Natural Hair and the Professional Environment

In addition to being concerned about my family’s reactions to my hair, I was also concerned about the professional implications of wearing a TWA. I cut my hair during winter break between my first and second year in the MBA program at the Darden School of Business. My classmates and I either wanted to become investment bankers on Wall Street or consultants at top management consulting firms. Umm, my TWA didn’t seem to fit either environment. How in the world was I going to get a job at a prestigious firm when folks might take one look at me and think I was a big, militant black woman? The other concern I had was that my new hair cut had practically made me a museum piece at school. Wait, people tend not to touch museum pieces, maybe I felt more like an animal at the petting zoo. I mean, I’ve seen people oh and ah over someone’s new hairstyle but the kind of attention I was receiving was unprecedented. One situation exemplifies my experience.

I was standing in what is now called the Pepsico Forum at Darden. It is a beautiful entryway with vaulted ceilings, marble pillars and beautiful interior design. We use the Forum to have First Coffee, a tradition where the Darden community (faculty, staff, students) convenes to socialize in the morning. One day, I was waiting in the Forum (I cannot remember for what), when one of my classmates approached me, shrieking with delight about my new hair. “I looooveeeeee it”, she gushed. Then, without invitation, she put her hands into my hair and begin to somewhat massage my head. If you read my 4/20/11 post, “Coming to the End of the Road: Bald Spots and Still Relaxing”, you’ll note the parallel between this situation with my classmate and that club situation with the cute guy I met at Club Zei. Why do people think that they have the right to touch my hair? I hear some of you, “Aw Tina, chill out, you are overreacting!” What would you say if you were on public transportation and someone just came up to you and put their hands in your head? You would probably go off and ask them what their problem was. I know it’s different because I knew my classmate, but I didn’t know her like THAT! Your hair is intimate, personal. It felt like the combination of my uniqueness and her white privilege made her think that it was okay to cross this personal boundary without my permission. I couldn’t hold it. I said, “Girl, get your hands OUT of my hair!” She looked hurt by my response. I then took the time to explain to her why it is offensive to do what she just did, how I felt objectified. I told her that I was not an inanimate object to be fawned over and ogled. By the end of our conversation, I think she got it and we continued our friendship. However, the experience left me wondering if I was going to spend precious time having to educate folks about my natural hair.

Natural Hair and the Professional Environment

In addition to being concerned about my family’s reactions to my hair, I was also concerned about the professional implications of wearing a TWA. I cut my hair during winter break between my first and second year in the MBA program at the Darden School of Business. My classmates and I either wanted to become investment bankers on Wall Street or consultants at top management consulting firms. Umm, my TWA didn’t seem to fit either environment. How in the world was I going to get a job at a prestigious firm when folks might take one look at me and think I was a big, militant black woman? The other concern I had was that my new hair cut had practically made me a museum piece at school. Wait, people tend not to touch museum pieces, maybe I felt more like an animal at the petting zoo. I mean, I’ve seen people oh and ah over someone’s new hairstyle but the kind of attention I was receiving was unprecedented. One situation exemplifies my experience.

I was standing in what is now called the Pepsico Forum at Darden. It is a beautiful entryway with vaulted ceilings, marble pillars and beautiful interior design. We use the Forum to have First Coffee, a tradition where the Darden community (faculty, staff, students) convenes to socialize in the morning. One day, I was waiting in the Forum (I cannot remember for what), when one of my classmates approached me, shrieking with delight about my new hair. “I looooveeeeee it”, she gushed. Then, without invitation, she put her hands into my hair and begin to somewhat massage my head. If you read my 4/20/11 post, “Coming to the End of the Road: Bald Spots and Still Relaxing”, you’ll note the parallel between this situation with my classmate and that club situation with the cute guy I met at Club Zei. Why do people think that they have the right to touch my hair? I hear some of you, “Aw Tina, chill out, you are overreacting!” What would you say if you were on public transportation and someone just came up to you and put their hands in your head? You would probably go off and ask them what their problem was. I know it’s different because I knew my classmate, but I didn’t know her like THAT! Your hair is intimate, personal. It felt like the combination of my uniqueness and her white privilege made her think that it was okay to cross this personal boundary without my permission. I couldn’t hold it. I said, “Girl, get your hands OUT of my hair!” She looked hurt by my response. I then took the time to explain to her why it is offensive to do what she just did, how I felt objectified. I told her that I was not an inanimate object to be fawned over and ogled. By the end of our conversation, I think she got it and we continued our friendship. However, the experience left me wondering if I was going to spend precious time having to educate folks about my natural hair.

True Love- of Self and from a Good Man

In an earlier post, I mentioned how nervous I was about my family seeing my new short afro for the first time. My stomach felt sick. The thing is, I loved my new look. I was still adjusting to it, but I felt liberated. I was also proud that I could look myself in the mirror and know that I was strong enough to buck conventional notions of beauty.

