It’s Not Just A Black Thang

Since I virtually grew up in Leamington, Ontario (I spent every summer there from the time I knew what summer was until I was foruteen) it was inevitable that some of my first serious friends were Caucasian-Canadian. There was Michelle, an energetic and effervescent French-Canadian, and there was Lisa, a bubbly and sports focused German-Canadian. The three of us were the same age, although I was the youngest of the trio, and we were as thick as thieves, traipsing all around Sturgeon Woods and beyond.

Like most coloured girls at the time (and of times since), I held a silent (and sometimes not so silent) admiration for the silken and straight blonde hair of my cohorts, and while I did not wish to physically possess hair “like theirs”, I often longed for the ease of letting my hair hang loose, or simply tossing it in a ponytail when all other options failed. Michelle was a “dirty blonde” with flush shoulder length strands that she wore untethered. Lisa’s hair was a wavy/curly mass of yellow blonde, with darker blonde roots for a natural contrast. Although her hair was thicker than Michelle’s, both possessed the garden variety “good hair” that was held by society as the standard by which all heads should be measured.

What always amazed me about my friends was, for as fascinated with their tresses as I was… they equally verbalized a fondness for mine. I couldn’t understand why. I mean whenever we went swimming I always has to wear a cap or else I’d come out looking like the Don King by the head — sans the gray, of course. I could never wear my hair free because the humidity granted to the area by a heated Lake Erie would never fail to give me the equivalent of a matted helmet. And there was never any “get up, brush, and go” for me, but still, both Michelle and Lisa were enthralled with my hair’s texture and body… so much so that Michelle even got a curly perm at one point! This was the first time I realized that white women permed their hair to achieve what we naturally have been blessed with, while black women relax ours in order to emulate their hair. Of course, Michelle reverted back to her au naturale locks due to the damage the chemical process caused her, but it was cute while it lasted… in a pet poodle kinda way. *snicker*

My friend Dana, who is bi-racial, has the prettiest raven hair that softly curls, and yet she regularly relaxes her hair to achieve a straight grade. We’ve known each other since the sixth grade, and I have always envied her hair that was free of the coils I had to tame chemically in order to achieve a texture close to hers. But like Michelle and Lisa, she wished for warp and woof that would hold the more “urban” styles of her peers (ya’ll know the crazy styles we had back in the 80’s took a nice amount of relaxed “kink” to pull off *lol*). Another school friend, Felisita, has the gorgeously straight, chocolate tinted hair of a Puerto Rican Latina, which seems to grow an inch a second. *lol* I’ve always loved her length, which has spanned from shoulder length to down her back at varying times during the eighteen years I’ve known her. She, on the other hand, “hates” how limp, lifeless, and fly-away her strands can become, making it difficult for her to style it in any other way than ponytails. Although I’m not sure if she ever permed her hair, but I do know she’s wished many times for thicker tresses that held a bend and feathered bangs.

So, I guess the hair affair comes in all flavours, eh? And it’s not just about texture either. Brenda, a new reader, pointed out to me that she has issues with the graying process, and worked her way to accepting it. In response to “The Long & Short of It” she offers:

I loved your story … and can relate from my own perspective as one who is fighting the stigma associated with women with GRAYING hair. I stopped coloring mine two years ago when I decided to “own” my years and the worries that have caused my tresses to to fade.

She reminded me of my mother, who has been a Honey Blonde, courtesy of Dark & Lovely, since the days of yore in efforts to stave the gray. In addition to that, Ms. Marva has periodically relaxed the naturally soft coils graced her by her half Native-American grandmother, not because she “hated” her hair, but for the same reason as Lisa, Dana, and Lisa: for texture’s sake.

All of this just goes to show, the stigmas surrounding hair touch us all, regardless of age, hair type, or racial background. Whether we feel our hair is too limp, too unruly, or too showing too much of our age, we all have our crosses to bear. It’s not just a “black thang”; in many instances it’s not even exclusively a woman thing, because men have a set of hair issues all their own that we haven’t even begun to touch. *lol* What it is, is a hair thing, and since we all have hair (most of us, anyway *wink*) it’s a universal issue that sometimes “plagues” us for the whole of our lives. It takes simply time and patience for us all to break through certain hair-reotypes, and to learn to accept and manage our own hair, whether we choose the natural route, relaxed, curly permed, or coloured.

So to all my sistahs, and brothers, in the struggle who’ve happened upon my blog in your hair care searches, know that I feel your pain. Don’t let the melanin fool ya. *lol*

Blessed Be…

Idadi