My Life in Hair
by Danielle Henderson

She looked at me with big, brown eyes and a lopsided ponytail, eyes squinting with curiousity. "Why do you put your hair in knots? They look bad. They feel bad."

She was approximately six years old - and my niece - so it wouldn't be socially acceptable to dropkick her. As young women, most of us learn that the great unifier, the ultimate divider, and the ever-changing esteem booster is HAIR. Nowhere is this more prevelant than in black culture. As women, we teach young girls by example, however inadvertantly. So what would my lesson be today?

Growing up a black girl in a white town, I can think of several days that I was made to feel like an outsider based on my hairstyle alone. Instead of the naturally silky shine of my playmates, I had a container of Ultra Sheen pomade. Water would bead on my hair at the pool, so the wet look was lost on me. You may have had ponytails - I had cornrow braids pulled so tightly on my skull I looked Asian for at least three days after my hair was done. When I complained to my mother that I wanted to wear my hair "down", or "loose" like everyone else, she would tell me that I was different and my hair wouldn't do that without a straightener or hot comb.

Hot combs are a legal form of child abuse. If you've never been privy to a hot comb, count your lucky stars. It is exactly what you think - a cast-iron comb with a wooden handle, HEATED TO A RED-HOT INTENSITY ON THE FLAMES OF A STOVE AND SCRAPED THROUGH YOUR FRAGILE, SOFT HAIR FROM ROOT TO TIP. My hair is naturally dry, so my mother used - you guessed it - Ultra Sheen to moisturize my scalp before the burning. Everytime I had my hair "pressed" with a hot comb, I would get a bubbly, pus-filled burn on my earlobe where the comb gently grazed my skin. My hair was straight as an arrow, but the hours of heat and pain left me unable to appreciate the style.

I begged my family for a chemical straightener, foolishly thinking it would solve my problems and make my hair "look normal". I had my hair straightened for the first time at age thirteen. The beautician was busy talking to a customer on the phone and didn't notice me flailing my arms, desperate to alert her to the burning tingle on my scalp. By the time she came over to wash the lye out of my hair, I had a chemical burn over 10% of my head, large clumps of hair replaced by raw, tender burns.

She said I was "tender-headed". It was my fault the straightener burned through my hair to my flesh.

For the next few years I experimented with popular hairstyles from the Flock of Seagulls shaggy bangs to the Aquanet-ed, three feet high and rising wings before settling on a french braid, petrified of chemical conditioning and unable to wear my hair in any other style and keep it healthy.

Then I had my older brother shave my head. The width of his smile when I handed him the electric shaver is yet unsurpassed, including the joyful look on his face with the birth of his children.

Shaving my head was a way of starting over and simultaneously throwing in the towel. I didn't fit in with the black girl aesthetic of the time - long extensions, tight braids, short updo's - and it was FAR TOO PAINFUL to look like a white girl. I kept my hair short and tried to figure out exactly what I want my hair to say about me, or if I wanted it to say anything at all.

I came to dreadlocks unintentionally. I don't recall making a decision to dread my hair; it happened organically. The less I fussed with it, the more I liked it.

As with skin color (light skinned vs. dark skinned, something I'll touch on later), there are definitely some politics of hair among black culture. Good hair, bad hair, nappy hair, soft hair, straight hair, kinky hair. As my locks grew there was dissension in the ranks. More and more black women had an opinion about my hair, about my look. Many think dreadlocks to be dirty, others compliment my hair on being "the cleanest locks they've ever seen". A lot of women think dreadlocks indicate that I don't care about how I look, others see it as a sign of natural beauty.

In the seven years since I started growing dreadlocks, I've never felt more comfortable with my hair, with myself. My hair has never been longer or healthier. No Ultra Sheen, no CareFree Curl, no pomade, no lye, no straightening, no hot combs, no curlers, no hairnets, no shower caps, no bobby pins, no conditioning masks, no product.

Just me.

What are the politics of hair amongst your culture? How have you been made to feel based on your hairstyle or type?

My lesson today is tolerance. I turned to my niece and said, "My hair feels great - it's just different from yours. And it looks great, too - just different. Want to see how I do it?" I let her help me tighten one of my dreads, let her feel the roots, feel that my hair was just like hers, that there wasn't such a great divide in our style. Just different.

