Trusting Me, Myself and My Hair

Sharpening the Saw: Trust

My husband embraces my hair journey with one question: “Can I touch it?”

A few weeks ago, I posted a picture of my new hairdo on FaceBook. Several comments ensued. After getting the haircut, my hairstylist, Danielle Pitts, owner of Salon Dae, said, “I hope you’re blogging this journey.” I’m not; but after posting the picture, I had a thought about me, myself and my hair that I wanted to share.

At age 19, I wanted to cut off my hair. I don’t know why but I wanted to wear a short haircut. It’s possible I wanted something easy and different. I worked in my mother’s beauty salon after school since ninth grade. I was a gopher, going to the store for coffee, breakfast, lunch, and cleaning rollers and sweeping the floor. I moved from gopher to shampoo girl. My after-school hours and Saturdays were spent with my mother a hairstylist known as the Hair Doctor. She created amazing hairstyles with a pressing comb, sewing needle, permanent relaxers, cold waves, and wigs. She teased, cut, colored and curled all types of overly curly hair. With her infamous reputation, she preferred if I hadn’t swept my hair back into a ponytail after she’d coiffed my tresses into either a mound of Shirley Temple curls, a Farrah Fawcett flip or a pageboy. However, like the ladies and gents who frequented her salon, hair was not part of my glory.

It’s the Farrah flip, my mom styled for my high school graduation photo.

I wanted short hair. My mother said to wear short hair I needed to have a slim face and short hair looked better on skinny girls. I guess size four counted as fat, so I didn’t cut my hair. I didn’t trust the image of beauty I saw in the mirror. Furthermore, my grandmother had advised me not to cut my hair. She attributed the cutting of hair to losing one’s strength like Samson in the Book of Judges chapter 16 verses 1-31. I hadn’t considered myself a person of strength, and at 19 I’m sure I didn’t know the meaning of strength or had considered that my life had been dedicated to God. Anyway, I heeded both my grandmother and my mother’s advice. I didn’t cut my hair.

Then one day, I was at school, and the instructor requested a volunteer for a DA haircut. I volunteered. I sat in the chair, other students surrounded me, and the instructor demonstrated the cut on my hair. He created the longer version on me and a shorter version on another student. I loved it. My mother hated it. My grandmother didn’t see it. After that day, I was no longer afraid to cut my hair as long as it was ear length, straight, and bouncy.

Years later, I no longer had beauty parlor convenience. I moved sixty miles north into a suburb where hairstylists didn’t look like me. And when I asked “where do you get your hair done” most black women named a salon in the five boroughs. Many did their own hair. Unfortunately for me, my hands were like kryptonite when it came to styling my own hair—despite graduating from beauty school and working ten years in the business. After shampoo and blow dry, or wash and set, my hair was dry and brittle like a brillo pad. Moreover, I didn’t trust anyone to do my hair.

Quoted from confessionsofablogvixen.com

To make matters worse, I was a stay at home mom, managing a home-based graphic design and freelance business, and volunteer in PTA and church. Who had time for hair? Or time to travel one hour with kids to the hair salon. As my Facebook friend Cressandra said, “I need to wrap and go.” And she’s right, for years I had a simple hairstyle that required low maintenance—hair relaxer and ponytail. On occasion, I sport a vogue haircut, but once the cut grew out, it was back in a ponytail.

Although I desired short hair, I had not imagined wearing a small afro, known as the Teeny Weeny Afro (TWA). Then I read Terrie William’s book The Personal Touch: What You Really need to succeed in Today’s Fast-Paced Business World. One of her ways of success was learning to manage time. Her hair took time; therefore, she decided to wear a TWA. I wanted to cut off my hair as well. I needed to save time. My spouse at the time said he didn’t want to be married to a woman who looked like a man. However, he’s not the only man who feels this way. My cousin Eugene posted on FB, that although I still looked “fabulous” he “preferred my long hair.” He admitted he was old school, and men should wear short hair. But at least he acknowledged that it’s not hair that makes you beautiful, it’s your essence.” Another FB comment mentioned her husband and his dislike for short hair as well. But that’s another story “Men infatuated with long hair.”

The FB Photo

Well, my now husband, John, wasn’t so sure about the cut because I kept loping it off inch by inch day by day before going to Ms. Pitts for a shape up. You see, when we got married, he requested I let my hair grow long. I requested he grow a beard. He did. I never agreed to long hair, I said maybe. This hair thing came about because he saw an old photo of me with long hair.

However, my hair was in a constant state of damage. The chemicals, the too tight ponytails, the excessive blow drying and curling iron, was not agreeable. I knew I had to start over. And starting over meant cutting it off. What we call the “big chop.” I was too impatient to wait and let the permanent relaxer grow out, which caused me to cut off my hair inch by inch within one week. I would share a photo, but I looked crazy, and I’m not bold enough to expose that crazy in a blog post.

So, this hair journey is more significant than a blog post but wearing a TWA has taught me to trust myself and my hair. Wearing a TWA speaks volume for the black woman, mainly because we’ve lived through generations of identifying with European beauty¬—straight hair. When I think about my grandmother, I’d have to tell her I have the strength of Samson despite cutting my hair because I have dedicated my life to serving God and cutting my hair instilled a fearlessness in me that I didn’t imagine. And of course, my mother doesn’t like the cut. She merely said, “It will look great when it gets longer with a good cut, or maybe you could wear rope twists.” But like my cousin, Eugene, she’s old school. However, my beloved, John, loves the new cut and always want to touch it.

(This is only part of a larger story.)