My Hair Journey

“I am not my hair. I am not my skin. I am the soul that lives within!” – India Arie

Growing up I was never ashamed of my kinky hair but it was not something I was proud of, either. The strands just existed on my scalp; nothing great, nothing horrible, they were just there. However, when the teenaged years stormed in (‘que’ my mother’s deep sigh) all that I was interested in – or not – changed.

For instance, my BET, 106 and Park obsessions, went into full bloom and the world of Dora existed no more. With all this new exposure came – amongst other things – my dream of one day having straight highlighted hair, popping pink gloss (you know the song) and a giant fan following my every step. Why? Because that was how beauty and being fierce were presented.

It also didn’t help that everyone – and I mean every woman – around me reflected these images to certain degrees. Their hair was either straight, jerry-curled or weaved and I needed to look like them. I needed to be beautiful too. So when I was alone, I would plaster my hair with hair shine and brush it with the strength of angels, just for it to look slightly straight – that lasted all of 4 seconds before the kinks returned. For those 4 seconds though, I liked how I looked, because I looked like I was heading in the direction of beauty.

The first time I entered the world of “straight hair beauty” I was 13. My mother had had enough of my constant begging and decided that creaming my hair was a better option to jail – she was fed-up and threats of knocking sense into my brain weren’t working. So one faithful day after school, she took me to the hairdresser and by the time I left I felt like a new, beautiful woman – at 13. I couldn’t wait to go back to school and show them that I had joined the club of fabulous, thin and with straight hair. I was finally one step closer to being Mrs. Chris Brown (I have a past, no judgement please).

However, the thing about dreams, is that they are forever left incomplete and you wake up to reality sooner or later. No one told me that every night I would have to put rollers in and after a while the kinks would come back! Which meant every month I would have to continue chasing the high of straight hair and killing the horrible kinks.

Like clockwork, every month I had to sit in that chair to keep up with these beauty standards. Sadly, by the time I started to realize the truth, years later, and accept that I am black and I do have kinks, I was addicted to the white straightening crack. The acceptance and recognition I would get when my hair was straight and ‘neat’ was now a craving.

It would be awe-inspiring if I could say that I started my natural hair journey after finding my inner beauty and began to love my kinks, but alas, that wasn’t the case. Instead, my journey blasted off because my options were taken away. I’ll never forget the day. It was 2016, and I sat in my usual seat, when the hairdresser pulled the hair band from my hair, she was mortified at the matted nest resting on my scalp. Years of applying the white crack to my roots had finally taken its toll. My once dark, healthy hair, was now an unappealing, trashy shade of brown which resembled chewed hay while the center of my hair was no more.

With words of disgust – and feelings of shame on my end – she took the scissors to my hair (didn’t even ask me) and chopped it to a super low bob after creaming it, again – addictions don’t die easily.

I struggled with my new reality. I was a university student going through an identity crisis and now I would stand out even more as the girl with damaged hair, amongst a sea of weaves and 3c hair types – my hair was my mask and now I was exposed. This is why when the kinks started to grow back I went for the next best option; I threw braids in my mess and planned that the second my hair grew back to an acceptable length I would revisit my old chair and return to the land of beautiful hair.

I can’t exactly pinpoint when, but somewhere between 2018 and fast forwarding to 2020 – let’s focus on the awakening and not the Jumanji level crazies 2020 has brought – my views on beauty changed. Type ‘Beauty Meaning’ into Google search and see what comes up. The definition is, so-so and when you click on images, there are just some quotes, at first.

However, I can tolerate the quotes as opposed to pictures, because the truth is beauty should not be defined or portrayed by anyone but yourself. I want to clear up something here. If you want to process your hair, wear weave or even cut it all off, do it because that’s what you want!

Not because an influencer or society has deemed it acceptable – that gives me ‘pick me massa’ vibes. If you generally like a style and want to copy it because you like it and not just to be like the ‘hot girls’ go for it. Do it for you and no one else! When I begged and continued to process my hair I wasn’t doing it for me. I did it because that’s what I was shown as professional, beautiful and acceptable to society.

When I finally stopped listening to the world and started to listen to my body and soul I realized I loved my kinks, despite still getting grief from many for embracing them! They have now become something I wear with pride and confidence. In some way, it’s also my subtle way of flipping the bird to those who want to dictate acceptable beauty standards.

It’s flipping off what our forefathers had to be told was ‘proper,’ because the straight-haired massa wanted my race to feel beneath him. I have a crown upon my head that I am proud of, but sadly it took 20 plus years for me to accept that notion.

It saddens me when I interact with other women – especially young girls – and they admit that they don’t feel comfortable with their appearance unless their hair is processed or they are wearing weaves or braids. Why? Because their 4c hair is still frowned upon. They don’t get noticed, because they don’t have ‘pretty hair’ and society still sees kinks as unkempt and unprofessional.

Don’t believe me? Type “unprofessional hairstyles” in your search engine and reflect on what you see. So here’s the conclusion. You know that song by India Arie titled, “I am not my hair”?  It says: “Good hair means curls and waves, bad hair means you look like a slave.” Sounds familiar? Cause #ICanRelate.

However, the song goes on, “I am not my hair, I am not this skin, I am the soul that lives within.” I want us to take away that part. Let’s wear our crown with pride but also not use it to hide. Let’s stop being influenced by the images we see on TV or social media to the point of killing or hiding what you have been blessed with and conforming to societal “beauty”.

Let’s embrace our inner beauty and truth that is uniquely us. Let’s wear weaves, straighten our hair or even chop it all off, because we want to, not because we crave acceptance by others or to look less like a slave. I’m proud of my kinks but they no longer add or subtract from my beauty.

J. Foster, UTECH Communications Graduate, alternate world dreamer, last seen in Kingston failing a ‘twist out’