I don’t remember the exact sequence of events when I first pulled up to my parent’s home and unveiled my do. I do remember my Mother staring at me like I had just announced I was addicted to crack or something. She blankly stared at my head and, finally, FINALLY said something like, “Do you like it T? If you like it, that’s good”. Wow! My Dad just told me that I was still pretty. Well, there you have it. My folks didn’t like my new TWA (teeny weeny afro). Guess what? I didn’t crumble, I didn’t cry. I was just relieved to know what they thought and I moved on.

I do think that it was incredibly helpful for me to have a relationship with a phenomenal man, Fred, now my husband. Fred and I started dating when I was still getting my hair relaxed. He has always been clear that he thinks I’m beautiful. I remember that he would run his fingers through my hair and I would say, “Stop!” because it was time for a touch-up. Whew, the roots were THICK! He’d look at me and ask why I was so touchy and then tell me that he loved the way my hair felt. It had texture, was springy, curly, kinky…he loved the way it felt. Say what?! That was so liberating!! To have someone you love validate your beauty, confirm that you are okay just as you are. Once I cut my hair, he continued to reaffirm his love for me and his appreciation of my beauty. I'm not saying that I cut my hair FOR Fred or that he loved me because I cut my hair. Our love is much deeper than that. The truth is that for so long I was afraid to reveal my true self to men so it was wonderful to take off the mask in front of him and let him see my natural essence.

True Love- of Self and from a Good Man

In an earlier post, I mentioned how nervous I was about my family seeing my new short afro for the first time. My stomach felt sick. The thing is, I loved my new look. I was still adjusting to it, but I felt liberated. I was also proud that I could look myself in the mirror and know that I was strong enough to buck conventional notions of beauty.

I don’t remember the exact sequence of events when I first pulled up to my parent’s home and unveiled my do. I do remember my Mother staring at me like I had just announced I was addicted to crack or something. She blankly stared at my head and, finally, FINALLY said something like, “Do you like it T? If you like it, that’s good”. Wow! My Dad just told me that I was still pretty. Well, there you have it. My folks didn’t like my new TWA (teeny weeny afro). Guess what? I didn’t crumble, I didn’t cry. I was just relieved to know what they thought and I moved on.

I do think that it was incredibly helpful for me to have a relationship with a phenomenal man, Fred, now my husband. Fred and I started dating when I was still getting my hair relaxed. He has always been clear that he thinks I’m beautiful. I remember that he would run his fingers through my hair and I would say, “Stop!” because it was time for a touch-up. Whew, the roots were THICK! He’d look at me and ask why I was so touchy and then tell me that he loved the way my hair felt. It had texture, was springy, curly, kinky…he loved the way it felt. Say what?! That was so liberating!! To have someone you love validate your beauty, confirm that you are okay just as you are. Once I cut my hair, he continued to reaffirm his love for me and his appreciation of my beauty. I'm not saying that I cut my hair FOR Fred or that he loved me because I cut my hair. Our love is much deeper than that. The truth is that for so long I was afraid to reveal my true self to men so it was wonderful to take off the mask in front of him and let him see my natural essence.

Happy Easter: Crowns of Glory

Happy Easter! Believe it or not, in my mind, Easter and hair are connected. Why you ask? Every Easter was a time for my family and I to get decked out from head to toe in our Easter finery. That meant a gorgeous hairstyle and, for the older women, a gorgeous hat. My husband and I gifted my Mother-in-Law with the book “Crowns: Portraits of Black Women in Church” by Michael Cunningham and Craig Marberry. Here is the cover shot of the book. I love the look on her face because she is calm and serene and elegant enough to wear her ornate hat in such a dignified way. My Mother can rock a hat and so can my Aunties. I have yet to find a slamming hat that will fit all of my dreadlocks but I’m still on the hunt. Hey, let me know if you are aware of entrepreneurs who cater to the dreadlock set; I’d love to find a beautiful crown. Happy Easter!

Happy Easter: Crowns of Glory

Happy Easter! Believe it or not, in my mind, Easter and hair are connected. Why you ask? Every Easter was a time for my family and I to get decked out from head to toe in our Easter finery. That meant a gorgeous hairstyle and, for the older women, a gorgeous hat. My husband and I gifted my Mother-in-Law with the book “Crowns: Portraits of Black Women in Church” by Michael Cunningham and Craig Marberry. Here is the cover shot of the book. I love the look on her face because she is calm and serene and elegant enough to wear her ornate hat in such a dignified way. My Mother can rock a hat and so can my Aunties. I have yet to find a slamming hat that will fit all of my dreadlocks but I’m still on the hunt. Hey, let me know if you are aware of entrepreneurs who cater to the dreadlock set; I’d love to find a beautiful crown. Happy Easter!

My Family Not Feeling My Natural Do

I had agita in my stomach as I drove back home to my parent’s house in Alexandria, Virginia. I was home for Winter Break between my first and second year getting my MBA at the Darden School of Business. Oh my goodness, how was my family going to respond to my new hair?