Submitted by Danielle Henderson (view blog) on Thu, 03/02/2006 - 17:05

Comments

 

Dyke-short

Recently, a new acquaintance tried to say hello, but got my name mixed up. My name is DeAnna, he was going for Diana, but got confused and tried to cut it off short, and all of that resulted in the greeting "Hey Dyke."

This got a good laugh from us both, but I realize that in the very small conservative country town where I live, my hair is cause for suspicion. I have it short, Marine-short. For some reason, this is a haircut associated with lesbians. I don't really have any problem being identified that way, having identified myself that way for several years, before I gave up on the whole label thing altogether.

When I moved to the country, I had long hair. But it didn't take many months of working in the wilderness with kids before I was tired of untangling branches, moss, spiders, and children from my hair and cut it off. I have definitely noticed a difference in the way local shop owners treat me, presumably worried that I am here to convert their children to a life of shame and debauchery (if only they knew how dull it really was). My boss said, "What the hell did you do to your hair!?" upon first seeing it.

For the first year or so that my boyfriend and I lived together he had long cornrow braids, to about midback. Once every couple months we would set aside a whole weekend to take out all the braids and re-do them. It was absolutely beautiful, but eventually he made a similiar decision to yours. It's short now. He's still cute, and I don't miss the aching fingers and back after a weeekend of tiny tiny braids.

peace,
DeAnna

Submitted by deandail on Thu, 03/02/2006 - 15:50
 

That story is hilarious -

That story is hilarious - thank you for commenting.

I definitely got the lesbian references in high school. It never bothered me, and kept me from dating jerks until I was 19 years old.

TAKING. OUT. THE. BRAIDS. Say goodbye to hours of your life, indeed. But my hair was always so soft after I took them out. You are a super girlfriend to sit and do that with your boyfriend!

Surly and Passionate
Knotty Yarn

Submitted by Danielle Henderson on Thu, 03/02/2006 - 15:55
 

Oh, there was a lot of

Oh, there was a lot of uproar when I first started my locs several years ago. I got "ewww, I hate those things" when I first started twisting my locs ... or "how long are you going to keep that mess in your hair" ... or constant references to other people with locks in some derrogatory fashion. Finally, I began to go on tirades of how I hated the smell of pressed hair or hair I know hadn't been washed since someone's last trip to the beauty shop ... or how icky too much gel and grease looked on those up do's people wear for weeks at a time ... that basically touched on a good number of people that I knew so folks started catching themselves.

Meanwhile, I began rod setting the locks and people were just amazed. A few months ago I decided against rods and looped and tied each lock into a knot. They are my version of bantu knots and instead of taking them down, I started leaving them in ... I've had more little old white ladies asking me about my hair than anyone else.

Folks now know that I don't tolerate ignorant comments about my hair and unless they want to hear my nauseating comments about the stench of a relaxer, they'd better make their noises in another room.

Submitted by Qusan on Thu, 03/02/2006 - 16:20
 

we're safe here?

we're safe asking questions here on blogher, right? what i'm wondering and have wondered ever since i started seeing them, is how do you 'make' dreadlocks? i've seen them on scuzzy white guys, on beautiful black gals, on strange black guys, and on curious white gals. but i've never figured out or been told how people DO them. for all of my 58 years, my fine, brown, partly wavy/partly straight, sometimes long/lately short, very contrary hair has not wanted to fit into any fashionable style except for the 'farrah' days, and that only after a wash and an hour under the dryer (every day). my husband would totally keel over dead if i ever tried them, but i sure wish i knew what the process was. they are just so ... intriguing.

Submitted by k on Thu, 03/02/2006 - 23:20
 

Definitely safe here!

It really depends on the hair type and lifestyle. Believe it or not, there is actually disagreement among the dread community about what "real" dreads are (those that occur naturally) as opposed to "fake" dreads (messing with your hair in any capacity).

I'm no expert, but here goes:

Depending on your hair texture, your hair can dread naturally over time (sometimes a long time). Enough rubbing, knotting, and not brushing and you could look like Bob Marley in no time.

