“Girl, why your hair so straight?”
“You must be mixed with something?”
“Why you got a perm? “
“That creamy crack ain’t made your hair fall out yet?”
“See, I stopped getting perms because . . .”
This is the conversation of my life.
I have and will never understand how my hair that hangs at a good 12-14 inches, right above my shoulder, sparks so much conversation.
I remember growing up and having to sit in the kitchen every morning just so my hair could look prettiest when I walked into school. Or how I would watch and wish I could swim casually without thinking about messing up my hair. Oh, and don’t forget about how my mother insisted on straightening my hair for all the essential school events so that I could look “pretty & presentable” as if my natural curls weren’t pretty & presentable.
No matter how pretty my hair may be today, I want it gone! I want it cut entirely off. I sometimes wonder how easy it would be if I had short hair, both natural or relaxed.
I have been relaxed since I was in 5th grade, and it’s been interesting. I saw people talk about the 4c kinky curled black girls whose edges wouldn’t lay down with just a little water or some gel. I saw people question my reasoning for having a perm and bash me for not “embracing my curls.”
I’ve come to the realization that no matter what my hair looks like, it does not define me.
I could be the black Rapunzel, or bald, natural or relaxed. I am still beautiful. We, as black women, have to understand the beauty that runs through our veins. We are the descendants of Queens and Kings that ruled armies and ran nations. We as a race are too complex to be conformed and defined by the dead skin cells growing out of our heads.