Most of my formative years were spent in Alexandria, Virginia and I grew up on a FABULOUSLY SUPPORTIVE street. There were Black doctors, lawyers, teachers, principals, military personnel and they all took an interest in us young folks. We could rip and run up and down the street and bust into and out of each other’s houses. Whew, those were some FUN days. As I drove down the street with my newly shorn hair, I realized that I now felt a bit like an outsider. I could not recall one person who wore a short, teeny weeny afro (TWA) I like I had. I did not want to be perceived as the good girl who went off to school and came back a militant, crazy Black woman. After all, those were the people who wore this hairstyle right? Seriously, some people looked at me and wondered aloud why I’d do something so drastic, cut off my pretty hair. Didn’t I know that I had nappy, coarse hair? Why would I do that? Perhaps I should consider getting a texturizer? These questions all came from people I knew and loved, people who were close to me.

It hit me. This cultural norm of wearing long, relaxed hair is deeply imbedded in Black society and has been for DECADES, almost a century in the United States! That helped to explain why the women around me were resisting my change to natural hair. It was almost like I was doing something wrong. Betraying some secret sister commitment. Where did these attitudes come from? The following 1928 ad for Hi-Ja (a “hair fix” product) is from the Chicago Defender (click to enlarge). The ad illustrates some of the complexities associated with beauty.

My grandmother, and her mother and my mother, may have grown up with images like this, images that depict “long, wavy” and “straight” hair as “charming” and the alternative as “short and ugly”. Oh my goodness!!!! Oh my goodness!!! Furthermore, you BETTER change your nappy hair or you might lose your man. WOW! I’m going to need a minute to reflect on this.

My Family Not Feeling My Natural Do

I had agita in my stomach as I drove back home to my parent’s house in Alexandria, Virginia. I was home for Winter Break between my first and second year getting my MBA at the Darden School of Business. Oh my goodness, how was my family going to respond to my new hair?

Most of my formative years were spent in Alexandria, Virginia and I grew up on a FABULOUSLY SUPPORTIVE street. There were Black doctors, lawyers, teachers, principals, military personnel and they all took an interest in us young folks. We could rip and run up and down the street and bust into and out of each other’s houses. Whew, those were some FUN days. As I drove down the street with my newly shorn hair, I realized that I now felt a bit like an outsider. I could not recall one person who wore a short, teeny weeny afro (TWA) I like I had. I did not want to be perceived as the good girl who went off to school and came back a militant, crazy Black woman. After all, those were the people who wore this hairstyle right? Seriously, some people looked at me and wondered aloud why I’d do something so drastic, cut off my pretty hair. Didn’t I know that I had nappy, coarse hair? Why would I do that? Perhaps I should consider getting a texturizer? These questions all came from people I knew and loved, people who were close to me.

It hit me. This cultural norm of wearing long, relaxed hair is deeply imbedded in Black society and has been for DECADES, almost a century in the United States! That helped to explain why the women around me were resisting my change to natural hair. It was almost like I was doing something wrong. Betraying some secret sister commitment. Where did these attitudes come from? The following 1928 ad for Hi-Ja (a “hair fix” product) is from the Chicago Defender (click to enlarge). The ad illustrates some of the complexities associated with beauty.

My grandmother, and her mother and my mother, may have grown up with images like this, images that depict “long, wavy” and “straight” hair as “charming” and the alternative as “short and ugly”. Oh my goodness!!!! Oh my goodness!!! Furthermore, you BETTER change your nappy hair or you might lose your man. WOW! I’m going to need a minute to reflect on this.

The Big Chop!

Equipped with a new desire to go natural, I now had to figure out what exactly I was going to do with my hair. Was I going to transition with braids, a weave? Or, was I going to just do the big chop? I am the kind of person who loves to do research, gather input and then conduct more and more research. BUT, once I make a decision, I go for it. I’d spent years thinking about my hair and now I was ready to do the big chop. One of my girlfriends in Baltimore had just done the same thing and she recommended that I go to a barber shop on Charles Street to get the deed done.

I was nervous when I sat in the chair. It’s funny, I remembered tons of women draping salon capes around me when getting my relaxers and now a young, black man was draping one around me, only this time to chop off my hair into a short natural. I was nervous that a man was cutting my hair. I did not want to look masculine. That was a big fear. I am just under six feet tall and I can range anywhere from a size 12 to a size 16. I am bigger than some dudes so the last thing I wanted was to walk out of the barber shop and be mistaken for a guy. Maybe that’s the main reason that I always wore flawless makeup and chunky jewelry during my short natural days (hmm, had I just exchanged one beauty standard for another?). So much (i.e., my self-image and my feminine pride) was tied to my hair. But, I know I’m not the only one. That is why this is such a big deal.

If I recall correctly, the barber first combed out my hair and then took scissors and cut off the bulk of it (does Locks of Love take relaxed hair? I should have thought about that then). I had my girlfriend snap a shot and I looked like Don King. Straight up. Thank God we used regular film back then because if she’d shown me the digital image I might have lost my nerve. The process didn’t take too long and before I knew it, the barber turned the chair around and I gazed at my new image. My stomach sank. Oh my GOD! What in the world had I done? I looked like a dude, a cute dude, but a dude nonetheless. Ok, maybe I didn’t look like a dude but I had NEVER seen my hair that short in my entire life. It was going to take time to adjust. I noticed that my facial features looked different, my cheekbones stood out, so did my eyes. It was pretty amazing to see how much a hair cut can transform you (I guess that’s why Tyra Banks has those makeovers on America’s Next Top Model).

