Good Hair

I can hardly wait to see the new film by Chris Rock, “Good Hair.”  If you are unfamiliar with the phrase, it is used within the African-American community to describe hair that is more manageable than the typical hair that most black people have naturally.  “Good hair” means hair that is not as kinky and coarse:  it is finer, silkier, and has more movement.  In essence, it means hair that is more like that of a white person (or Asian, or Indian, or Mexican: basically anything other than a black person).

As a child of a black father and white mother, I have had some hair issues all my life.  Apparently when I was born I had fine, loose curls.  My parents kept my hair mostly tied up in a ponytail high atop my head or in two puffballs on either side.  My mother had a drawer of yarns and strings to color-coordinate my every outfit with my hair.

She would wake up every morning and attempt to subdue my frizzy mane into submission.   The older I got, the coarser, thicker, and curlier my hair became.  Wearing it down was rarely an option.  My hair was shoulder length but so wild and unruly that the only way to wear it down was to go to bed with wet hair and curlers the night before.  Even then, it was a big poufy mess that had to tamped down with barrettes.

I longed to have the flowing locks of the women on TV.  I would bobby pin a towel or small blanket onto my head in order to replicate the sensation of swinging my long tresses to and fro.  I knew what “good hair” was and I definitely did not have it.

My hair stayed in pony tails until about the 3rd grade.  By then I had started to style my hair myself.  With my jar of “Afro-Sheen” in one hand and a bottle of Johnson & Johnson detangling spray in the other, I tore through my mass of snarls and curls.  That worked for awhile.  Then I got lazy and tired of the daily efforts.  So I stopped.  My hair basically became two huge dreadlocks.  When it became clear to my mother I was not capable of taking care of my own hair, she got it all chopped off.  For the next year, my short afro had me often mistaken for a boy.

I think I was about 12 when I got my first chemical relaxer.  My tight, coarse curls were finally loosened.  For the first time I was able to wear my hair not tied, braided, or pinned up.  I rocked my feathered back mullet.  I proceeded to relax my hair for the next 25 years.  The relaxers never completely straightened my hair and I typically wore my hair long and wavy. Relaxing my hair was not fun and I suffered my share of scalp burns, but thankfully my hair never fell out like some women have experienced.  I rarely wore my hair straight.  Even with my relaxed hair, straightening still required a lot of time with a flat iron and no chance of rain.

Two years ago I decided to stop relaxing my hair.  I was tired of the reliance on this caustic chemical.  I was frustrated with the damage it was doing to my hair.  I was uncomfortable with the social implication that straighter hair equals “good hair.”  But what would happen if I resorted back to my natural state?  Would I be strutting around town with a huge afro?

After I stopped using a chemical relaxer on my hair I discovered that there were hairstylists that specialized in cutting curly hair.  Every other hair cut I had involved cutting it straight.  I didn’t wear my hair straight, so why were they cutting it straight?  Even the black stylists I patronized seemed confused when I told them I wore my hair wavy.  The first “Curly Girl” hair cut I had was transformative.  My hair was soft and bouncy and my ringlets spiraled in perfection.  It was the first truly good hair cut I had in my life.  It was the first time someone celebrated my curly hair instead of treating it like some sort of deficiency that needed to be overcome.

I still use a texturizer on my hair (much to the chagrin of my stylist who thinks all curly hair should be left in its natural state) to reduce some of the poufiness my hair, especially as it grows longer.  The texturizer is much less chemically damaging and doesn’t come close to straightening.  Perhaps some day I will forgo all chemicals and chop my curls off.  Until then, I will continue to advocate for curly girls everywhere in the belief that all hair is “good hair.”