I took the 'make them yourself' road, opting for thinner dreads. You basically take a chunk of hair, tease it, roll it between your palms, and repeat this process until your hair is a matted roll. Again, depending on your hair type, you may need to add stuff to keep your hair together - and people put all types of stuff in there. I would recommend natural products or minimally invasive ones - like gel and shea butter - but I've heard of people using toothpaste, glue, beeswax, floral wire, thread, you name it.

I hope that was somewhat helpful!

Surly and Passionate
Knotty Yarn

Submitted by Danielle Henderson on Sun, 03/05/2006 - 07:41
 

And I was worried about you

...writing another entry. You said you needed some encouragement? Well - you must have gotten it because this entry is great. I think you eloquently put into words what so many of us feel.

The politics for hair rest mostly with my mother, though she had no idea what to do with my hair when I was a child. She relinquished all rights to my afro ("Oh, this is so pretty when it's all picked out!" she'd squeal) when I cried at every visit to the beauty shop. We always walked out with a free hair cut for me since the tears came after they cut it and it was SO short. I wanted longer, softer hair like my sister. Everyone said she was beautiful and I believed them. Unfortunately, I also believed mine was ugly and I sang praises to the Sweet Lord Jesus when hair mousse was invented!

My dad also used to do my hair and that brought me into the culture of the Black women's beauty shop. Oh, the fun stories I have from those memories. And from getting my tender-headed self some corn rows. Well, that's not as funny. There's another F word that comes to mind for that one.

Link Text

Submitted by Kelly Wickham on Fri, 03/03/2006 - 19:31
 

It's so strange, and

It's so strange, and somewhat sad, what we learn about beauty when we're young. I don't doubt that you were a gorgeous child, but as you said you looked to your sister for a standard of beauty. In some way, don't we all aspire to some ideal, whether we are naturally inclined to that look or not?

I think it's RAD that your dad used to do your hair! Was it at all confidence boosting for you?

Surly and Passionate
Knotty Yarn

Submitted by Danielle Henderson on Sun, 03/05/2006 - 07:45
 

this is such a beautiful

this is such a beautiful picture of you. and great story.

hair is a big deal, i would be lying if i said that at 36 it isn't still a major factor in my self-esteem.

you rock.

www.jenandtonic.ca
contributing editor, World blogs :: Canada

Submitted by JenB on Mon, 03/06/2006 - 20:02
 

Absolutely ideal

In response to your question (albeit rhetorical) yes, we do all aspire to an ideal of one sort or another. Whether that is learned or just from seeing 'what we like' is left to the eye of the beholder.

You posed another great question, too! I'm not sure if up to now I even considered my dad's doing my hair as confidence boosting. What I remember thinking was that I loved spending time with him. He was a busy business man who took time to be less gruff and difficult to reach and tenderly managed my hair while talking to me. It was most precious. I suppose you're question was getting to this, so I'd have to agree: it did boost my confidence. By showing me how much I was loved.

Thank you, Danielle. You just reached in a grabbed a piece of history for me.

Link Text

Submitted by Kelly Wickham on Mon, 03/06/2006 - 20:12
 

Naturally Curly, BIG TIME

I have extremely curly hair. For the time being I straighten it twice a week; includes an hour set aside twice a week to just "wash my hair".

As a child I lived close to a large african american community. I had many names for my unrully hair. "Fro", "Little Orphan Annie" and, "Red Headed Step Child", the white kids were worse they found it "nappy" and dirty. I'll be the first to admit I was an ugly duckling but my parents and society didn't help much. My school counselor in third grade decided that my hair was a distraction so she took me to get a haircut. My second nightmare of my childhood was when my mother decided it would be best to give me a "summer buzz cut" just like my brother. I went back to school in September just in time for the "Fro" to bounce.

Now I notice a couple of things. Thanks to the invention of hair gel and defizzer. When I wear my hair long and curly people think I'm an "exotic beauty". However in the office its considered unprofessional.
When dating; I notice that there are two entirely different types of men who are attracted to Red Straight Hair and Red Curly Hair.

Long comment I know but my hair is a huge part of my identity.

Chantel Williams
BlogHer Contributing Editor - Personal Blogs
http://lifeandtimesofchantel.blogspot.com

Submitted by Chantel Williams on Mon, 03/06/2006 - 20:54
 

Spirit Hair

Looking at this hair thing from the complete other end of the spectrum... I envy you all.

