Hopefully, instead of taking the complaints as just a bunch of grumbling black folk, Gabby and her parents/team will take something positive from the backlash and put more effort into the golden girl’s future appearances. In the meantime, we are proud of you, you done great and we look forward to you doing, being and looking even greater. Keep going for the gold GABBY! We do love you!

BFly's Black Herstory Month: 'Black Hairstory'

Okay, so after yesterday’s post regarding Black History Month, I got to thinkin’.  While I don’t necessarily think we need to have black history month anymore, I won’t be a ‘party pooper’ and not join in the celebration.  After all, I am Black and I am Proud and I/we deserve to be celebrated.  However, I’m going to celebrate a little differently than most others.  On this blog, I will not (just) post about the accomplishments & contributions to society of famous (or not-so-famous) African Americans.  I am going to (mostly) talk about my history and experiences as an African American…..specifically, an African American woman. With this post, I will kick off BFly’s Black Herstory Month (‘BBHM’) by telling you a little about my ‘Black Hairstory.’

I was born to an African American father and an African American mother, with Native American roots.  I know, I know, that’s just about every black person’s story.  Mine is real (included are pics of my grandmother as the ‘show’ to my ‘tell’).  If asked, my grandmother will proudly tell you she is a black woman and makes no mention of her NA roots, unless asked about them.  Most people do ask, because she looks like she is of a race/nationality other than African American.  This is due to her NA grandfather (as the story goes), from which she inherited a reddish-brown complexion, smooth skin tone and a long, black silky mane.  Both of which were passed down (in various, diluted amounts) from generation to generation.

          

My Mom inherited more of her mother’s NA genes than she did her father’s AA genes, when it came to hair and complexion/skin tone; although she had enough ‘heft to the weft’ to pull off a big ole afro back in the day.  The length of her hair ran the length of her back and that, she passed on to me (and my two sisters).  That being said, when you see me, you don’t see nary a NA root; not in my complexion, facial features nor hair texture.  I am chocolate brown with a smooth skin tone and naturally long hair that is not coarse but it damn sure ain’t ‘fine.’  I call it ‘nappy-curl’ because I can wash ’n go, with conditioner, and have a nice curl texture but when it’s left un-coiffed and dry, it looks like a bunch of red cotton. In the pic below (I was 7 years old) you can see my big poof of hair that was pulled into a side ponytail:

As a youngster, I hated to get my hair done but, without fail, my mother washed, sometimes blow-dried and styled my hair every other week and our ‘dos were refreshed, in the meantime, as necessary.  As a preteen, after I grew out of wearing ponytails (like most other young black girls) I wanted a relaxer.  Why?  Because I wanted the already long length of my hair maximized (having long hair was a huge plus in the looks department) and I wanted my hair to blow in the wind.  As most other black mothers did, my Mom said ‘No’ the first few times I begged but, eventually, she gave in.  But not without warning me that I would regret it and mess my hair up for life.  She was right (almost).  Throughout the years, I’ve tried different things with my hair……..relaxers, braids, salt ‘n pepa haircut (done at a cosmetology school and looked a hot afroed mess……wasn’t a curl in damn sight!), ponytails, fingerwaves, pineapple waves……..the works.  The only thing I didn’t try was a jheri curl….and that was because I saw what it did to my sister’s tresses.  Nevertheless, my hair fell out, broke off and ended up looking so far gone from where it began. I finally learned to take care of my hair, while in college, and have maintained a healthy grade & decent length of hair since.  But, then, for the next 15+ years, I wore the same style almost always (like what you see in the pic below):

Fast forward to the point of maturity where I was finally able to see (what my Mama had been telling me all along) that the length of my hair did not make me (beautiful).   My Mom had been suggesting, for years, that I cut my hair into a very short hairstyle to ‘bring out my beauty.’  Years ago, she cut off all of her hair and hasn’t let it grow past her shoulders since.  A little more than 2 years ago, I finally decided to take my mother’s advice and figured my birthday would be the perfect time to do it.  I didn’t tell anyone about my plan. I just made the appointment, told my stylist what I had in mind and she gave me what I wanted, plus some. The result of that haircut was the style you see here (I absolutely LOVED it!):

 

 

For months, I rocked the Mohawk style in various ways and not since I was a teenager had I received so many compliments and ‘double-backs’ (when someone walks past then turns around for another/closer look).  I had to admit, with the short-short hair, my facial features were on full display….and I looked damn good. I was definitely feeling myself!  So much so that, a little over a year later, I looked in the mirror and said, ‘To heck with it……I’m taking it all off!’  Once again, I didn’t tell a soul.  I went to my barber, who had been maintaining my shape-ups, and told him to take it all off.  He said, ‘Whaaaaaaa?!?!  Are you serious?’  I said, ‘Yes I am…..dead serious.’ So, he commenced to cuttin’.  And when he was finished, I knew I made the right decision when I heard him whistle. ‘Whooooo weeeeeeeee!,’ he said.  Then, he (jokingly) asked me what I was doing later that day.  Yeah, I was looking good (as you can see in the pic below).

       

On the day I got my first brush-cut, I was also a host for my sista-friend’s baby shower.  So my sisters, Mom, daughter and some of my closest friends were in attendance.  I wish I could’ve recorded the looks on their faces and the comments they made when they saw me.  That’s when I KNEW I hit the jackpot. Between my fam’s reactions and the reactions of so many others, what I already knew was confirmed: long hair did not ‘make me.’  I looked gorgeous with almost no hair at all.  Then, when I decided to make it red-hot……..ooooohhh wee…..couldn’t tell me nothing (as is evident in the pic below)!

I figured I’d be a brush-cut, redhead for life. Then, I began to miss having hair and being able to wear different hairstyles.  So, I got my last cut in August and decided to keep my hair in its natural state.  Now, I am sporting a small, red afro that has grown out enough that tracks of some kind can be sewn in (which will actually be happening tonight).  I plan to give my hair a rest and let it grow, ‘under wraps,’ by keeping it weaved, braided & twisted up for a few months.  Come late Spring, early Summer, I‘ll be sporting a bigger, redder, badder afro!  I know it’s going to be a lot of work, keeping it healthy and pretty, but I’m looking forward to the versatility my natural tresses will bring.  While (the length of) my hair no longer defines how beautiful I believe I am at any given time, I’m glad to have experienced the long and short of it.

 

What’s your black hairstory?