what my hair seeks is freedom.
my experience being the Black girl without the "good hair"
I got my first fade when I was 19 as an act of defiance,
this metaphorical resistance to a generational process of perfection
complete with a flat iron and my mom begging me to let her “bump the ends”
transforming me into a presentable Black girl.
I can tell you when I got my first fade,
that was the first time I felt truly beautiful,
trimmed of critique and comparison
and this facade to be cut at the root
see, me and my hair have always had a love/hate relationship
sometimes she’s my frenemy
and I can comb through my memory
relaying all of the times I’ve tried to achieve a hairstyle she doesn’t want me to have.
she makes me codependent
because I’m constantly looking for others to affirm her being but she never cares,
so she exists to spite me.
she’s noncompliant,
her and the barber wrestle to see who will win the battle
and the barber always taps out.
she’s a menace to society
because no matter what form she shows up in, someone will always take issue with her arrival.
and sometimes that person is me,
programmed into hating the thickness, hating the hidden curls,
and wondering why she chooses to grow wild instead of what’s considered tame.
and when I asked her,
she told me all she wants to be is herself.
so I honor her,
I massage my scalp with oils and let her know she is worthy of my affection.
I deep condition with delicate hands so she knows I care about her tender follicles,
and I let her grow wild in her natural habitat,
and I will no longer hold her captive to what is deemed acceptable.
I am grateful for the days of Blue Magic,
Of pink lotion and sitting on a pillow in front of my mom.
I’m grateful for the barrettes
the twists on picture day,
But I’m more grateful for Black women being beautiful in their own eyes
and loving their hair well and often and fully.
dear black women,
you owe zero explanations for your hair
you don’t need to explain your kinky curls one day or your wig the next.
you don’t need to invite people into the space you and your hair share.
When I was 19, I got my first fade,
and as my curls cascaded down to the floor,
I made a promise to love the next generation that will grow in her place.
I extend to my hair what every black woman longs for.
a chance to feel free.