The black female in search of good hair

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. I had no
idea of what to say. There I was in an all black
salon and I could hardly believe that this
person, a black woman about my complexion
(rich-cocoa colored), with a short fade haircut,
could say such a thing. What further puzzled
me was that I had no idea why she would
make such a comment. Did she think I would
like myself better if people thought I had "good
hair"? What did being "mixed" have to do with
anything and, most importantly, what the heck
was "good hair"?

From her comment, I realized that this woman
thought "good hair" was synonymous with
straight, long hair. In addition, she thought that
she was paying me a compliment and looked a
bit hurt that I did not respond. This saddened
me, as I thought most Black Americans my age
or younger had progressed beyond this.
Obviously not. Maybe it is just a Southern
California thing. Out here, everyone, including
black folks, are constantly striving for that
"Malibu/Valley Girl" look. Why can't we just
be ourselves and get on with our lives?

I thought back to the hairstylist I had when I
lived in Maryland. Leah, a black woman,
thought everyone could have "good hair". That
is because according to her definition, good
hair was hair that was cut and styled in such a
way as to compliment the person's face,
lifestyle, and image. Since Leah was so
talented that she could have even made
Medusa look good, to her there was no such
thing as bad hair. Not all Black Americans
share her opinion. Some of us still have a
mentality that is left-over from the days of
slavery and that is perpetuated by the media
(which still mostly portrays beautiful women as
those with long, straight, and usually blond
hair). To those blacks, "whiter" is better.
Most of them won't admit it, but they truly
believe that skin tone, eye color, and hair
texture determine the status of a person. It is
very sad.

As I look back through my life's experiences, I
see how pervasive that mentality has been,
even in my own family. I remember being in
elementary school and every two weeks going
to my grandmom's house so she could do my
hair. I remember sitting at the kitchen table, my
hair just washed and dried, with a bottle of
Ultra Sheen in front of me. Grandmom would
part my hair into little sections, dip the
straightening comb (which was hot from the
stove) into the hair oil and pull it through my
hair. Periodically throughout the process, my
grandmother would lightly place the
straightening comb on a paper towel to make
sure it wasn't too hot. If it burned the towel,
she let it cool off a bit. Even if didn't, I still
remember how my hair, if still a bit damp from
being washed, would sizzle from the heat of the
comb and how the steam that resulted would
singe my scalp. The house would smell like
burnt hair for hours. After my grandmother
finished straightening my hair, she would then
go back and use the curling iron to twist each
strand into a tight roll of shining hair. When she
was through, she would tie a scarf on my head
and send me on my way. There would be no
rough playing, messing with my hair, or
engaging in any activities that might get it wet.
We had to make sure my hair stayed "fresh" for
church on Sunday. No "nappy heads" were
allowed. I hated those days.

Fortunately, when I reached junior high school,
my mother stopped sending me to my
grandmom's to get my hair done and by the
time I was in high school, I was doing my own
hair. Since I played volleyball and tennis and
ran track, I had my then shoulder-length hair
cut short. It was great. Though my
grandmother almost had a heart attack - "Why
in the world would I want to cut off my pretty
hair so I could look like a boy?" - I loved it.

Throughout college and for a few years after, I
kept my hair short. Most of the time, I wore it
natural in a short boxy crew-cut style that
greatly accentuated my face. I loved to rub my
hair just after it was cut to feel its
soft, kinky texture. I often
received compliments on my hair
and both men and women would
stop me to ask, "Who does your
hair? You look so good with it."
No one could tell me that I didn't have "good
hair".

Throughout the years, I have worn my hair
permed, natural, short, mid-length, and in
braids - whatever suited my mood and lifestyle
at the time. The black & white picture of me
that appears on this site, is almost two years
old. At that time, I was trying to get my
husband to stop smoking. Nothing was
working and I couldn't understand why he
couldn't just stop. One day, he responded, "It
is too much of an effort. Just like if you tried to
let your hair grow, you'd have to change your
whole routine. You are used to getting up in
the morning, quickly combing your hair and
going. What would you do if you had to get up
early to curl your hair? What would I do if I
couldn't smoke? I'd have to find a new
routine. It's the same thing." Though I did not
agree with his logic, I made him a bet. I would
let my hair grow if he would stop smoking. You
know what? My husband proved to be at least
somewhat correct.

Though many people thought I had "good hair"
as I was letting it grow, it was anything but that.
In fact, my hair was much harder to take care
of. I had to have it permed more often, sleep
with hard rollers in my hair, and spend lots of
time under a hair dryer and with a curling iron
in my hand. In addition, the compliments I
received changed from how good I looked
with my hairstyle to how good my hair looked.
There is a difference. Though I wore my hair in
a nice style, longer straighter hair
made me look average and
ordinary. Short, textured hair,
on the other hand, helped bring
out my features and accent my
eyes. A few weeks ago, with that in mind, I
had my hair cut. Though it brought tears some
of the other customers in the salon, I rejoiced.
I once again had "good hair".

There are many black women out there who
can relate to my story. We have finally come to
terms with who we are and what we look like.
Be it kinky, curly, natural, permed, short, long,
straight or braided, we know that our hair is
only as good as what we make of it. To all my
sisters still in search of "good hair", one day
you will realize that it already exists on top of
your head.