I got up, paid the barber and walked out of the shop. I had no idea how my family was going to respond.

The Big Chop!

Equipped with a new desire to go natural, I now had to figure out what exactly I was going to do with my hair. Was I going to transition with braids, a weave? Or, was I going to just do the big chop? I am the kind of person who loves to do research, gather input and then conduct more and more research. BUT, once I make a decision, I go for it. I’d spent years thinking about my hair and now I was ready to do the big chop. One of my girlfriends in Baltimore had just done the same thing and she recommended that I go to a barber shop on Charles Street to get the deed done.

I was nervous when I sat in the chair. It’s funny, I remembered tons of women draping salon capes around me when getting my relaxers and now a young, black man was draping one around me, only this time to chop off my hair into a short natural. I was nervous that a man was cutting my hair. I did not want to look masculine. That was a big fear. I am just under six feet tall and I can range anywhere from a size 12 to a size 16. I am bigger than some dudes so the last thing I wanted was to walk out of the barber shop and be mistaken for a guy. Maybe that’s the main reason that I always wore flawless makeup and chunky jewelry during my short natural days (hmm, had I just exchanged one beauty standard for another?). So much (i.e., my self-image and my feminine pride) was tied to my hair. But, I know I’m not the only one. That is why this is such a big deal.

If I recall correctly, the barber first combed out my hair and then took scissors and cut off the bulk of it (does Locks of Love take relaxed hair? I should have thought about that then). I had my girlfriend snap a shot and I looked like Don King. Straight up. Thank God we used regular film back then because if she’d shown me the digital image I might have lost my nerve. The process didn’t take too long and before I knew it, the barber turned the chair around and I gazed at my new image. My stomach sank. Oh my GOD! What in the world had I done? I looked like a dude, a cute dude, but a dude nonetheless. Ok, maybe I didn’t look like a dude but I had NEVER seen my hair that short in my entire life. It was going to take time to adjust. I noticed that my facial features looked different, my cheekbones stood out, so did my eyes. It was pretty amazing to see how much a hair cut can transform you (I guess that’s why Tyra Banks has those makeovers on America’s Next Top Model).

I got up, paid the barber and walked out of the shop. I had no idea how my family was going to respond.

Coming to the End of the Road: Bald Spots and Still Relaxing

At a certain point in my life, I was still getting relaxers but questioning myself about why I was subjecting myself to the process. As I’ve mentioned before, hair is linked to femininity and attractiveness. I remember I was at a local DC club (Zei Club in Zei Alley…yes, I’m showing my age as I’ve heard the club has long since been gone). I had just gotten my hair relaxed that morning but it had come out too straight so I put on a cute hat. I met a handsome guy and after talking, dancing, and exchanging numbers he reached up uninvited and pulled my hat off of my head. He then said something to express his relief that I didn’t have a knotty head of hair. I was stunned. I mean, “REALLY!? REALLY?!” The nerve! Anyone who knows me (especially my guy friends I grew up with), is probably waiting for me to say that I clocked him in the head right on the spot. I didn’t. Instead, I was relieved that I’d gotten my hair relaxed because if he’d seen my hair, oh, 14 hours earlier, he’d likely have ripped up my phone number and walked away.

Perhaps I continued to get relaxers because I thought that I’d be unattractive to Black men if they saw me in my natural state? I’m NOT saying that all Black men want women with straight hair. I am saying that in the mid-1990s when I was dating, it seemed like the “in look” was long straight hair. Hits like “Bump and Grind”, “That’s the Way Love Goes”, “Weak” and “Whoomp There it Is” filled the air waves and the women dancing in the videos had weaves down their backs. It was only a matter of time before I noticed more and more women wearing similar styles. My girlfriends and I lamented the fact that we were single despite being attractive, educated, kind people. It felt like there were eight Black women for every one Black man because almost every woman I knew was single while every guy I knew had two, three or even ten “girlfriends”. When I reflect back and think about the high demand for men and the sense that my natural hair might put me out of the “running” (not to mention perceived convenience, style, family input, etc.), it is understandable why I continued to get relaxers. Not making excuses, just trying to understand my thinking at the time.

Yet, my hair continued to fall out. This was a time when I was grateful for thick, thick hair because I just had to style my hair in a certain way and the alopecia bald spot was covered. After a while though, the insanity of the situation made me rethink my relationship with my hair. Heck, my relationship with ME.

