The Long & Short of It

][ orginaly posted June 2, 2007 on Vox ][

But if a woman have long hair, it is a glory to her: for her hair is given her for a covering.

1 Corinthians 11:15

As you may be able to see in the picture, I have never been at a loss for locks. My father's side of the family blessed/cursed (depending on your take) me with a head full of thick, super curly tresses that adorn my scalp from nape of neck to edge of substantial forehead... which they also blessed/cursed me with. *lol* I've had a love/hate relationship with that abundant mass of fibrous protein ever since I knew what it was. Its singular strands often unifying to become tiny, militant fists in response to water or humidity, or clinging defiantly around elastic bands in silent protests of my mother's meddling. Where my peer's hair would grow in length, mine would seem to find ways to defy gravity and expand in breadth across my head. So I could never sport the lovely styles of beaded braids or spiral curls that cascaded on shoulders or down the span of backs. Not even those all day kitchen salon press and curls, with the medieval ear torturing devices of hot comb and stove curling irons, could tame these tufts for long. Once I was out of that chair and unleashed on the outside at large, sweat and vigorous tomboy activity could swiftly undo the work of art Marva Joyce slaved hours to create. Then it was back to corn rolls or french braids for the kid.

My granddude always said, "Everybody's got 'good hair'. If you have hair... that's good, aint it?", but my hair wasn't Barbie straight or Cher long -- despite the one/sixteenth Native American blood that seemed to have blessed my brother and cousins with the soft, wavy manageable hair I missed out on. It didn't bounce, it didn't behave and that was what "good hair" did in my inexperienced opinion. What I had was... well it wasn't good, let's just say that.

My daddy loved my hair and would spend hours twirling it along his fingers, running his digits over and through it as if it were some treasure to behold. He was adamant about scissors staying as far away from me as possible, and when it came to the subject of chemically altering my locks, he was so dead set against it I was scared to even bring the subject up to him. Of course, he wasn't the one who had to deal with it, Marva Joyce did, and while she was not all that "for" me getting a perm, she was on the bandwagon for whatever made my hair easier to conquer. So at twelve... I got a Jheri Curl, believing it would give me that pretty, wavy effect i'd seen in the magazines and on television. HA! What it ended up being was either drip-drip messy or haystack dry... neither of which was cute nor sexy. *smdh* NO! I will most certainly NOT post pictures of that fiasco, so don't ask! As a matter of fact, let's flash forward a bit... forget you ever read that, okay? Don't make me have to break out that Men In Black device to help you with that. *lol*

I was fourteen when I transitioned from the style that shall not be named into a relaxer, thinking finally I would be able to enjoy the length and texture I envied in my youth. Finally it would blow in the wind, snap back in shape when I flung it flirtingy out of my eyes, and take on that sexy when wet appeal after I washed it. Sound good didn't it? Well it neeeeever happened, and after years of trying to achieve advertisement perfection you know what i did? Yup, you guessed it. I chopped it off. Well, not completely of course. With all the shocks my dad had taken up to that point when it came to my hair, I wasn't trying to kill the man. *lol* I kept my hair in a nice, manageable Halle Berry style complete with a barber taper and pencil curls along the "kitchen" area. Everyone said it suited my face shape and made me look much "older" and "sexy". That was all well in good but what I was really trying to do was keep the untameable beast that resided atop my head as subdued as possible. Since bi-weekly beauty shop trips were never in the budget, sporting the short do was a low maintenance option. Or so I thought. Wanna guess how many sets of curling irons I had to use at any given time just to keep my hair presentable? No really... take a guess! If you guessed any less than four, ranging from 3/8 to 1 inch barrels you were wrong. *lol* The easiest option most times was to brush it back and slick it down with Pre Con Gel, but even that took skill, thanks to my hair's natural tendency to curl on its own accord.

