Tuesday, January 11, 2011

New Year, New Hair...

Happy 2011!

(I'm before the half-point of the month, so it still counts.)

I really enjoi'd myself this New Year's! It was low key. It was calming. It was somewhat isolated. It was FANTASTIC!

I'm actually pumped about 2011 because I feel like I'm getting closer to something. Something good. Something that was worth waiting for. In my mind, I'm hoping it's a great job or internship in my industry, my first trip out of the country, and a MBA degree!

I'm pumped:-)

Maybe it was the anticipation of all of these things to come that had me do what I did yesterday.

Maybe it was solely a case of piqued curiosity combined with boredom.

Either way, after 11 years of natural hair I put a chemical in it. I texturized it. It was free, they were trusted professionals, and I was down.

And so is my hair.

I'm not going to lie, I lost it for a moment. I didn't cry or anything. I didn't even have that urge. It was more like a 3-hour episode of WTF panic. Not to mention I was nursing soon-to-be-ass-kicking menstrual cramps around the same time.

I was a mess.

I treated my new hair the same way I treat new people: Until I like you, I don't.

I was very stand-offish. I didn't know this hair. The texture and curls were unfamiliar and I hadn't decided if I liked it or not. Because like I said before, until I do I don't (I accept every percent of latent super b*tch that position holds.)

What was more shocking than the results of this process, were the reactions I got from folks I informed beforehand. Apparently, some people have a strong attachment to MY hair. It represents something for them. What? I don't know. But there were somewhat hostile reactions. As if I was doing something to THEM by changing it, lol. I am allowed to think that's weird, right?

When I grew out my perm it wasn't for holistic reasons. I didn't like my hairdresser (I had been going to her since childhood) and didn't have my driver's license yet (or the real interest) to shop around to replace her. So I rebelled. The only way to get rid of her was to not need her, so I grew my relaxer out. Then it turned into this expression of afrocentric self-love. This was in 1998.

There wasn't much information about how to do it because it wasn't popular. I didn't want to loc my hair (although I considered it), I just wanted it to be healthy. After much social resistance from my high school peers, the shock factor of my new hair wore off and some of those trifling skanks even started trying to copy it. After I did it, my homegirl Shavon did. We were close homies anyway and were the only two natural in the whole school. I remember rocking the old school cornrows and beads and one of the football players thought it was so hot that he had someone do his for homecoming, lol. I did the two-stranded twists, bantu knots, straw sets, I even dyed it "Annie Red-Orange" and then magenta after that. I've had it straightened numerous times as well as cut. I was all into experimenting with my hair and it was fun.

But after a while it got old. I had found my rhythm and it didn't require much labor to make my hair look decent if I wanted it to. So I inevitably got bored. And lazy. Almost to the point that I wasn't interested in doing it at all (I've had several experiences where my hair was one big dread loc)! So by 2010, all my earlier sentimental attachments to my hair were long gone. People have grown to love and appreciate it over these years, which is great. But my hair was just one more thing I had to bother with on a semi-daily basis. It still is. I just wanted to interested in it again.

At this point, it is what it is.

I don't love it.
I don't hate it.

It's just there.

Oh well...

Here's to new beginnings!

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