Coming to the End of the Road: Bald Spots and Still Relaxing

At a certain point in my life, I was still getting relaxers but questioning myself about why I was subjecting myself to the process. As I’ve mentioned before, hair is linked to femininity and attractiveness. I remember I was at a local DC club (Zei Club in Zei Alley…yes, I’m showing my age as I’ve heard the club has long since been gone). I had just gotten my hair relaxed that morning but it had come out too straight so I put on a cute hat. I met a handsome guy and after talking, dancing, and exchanging numbers he reached up uninvited and pulled my hat off of my head. He then said something to express his relief that I didn’t have a knotty head of hair. I was stunned. I mean, “REALLY!? REALLY?!” The nerve! Anyone who knows me (especially my guy friends I grew up with), is probably waiting for me to say that I clocked him in the head right on the spot. I didn’t. Instead, I was relieved that I’d gotten my hair relaxed because if he’d seen my hair, oh, 14 hours earlier, he’d likely have ripped up my phone number and walked away.

Perhaps I continued to get relaxers because I thought that I’d be unattractive to Black men if they saw me in my natural state? I’m NOT saying that all Black men want women with straight hair. I am saying that in the mid-1990s when I was dating, it seemed like the “in look” was long straight hair. Hits like “Bump and Grind”, “That’s the Way Love Goes”, “Weak” and “Whoomp There it Is” filled the air waves and the women dancing in the videos had weaves down their backs. It was only a matter of time before I noticed more and more women wearing similar styles. My girlfriends and I lamented the fact that we were single despite being attractive, educated, kind people. It felt like there were eight Black women for every one Black man because almost every woman I knew was single while every guy I knew had two, three or even ten “girlfriends”. When I reflect back and think about the high demand for men and the sense that my natural hair might put me out of the “running” (not to mention perceived convenience, style, family input, etc.), it is understandable why I continued to get relaxers. Not making excuses, just trying to understand my thinking at the time.

Yet, my hair continued to fall out. This was a time when I was grateful for thick, thick hair because I just had to style my hair in a certain way and the alopecia bald spot was covered. After a while though, the insanity of the situation made me rethink my relationship with my hair. Heck, my relationship with ME.

New Growth Meant Not Pretty

“New growth is a good thing. It represents rebirth, life, strength. But why did new growth have such a negative connotation when I was younger? Was it that I was resentful, afraid of the fact that the real me was rearing its ugly head and peaking through the cracks of my relaxed façade? “

This is an excerpt from yesterday’s post and I want to revisit this discussion because it is beginning to elicit some interesting feedback and pulling up lots of my forgotten reactions. As I little girl, I seriously doubt that I was thinking about issues of authenticity. Instead, I think that I was so upset because new growth, in my mind, meant that my hair was no longer going to be pretty. The popular girls tended to have long, straight hair (including the Black girls). I remember one little Black girl named Makeeba J. She had beautiful, long wavy hair that she’d wear in two plaits. I wanted her hair so bad! It was glossy black and I thought she must have been mixed with Native American because I’d never seen a Black person with hair like that. I’m 99% sure that her hair was natural (I never asked) but all I knew was that for my hair to look like that, I’d have to get a relaxer. Makeeba seemed to be the little girl that all of the boys liked and I attributed it to her silky hair. Even though I was at the age when I beat boys up, I still wanted that kind of male attention. I wanted to be coveted, fawned over, dreamed about. I thought that my hair was a barrier to that kind of adoration. Thank goodness for my Mother and Father. As I mentioned in an earlier post, my parents made sure that we knew that we were beautiful girls, both inside and out. However, messages that I was somehow inferior, not good enough “as is” still crept into my psyche. Now, I still had a marvelous child hood. Please don’t get the impression that my hair sidelined me in life. That is not my point. My point is that hair attitudes affected how I perceived myself and others, how I identified with MYSELF and as a Black person.

As I got older, I do think I struggled with revealing my authentic self as it relates to my hair, meaning, I did whatever I could to conceal my new growth. In my next post, I’ll talk about why this was such a struggle for me. Also, I'll share some other reactions that illustrate that Black women may not be the only women struggling with these issues.

New Growth Meant Not Pretty

“New growth is a good thing. It represents rebirth, life, strength. But why did new growth have such a negative connotation when I was younger? Was it that I was resentful, afraid of the fact that the real me was rearing its ugly head and peaking through the cracks of my relaxed façade? “

This is an excerpt from yesterday’s post and I want to revisit this discussion because it is beginning to elicit some interesting feedback and pulling up lots of my forgotten reactions. As I little girl, I seriously doubt that I was thinking about issues of authenticity. Instead, I think that I was so upset because new growth, in my mind, meant that my hair was no longer going to be pretty. The popular girls tended to have long, straight hair (including the Black girls). I remember one little Black girl named Makeeba J. She had beautiful, long wavy hair that she’d wear in two plaits. I wanted her hair so bad! It was glossy black and I thought she must have been mixed with Native American because I’d never seen a Black person with hair like that. I’m 99% sure that her hair was natural (I never asked) but all I knew was that for my hair to look like that, I’d have to get a relaxer. Makeeba seemed to be the little girl that all of the boys liked and I attributed it to her silky hair. Even though I was at the age when I beat boys up, I still wanted that kind of male attention. I wanted to be coveted, fawned over, dreamed about. I thought that my hair was a barrier to that kind of adoration. Thank goodness for my Mother and Father. As I mentioned in an earlier post, my parents made sure that we knew that we were beautiful girls, both inside and out. However, messages that I was somehow inferior, not good enough “as is” still crept into my psyche. Now, I still had a marvelous child hood. Please don’t get the impression that my hair sidelined me in life. That is not my point. My point is that hair attitudes affected how I perceived myself and others, how I identified with MYSELF and as a Black person.

