Glitter Daiquiri: Good Hair

We all know Chris Rock--most of us love him. (If you think Chris Rock is some sort of assortment of boulders/stones name Chris, you need to take your little ignorant self back to 2005)
And I'm sure that everyone has at least heard of his film, Good Hair. The movie that still annoys me to this day. Well, actually, it's not the movie and the content of the movie itself that drives me up a wall but the way lots of people have interpreted it.
But people's idea of how desperate all black women (because they're all the same, right?) are to have perfect hair and that natural hair is the only way is not what I'm going to go on about.

The movie - documentary - actually is about the lengths some black women will go to for hair they believe is good because they are not happy with their race. It is not about how bad relaxing and braiding and weaves are (despite how itchy they can be) but rather as to why some women cause themselves so much stress and spend so much money. Obviously not all women do all that to their hair because they want to be white or Asian. If it looks good, why not?

Recently on the blog Man Repeller, she shared the story of how she wanted to go blond but was never completely sure it was for her. And it's a funny thing, right? The relationship between girls and their hair is a very fragile and very important one but I guess from the 'matured' perspective: totally daft.
Hair is very important. It determines how you feel about yourself for the rest of the day.
Messy bun and a hat = rushed.
Blown out and shiny = fabulous!
Lopsided top knot = is that another cheese stain on my sweatshirt?

I don't know if you've noticed but I actually have closely, cropped hair. But I didn't somersault from between my mother's thighs like that. And deciding to cut your hair for almost everyone isn't an easy decision (granted that it's only hard when you're not drunk or, like, crazy).

This is me in September, 2011. All bright eyed with long, thick hair that was pretty much my sole purpose for living. The hours I spent relaxing, washing, moisturising, combing, blowing and straightening were all I looked forward to. Sad, I know, but it was so pretty! And don't even get me started on how every other black girl would be all, "Oh my gosh, your hair!"

Ah, me circa April, 2012, trying out quail for the first time and, despite my facial expression in the photo, loving it! I got kind of experimental with my hair: I started braiding it and plaiting it in what I thought were cute styles and then curling it sans heat. It got damaged pretty quickly after that. And ever since I got into high school I decided that I would never spend eons in uncomfortable leather chairs having a loud, gum popping woman poke and prod and pull at my scalp. So what was I to do?

Cut it! There I was July, 2012 being ever so brave as to remove an important part of my identity. But I couldn't just "cut my hair to, like, cut my hair" - Lord knows that I don't have the skull for a close shave nor the willingness - so I spent hours looking at hairstyles online and I decided on one.

Wham, bam, turkey and ham! As brave as I thought I was I couldn't just part with all of the hair I'd spent years growing so I settled for an in-between with closely shaved sides and longer hair in the middle.
I think that everyone has this idea that when they get their hair cut shorter their lives change dramatically but they don't. You're still awkward and clumsy and spend too much time in front of an empty fridge. A lot of my friends would ask me if I missed my hair and they were surprised when I was indifferent. Something a lot of black women need to learn - actually, women in general - it's just hair. And you know what's so magical about it? IT GROWS BACK.

And if you're really sad you can get a wig or whatever.