Rough Seas
During the months to come I had to put my pride aside and encounter the humbling experience of a to’ up head. The mini-glide straightening iron, expensive straightening serums and bang up blow-drying job I would do only went so far with my hair’s eagerness to grow and the thick, tight coils that were soon to form. Within about 3 months, I think, I gave up on fighting the new growth and went to Wal-Mart to buy multiple fabrics with which to wrap my head. This was funny because I was mistaken for Muslim on a few occasions. The most memorable of these was when I went to a family wedding and my (LOUD) cousin whom I love dearly who hadn’t seen me in a while came in and was like, “What’s going on HERE? What, you don’ stopped eating pork?! When did this happen?” She was right to ask. It wasn’t like me to attend a formal family function with less-than-done hair, let alone covered with a black wrap. Around the middle of November I realized that even the wrap thing wasn’t going to continue working for me. I was sick and tired of trying to make sure the fabric texture and color were coordinated with my outfits. I know that many times they weren’t, but I hated having to think about it. I was tired of not having my head exposed, being the only girl whose head was wrapped wherever I went. I crave change and versatility most of the time, and simply changing a wrap did not satiate my appetite for flexibility. So by December I had to holla at my homegirl to keep my hair braided up until further notice. I kept it in long (obviously extended) cornrows for about 7 or 8 weeks. That meant I had it done twice. When I was washing and blow-drying my hair after taking out my second set of braids, my relaxed hair and my natural hair were not getting along at all. It was an unruly mess. The relaxed hair was losing the fight too, falling out profusely, breaking from the natural hair. I could barely comb either section of hair. I had originally said that I’d wait until my birthday, March 2, to do the big chop, but plans had to change…
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Once I managed to get my hair into a semi-decent configuration, I focused my attention on making an appointment to get all the relaxed hair cut off. The shop I went to had its first appointment availability on January 15, which was coincidentally was the Martin Luther King, Jr. Holiday. It was set. That’s when I’d rid myself of the weak, damaged relaxed hair that I had held onto for about 5.5 months. Going into the situation I didn’t know what I was going to do with my hair after it was cut. What would it look like? Would I be cute with short, nappy hair? Would I like how I looked? Was I going to be bald, or manly looking? I pulled out the biggest earrings I owned just in case, lol. During the week preceding the hair appointment, I had a few dreams about what the hair cutting session and results would be like. I was So…Anxious about it. Finally, my day of liberation had come. My appointment was at 1pm at Too Groovy Salon and Spa on Ponce. Tricia, my stylist, was quite helpful and comforting. I went alone, because I prefer to make huge personal changes alone. I get my piercings alone. I’ll probably get my next tattoo(s) alone. I don’t need friendly support or an audience when I’m stepping up and stepping out to ‘do me. That’s just me… Anyways though, she kept asking me if I was sure I wanted to cut it all off, because they had “ways” of making it possible for me to keep most of my length. I know she was trying to be nice, but this part of the situation kind of annoyed me because there was no way in hell she was going to see me every week or every two weeks at $55+ a pop to maintain the appearance of the hair I was trying to hold onto. That being said, I kept saying no until she understood how serious I was about it. I told her to do what she needed to do, and she went to work on it, chopping and snipping non-stop. Then she blow-dried my hair to get a better look at my length so she could cut it into a style. This was when I was spun around to catch a first glance of my natural-yet-straight hair in the mirror. “Oh my God, I look like a freaking CHIA PET!” I thought…. or maybe like a little baby chick with short, fluffy hair. She went back to the snipping and shaping. We ended up with a pixie cut. The pictures of the original cut are around my facebook profile somewhere. Unfortunately, the pictures on here and the images of me in a film I was in, directed by Miss Victoria LeDega, are the only images of me with that haircut. I say that sadly because I do not intend for my hair to EVER be that short again, even though I loved the look. Leaving the shop, I was so excited about my hair. I felt cute again, felt like I was reclaiming my sexy. After 5.5 months, the horrible straight-to-nappy transition was over.
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