As I got older, I do think I struggled with revealing my authentic self as it relates to my hair, meaning, I did whatever I could to conceal my new growth. In my next post, I’ll talk about why this was such a struggle for me. Also, I'll share some other reactions that illustrate that Black women may not be the only women struggling with these issues.

Virgin Hair No More: My First Relaxer

Eventually, my Mom allowed me to get a relaxer in my hair. Oh happy day! At least that’s what I thought back then. No more hot combing, no more burnt ears and singed forehead, no more fear that water would leave a shrunken mess on my head. I went to the salon to get my first relaxer because I had virgin hair and my Mom wanted to make sure that my hair wasn’t damaged. I remember the excitement as I walked into the salon. Whirring hairdryers, well-coifed women, beautiful pictures of beautiful people on the walls. I felt like I was entering a new phase of my life. I was entering womanhood. Hmm, almost like a Black mini-version of a Bat Mitzvah.

I sat in the barber chair. My stylist (Ms. Joanne?) said hello and put paper towels around my collar and then me draped in a salon cape. She then took out my pony tail holders and began to run her fingers through my hair. Gently pulling it up and out, looking at the condition of my hair. She parted my hair into four sections and then used a wooden spatula contraption to apply a protective cream to my scalp / hair. She then mixed the relaxer and it sounded like my Mom mixing cake batter. Only it didn’t smell as good. Actually, it stunk. But, I didn’t care a bit. I wanted that creamy, albeit funky-smelling, concoction on my hair because I wanted to walk out of there with Charlie’s Angels hair.

She applied the relaxer to the exposed sections, then parted, applied, parted, until my entire head of hair was covered in the relaxer (she applied it from the roots to the tips because it was my first relaxer). She then worked it in, smoothing and patting, then smoothing again. Every now and then she’d ask if it was burning, “No.” When she first put the relaxer in, it felt cool to my scalp. However, as the timer ticked, my scalp became lukewarm, then warm, then medium hot, then hot, then “IT’S BURNING!”. She then rinsed, washed and conditioned my hair. When I sat up, I had butterflies. I wanted to see my hair. It was wet and I could feel hair on the back of my neck. This was it! Water was no longer my enemy!

When I first gazed in the mirror, I couldn’t stop smiling. Actually, I could have cried. I was so ecstatic that instead of a shriveled mass of hair on top of my head, I saw long, straight tresses. She blow-dryed and styled my hair and my love affair with my “new” hair began. When I walked out of the salon, I stood a little taller because, in my young mind, my straight hair had transformed me.

What does hair have to do with it? Why talk about ethnic hair?

I am writing this blog because I want to share my ethnic hair journey as a way to empower other people. It is not easy growing up as a person of color in this world. Too many times, I hear stories or read articles about people of color going to drastic measures because they are dissatisfied with their natural features. For example, people of color may choose to bleach or lighten their skin despite documented risks:

· Jamaica: http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/cb_jamaica_skin_bleaching

· India: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=120340646

· Multiple African countries: http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/18377596

There is even a website dedicated to lightening black skin: http://www.blackskinlightening.com/about-black-skin-lightening. It should be noted that this site seems to focus mostly on fading acne scars, hyperpigmentation, etc. and has an article that contrasts skin lightening with skin bleaching (http://www.blackskinlightening.com/dangerous-skin-bleaching-vs-safe-skin-lightening). I would argue that fading acne scars is different that bleaching your skin (a la Mr. Sammy Sosa…I don’t know the man but, wow, what might have led to such a drastic change in skin tone?)

I write about my personal ethnic hair journey because it documents the struggles that I went through with my identity and self-esteem as it relates to my hair. One of my good friends raised a good point when expressing her concern about my focus on ethnic hair, here is an excerpt:

“I know it's an (was) issue but at what point do we make a choice to move on and get over it; there are bigger issues in the black community beyond the physical. Let's talk about mental illness and why blacks suffer in silence”.

I think that this is a valid point. Here is an excerpt from my response:

“We all have to reckon with the fact that God made each of us different and learn to love it. My point is that when I read articles about skin bleaching, extensive scalp damage from hair weaves, etc. it makes me think, "Man, if you can't love yourself, how in the world are you going to love anyone else and make positive change in this world?" This is an issue that also links people of different cultures and, therefore, can help to build bridges. For example, I just learned that Asian women often feel like we may when it comes to finding a salon: you have to be trained on how to cut Asian hair or else it will get jacked up. This may sound like a basic issue and that's the point. It's about identity, self-esteem, basic building blocks for flourishing in this world. I agree with you 100% that we in the Black community need to rally around issues of mental illness, incarceration rates, unwed mothers, poverty, illiteracy, and many many more.”