Like my daddy, most of the men I've "dated" and/or married have been lovers of hair, so my short and sassy style really didn't set right with them. My words for them were "Either like it as is or pay for it to get done." They've always opted for the latter. *smh* cheap bastards. It wasn't until I was carrying my Saburo that i decided to try my hand at cultivating a longer style. Actually, I had a deal with my Soon-To-Be-Ex that if I grew my hair, he'd cut his. Since I had been trying to get him to chop of his past shoulder length ringlets for years (long hair on men, cute to look at but not all that practical) I took up the gauntlet he threw down and went for what I knew. Thankfully, pregnancy hormones were on my side making the process somewhat effortless. I was so in love with my hair then. It was soft with that feather-light lilt that lifts in the breeze then settles back in its original space once the wind ceases its molestation of it. I'd worked my way down to just needing one two inch bumping iron to style it, and when i didn't feel the need to deal with it, *swoop*... back into a ponytail it went. I was also blessed at the time to have secured a personal stylist who's loving caress every two weeks seduced my follicles into giving up the goods, and finally... FINALLY... I had that "good hair" I'd been striving for all that time! WOOOHOOO! Then I lost contact with my stylist and from there, it was the classic story of hair gone wild for four years to follow.

I used to wonder where the big fascination and obsession with hair came from. For both men and women. Such a trivial object, this outgrowth of dead skin cells, yet it determines beauty, is used to identify sex, and without it being "just right", our personal identities suffer. Could it be the whole 1 Corinthians 11:3-15 deal? The Fisherian Runaway model of sexual selection? *shrug* I dunno, but whatever it is, it has most of us tight in its grip. Some to the point where leaving the house sans some sort of covering or having your hair "fried, dyed, and laid to the side" is a no no. *raises hand* Can't come out in less than your coiffured best when you live in the hair capital of the world,.. or at least [sporting] something to compensate. *giggle*

India’s lyrics ring true for some of the misconceptions some of us hold: “Good hair means curls and waves/Bad hair means you look like a slave”. Most of us have developed such a stigma about how our hair “should” look, built upon years of societal and cultural standards, stereotypes and subtle “brainwashing” on what beauty really means. Me so much so that whenever even a trace of fuzziness presented itself along my hairline or “kitchen” area, I’d beat a hasty retreat to the nearest beauty supply to replenish my super strength Motions no-lye relaxer and smooth out the problem. *sigh* I’ve taken my hair through a lot in a little over two decades. Chemical curling and straightening, bleaching and streaking, quick weaves, blow drying, almost daily {hot] curling, spritzing and styling. It’s a wonder [my hair] just ain’t jumped off my head at some point and ran screaming into the night! It’s relatively healthy because it’s a trooper like me, but I’m sure it’s weary. Just as weary as I am of my “obsession” with it being “just right”.

So now I’m here at a crossroads, having made the decision to take my hair back to its roots… metaphorically speaking. I’d originally considered Sisterlocks, but that whole complete cutting of hair if I want to change styles thing turned me off. So I’m opting for a press and curl style, where my hair would look no different than when permed, just require more elbow grease and less chemicals to keep it looking up to par. Part of the process involves a periodic trimming of the chemically processed strands (which was about six to seven inches of it) as growth occurs. To start, i had a decision to make: rock a blunt bob (which wasn’t too much shorter than what my hair really was), brave a layered pageboy or dare a feathered pixie. Well, what started as a simple end clip resulted in shedding an inch. Then another. And another. And yet another in my effort to get everything square and even; taking me from nine or ten inches crown to chin/jawline, to five and a half inch bangs and eight and a half inch sides/back.

When I took that first look in the mirror after the scissors ceased their business I wanted to cry. Close to six years of growing gone in a matter of snips. What would my father say? What would be the kid’s reactions? How long would it take and what would I have to do to get it that length again??? And why did I look like a little boy by the head!!!!

Okay so, it was an over reaction of sorts. Not like I’ve never had short hair before. It grows back, and with me not stripping it of its natural oils, texture and strength, it will grow back quicker and healthier than it was before. Once I flat ironed the roots and bent the ends, the cut became more flattering, and I remembered why I liked short styles in the first place — very complimentary to my face shape. *wink* And hey… it even made me look about ten minutes younger than my real age. Can’t beat that with a stick. HA!

I haven’t permed my hair since April Twenty-Sixth and so far I’ve done a fairly good job of maintaining my hair. It will take a whole lot more work to keep up once my new growth becomes substantial, but it’s worth it in the end to be able to say the fullness, health and beauty of my hair will be the work of my own hands, not the aid of alien processes. I’m sure Alberto-Cuerver [maker of Motions] will miss me though, cause I’ve added to their bottom line so much over the years, I should own a small percentage of the company. *lol* But now, my bottom line for beauty will be added to, so it’s aaaaaaaaaaaall good.

Blessed Be…

Idadi