Let me explain: I have spirit hair. As in it's got NO BODY.

Stick straight. Even though it's thick, it falls flat and straight. And that's a look that only Jennifer Aniston can successfully pull off all the time.

I paid for french braids once; the braider said they usually last a person a month, but she figured I'd be lucky if they lasted a week. Three days before too much of the hair slipped out to make the attractive.

Get a perm. The curl lasts 5 days.. only the damage is permanent.

So my hair is short... and at the moment that means a weird androgenous appearance. sigh.

Debra
A Stitch In Time
Simple Still Life

Submitted by debra roby on Tue, 03/07/2006 - 07:28
 

Political Hair

Ahh, yes...Black hair.

This topic always brings up so many feelings for me. Like you, I was a Black girl in a White environment. Yes, I got it all "Can I touch it?" "Yuck, why do you have *grease* in your hair?" "How do you get it to do that?" etc etc.

Then, when I'd visit my cousins and their friends in a different (inner) city it was "Ooooh, you got *good* hair. Can I comb it?"

With my 2 daughters I am trying my best to ensure that they always feel beautiful about their hair. When I style it in an afro, I call it "freedom hair." After I finish their style (braiding, twisting, whatever), I "crown" them. And don't let me forget cuz they WILL remind me: "Mommy, what do you crown me?" I have a fairly elaborate ritual where we look into the mirror together, I do a crowning motion, and then make up some magical mystical sounding name: "I crown you _____, queen of _______Land/World/Dom..."

Now my only fear is that I am going too far overboard with them--in overcompensation...

Submitted by Yvette Perry on Tue, 03/07/2006 - 12:02
 

Antenna To God

I loved your entry! As an African American female all I can say is AMEN! ;-) Please stop by my space sometime - http://spaces.msn.com/babytreese - and read my entry "Antenna To God" dated Feb 16th. You will have to open the Feb archives to find it. Love, Peace and Hair Grease!! ;-)

Submitted by babytreese on Wed, 03/15/2006 - 08:15
 

Thank you!

Thank you for discussing hair!

Like Chantell, I have very curly hair (mine is a dark brown and very thick). It's the product of my German, Swiss and Jewish ancestors. I "got" it from my mom AND my dad.

Growing up as the minority in a neighborhood that was half African-American and half Southeast Asian refugee families, I heard many comments about it. (I think the dirty comments that I heard come from the fact that I can't wash my hair with shampoo more frequently than every other day or it dries out and breaks.)

As an adult, I hear the same things in a social settings (it's "different," and I'm always asked if it's natural), and professionally some have considered it to be unprofessional. Thankfully, I have never been told that to my face!

I hated it as a teenager and into college, but I love it as an adult. I have alternated between cutting it boy-short - to avoid the curl as much as possible in the days when I hated it - and now it's half-way down my back. I would never change it, and I can't stand to abuse myself with the excessive styling needed to straighten it (for the 15 minutes that actually holds).

I think it's great to hear other women accepting their hair - and themselves - in such a positive, NATURAL way!

Submitted by N L Monn on Sun, 04/23/2006 - 07:08
 

For women who are not defined by their
hair...

I think so many women have struggled with their hair like the women above. I have my own hair story: It's thin and wavy. No, I don't mean that it falls down on my shoulder in light loose curls. Because it is so thin it doesn't have any weight to keep the curl from turning to frizz. It's not so bad once I straighten it (which I do daily) but I always feel guilty about rejecting my natural locks.

Hair reflects your identity in such a personal way. It is part of your ethnicity and your heritage. My mother gave me my thin strands, my dad gave me a touch of curl.

Watching Black Exploitation Television (BET) late night a stumbled on a bit of genuis by the incomparable Indie Arie. Her new song "I am not my hair" is required listening for this convo. In the style of her previous single "Video" Arie shows us how we can accept ourselves inside and out. Highly reccomended!

Phyrecracker
http://politicochick.blogspot.com/

P.S. Knotty Yarn, did I meet you in a video production seminar last week at McMaster?

Submitted by Phyrecracker on Wed, 05/03/2006 - 21:43
BlogHer

© Copyright 2008 BlogHer | Terms of Service