I chose to focus on ethnic hair, because as a professor, I conduct research on identity. My hair is part of my identity and it is connected with my ethnicity, age, etc. It seemed like a good starting point to launch important conversations. I’m excited to see that great discussions are already being stimulated.

Water + Straightened Hair = Black Cotton Ball!

After the Saturday morning “Wash, Condition, Comb, Press, Grease” ritual, I was all set for the week. Hallelujah! I’d take my crispy ears and singed forehead and gaze at my beautiful hair in the mirror. I loved how my newly straightened hair shone, that grease did the trick! But wait, the weather report called for RAIN!??!! Oh no! Rain, water, humidity, precipitation…these were my archenemies and I’d do anything to avoid getting my hair the least bit wet. If my hair got wet, my Mother’s hours of work would shrivel right on up (sort of like the Wicked Witch in the Wizard of Oz- why can’t I get that comparison out of my head?).

Now that I have locs, shrinkage is not a big deal. However, as a little girl, I was devastated if I got my hair wet and was unable to show off my straight hair at school. I remember one particular weekend, I was getting ready for school pictures. I’d been bugging my Mom for a relaxer and she wouldn’t do it. Ugh. I was in the sixth grade (I think) and most of my other friends already had straight hair. Here I was with my puffy halo and I didn’t like it! I wanted straight hair. That wasn’t happening so the next best thing was to get my hair pressed, tie it up tightly with a scarf and pray for no rain the morning of Picture Day.

Well, it rained on Picture Day morning. Not the kind of rain with big drops. I’m talking misty, hazy precipitation that blows in your face and shoots up under your umbrella. By the time I arrived at school, my hair looked like a black cotton ball. This is my picture from that day. I was so upset but now, I wish I could whisper in my ear and say, "Girl, you are BEAUTIFUL inside and out! Rain or no rain, your hair is gorgeous! Be proud of ALL OF WHO YOU ARE!"

Do you have funny stories about your hair getting wet? Or, antics you used to prevent your hair from getting wet? Ha, back in the day I wasn’t ashamed to walk down the street with a plastic shopping bag on my head when I forgot to bring my umbrella!

Natural Hair Care Process (at least what my Momma used to do!)

Growing up, I felt that my tightly coiled, cottony hair was a curse. So, I had a love / hate relationship with the Saturday morning ritual of getting my hair washed, conditioned, combed out, plaited into four big sections, blow-dryed, greased and pressed with a sizzling hot comb. Someone shared with me that with the rising rate of biracial families and children, there is an increasing need for folks to learn how to care for Black hair like mine. So, in this post, I’m going to go step-by-step through the process my mom used to wash and style my hair.

First came the washing. Waaaay back in the day, it was just my Mom, me standing on a kitchen chair with a towel around my neck, the kitchen faucet and me (later, we graduated to a sprayer and that made things much easier). I’d bend over and the warm water would go from the nape of my neck to the front of my head (and face!). My Mom was a great sudser and I have great memories of the thorough scrubbing she’d give my scalp and hair. Wash, rinse, wash, rinse, wash. Towel blot, then condition.

I’d sit with the conditioner on my hair, sometimes with a heat cap (or a plastic cap you can get at the beauty store) on. Then, my Mom would rinse one more time and then, ugh, came the combing. It hurt like a mug. There’s no other way to put it. My once long pressed hair had now shrunk to one to two inches of tightly curled, thick hair. A funny story about how water shrinks my hair. When I was about four or five years old, my family lived in the Philippines (my Dad was in the Navy). We had a housekeeper named Vergie and one day she took the initiative to wash my hair. BIG mistake. When my Mom got home, Vergie was in tears and, through her sobs, she promised my Mom that she’d only washed my hair, she hadn’t done anything to make my hair fall out. My Mom had to let Vergie know that nothing was wrong, in fact, that’s what my hair naturally does. It shrinks when water touches it.

After the combing I’d usually have an attitude, but my Mom wasn’t having that. Back then, children with attitudes were dealt with, not tolerated. Anyway, I digress. I was tender-headed so it really was an arduous process but I wanted my hair to look “nice” so I sat and dealt with it. After combing through my hair, it was parted into four sections and each section was plaited. My Mom did this so that my hair would stay untangled, plus plaiting is a way to prevent additional hair shrinkage.

Next, my Mom would loosen one plait at a time and take small sections to blow dry. She’d start at the root and work her way to the ends. She’d then clip the newly blow-dried hair to one side and repeat the process for the rest of my hair. Then, she’d oil my scalp (note: we used to use petroleum-based products but now I use oils that blend in when applied to my skin and I avoid petroleum products. An Internet search for petroleum products and black hair will provide much insightful information about this topic).

While greasing my scalp, my Mom would have put the straightening comb on the stove to heat. Oh my goodness. The memories, the memories. By the time my scalp was oiled, the hot comb would be smoking hot. So hot, that she’d take a folded paper towel and lightly touch it to the comb. If the paper towel turned brown, the comb was too hot and would burn my hair. She’d blow on the comb until it reached the right temperature. Then, sizzzlllllllllllleeeeee, she’d comb my hair with the hot utensil one or two times, then, back on the stove it went. The process was pretty simple, EXCEPT when she used the hot comb near my ears and on the edges. Oh my gosh!!! I just said that my Mom greased my scalp. Well, what happens when grease gets hot? It catches on FIRE!!! No, my hair didn’t catch on fire but it sure felt like my ears and forehead got burnt up (I had the burn scabs to prove it). Once the straightening was done, my Mom might braid my hair, put it into a ponytail or some other nice style. Whew, done for the week.

Towel Head

One of my earliest hair memories is how upset I was as a little girl that my hair didn’t move like Charlie’s Angels when I stuck my head out the car window as we travelled along. The wind would make my eyes tear up but every follicle stayed in place. I tried again and again, no movement. God, this is a rip-off! I was so disappointed and angry that I’d been cursed with cottony, disobedient hair. My hair is thick and coarse. Hmm, those aren’t the only words we used to describe my hair. Here are a few: kinky, nappy, tight, rough, bad, difficult, brittle, peasy, linty, puffy, unmanageable, and hard. Not very positive attributes but that is just how it was.

The funny thing is that I grew up in a loving household. My parents made sure that we grew up feeling good about our blackness. Our house was filled with Black History trivia games; long discussions about Roots (we watched it as a family); awe-filled conversations about George Washington Carver, Mary McLeod Bethune, Sojourner Truth, Shirley Chisholm, Ida Barnett, and Barbara Jordan to name a few. Plus, my parents always told us that we were beautiful, intelligent women who would grow up to do something big in the world.

Yet, despite this enriching environment, I still remember my sister and I walking around the house with our long beautiful “towel” hair, the result of wrapping bath towels around our heads so that we could pretend that we had long hair. Perhaps because of my parents, we not only pretended to be Charlie’s Angels (I always emulated Kelly, I thought she was the smartest and the prettiest) but I typically played Jayne Kennedy (former Ms. Ohio USA and actress, now a wife, mother and children’s activist) and my sister was Jody Watley (of Shalamar fame). We would daydream about our beautiful homes, gorgeous husbands and fabulous lifestyles, all while making sure that our towel hair was neatly tucked into our shirt collars or else…well, in our minds our nappy hair didn’t go with the fantasy. Some might argue that this is just a little girl fantasy. However, in hindsight, it seems like much more than that. We were trying to escape, escape the reality that we somehow had hair that was less than what society told us was beautiful. So what did we do? We did what any creative child would do. We reinvented ourselves in the dominant image of beauty and that meant long, wavy straight hair no matter how it came about.

Fast forward thirty years and I look at my beautiful daughter and son. Here we are living in a majority white area and I am so concerned that my children realize how beautiful they are: ALL of who they are their soft, cottony hair, strong minds, beautiful brown skin and all.

I have a few questions for you: What adjectives do you recall being used to describe your hair? What do you do with your children to instill a sense of worth in environments where they are often bombarded with statements / images to the contrary?

Loc Wearer on Hunt for Salon in Boston

Whatever your beliefs about the cohesion (or lack thereof) of “Black” America* , one thing that binds us together is our hair. That’s right, our hair. I’ve talked with lots of Black men and women about this topic and no matter where folks are from, how old they are, how much money they earn, whether they have a weave, a natural hairstyle, a relaxed do, bald head or fade, we are all in search of the perfect hair salon or barbershop. If we’re blessed enough to find a place we like (love), we are worried that the stylist is going to leave and then we’ll be back on that search again.

I had to recently go on the hunt for a good stylist. I have locs that are to the middle of my back and people who know me often say, “Girl, you have a LOT of hair”. I do. I can do it myself but it takes about 5-7 hours. Therefore, I NEED a good stylist. The search was prompted because my family and I recently moved to the suburbs of Boston, MA from New York. In New York, a wonderful loctitian came to my house to do my hair. She was a talented loctitian who nurtured my hair and crafted it into beautiful, woven updos. I miss her!

When we moved to the Boston area, I was concerned with normal moving issues, like would our children adjust to their new schools, would my husband and I excel at our new jobs, would we like our house and neighbors, you know, the typical stuff. In addition to these concerns, I scanned my neighborhood and thought, “Where in the world am I going to get my hair done?” I mean, a visit to the local drug store revealed that the shelves had NO ethnic hair care products. No gel, no sheen, no oil, no grease, no shampoo that wouldn’t completely dry out my hair, nothing. I guess this is because our area is basically a lily-white town. According to Wikipedia, based on a 2007 Census Bureau estimate there are 85% Whites, 10% Asian, and the remaining 5% is comprised of Blacks (2.2%), while Hispanics or Latinos of any race were 3.4% of the population.

When I moved here, I had no idea of the journey that was ahead of me. The real journey began when I got that first relaxer as a little girl.

*I just finished reading Eugene Robinson's book, "Disintegration: The Splintering of Black America". It is a great read and should start some wonderful conversations.