If this chair could speak it would tell you of its' beginnings in a small shop in Grand Rapids, Michigan. When the shop closed it travelled to Philadelphia and then Ann Arbor. Now it resides in Chicago where it is
prepared to once again hear the stories of those who sit in it.
Join the people of Chicago by sharing your memories of hair: hair cuts, hair loss, hair care or anything else to do with your hair.
You may ask, "But, to what end?"
INSTRUCTIONS:
INSTRUCTIONS:
Sit in the chair. (A good imagination helps here).
Remember to put on the cape and relax. (Again, a good imagination...).
Recall a memory of hair: your own.
Write down your memory clearly and concisely.
Remember to include your first name and year of birth.
Let me know if you would like coffee, water, wine, or a beer as you wait.
Friday, October 14, 2011
The easiest way to write on this blog is to "comment". To comment, in this case, is to put your fond, ugly, beautiful, painful, or nondescript memories of hair happenings into words. Ramble or rant if you wish. It's all good.
I get a haircut once a year, around Halloween. Creating illogical routines and traditions is kind of my thing. One year, while I was in college, I went to an especially smalltalky hairdresser. She began by asking me about my day at school, and whether or not we dressed up, or had a Halloween party. The truth was, I did have a good day at school, and I did dress up, and I was going to a Halloween party, but not the kind she was asking about.
"I'm in college," I said. "Oh, I thought you were, like, 12," she said.
Shouldn'ta said anything. Would have gotten a decent kid's discount.
For some, the hairdresser's chair represents a relaxing experience looked forward to. Personally, I avoid the chair for as long as possible. This usually involves cutting my bangs (which I just did. Husband said, "cut your bangs again, huh? Should really straighten them out, which I haven't.) Sometimes I go so far as cutting all of my hair. This always ends in a mess and I have to face the chair. I tell myself I am being frugal, saving money cutting my own hair. But I know this is a lie. I hate getting my hair cut. Why? you might ask. Because I always have to steel myself for the usual comments and questions. "What products have you been using on your hair," she asks, slight disapproval evident before she hears the answer. "Uh, Suave." "Um huh. And when is the last time you had a hair cut?" "Bout 6 months ago," I reply softly, secretly getting more annoyed. "What would you like today?" Here it comes. "Your hair is very fine, quite thin." Really? It is? I didn't know that. Been living with my baby-fine hair since I was a baby. But thanks for the tip. Instead I force a laugh, "Yes, it is. And it grows very slowly, so please just a trim, and straighten up my bangs, please. Unless you have any other ideas?" She looks again at my thin, fine hair. "No, not really." I know she wished she had waited for the woman after me, with her long, thick locks. Honey, I think, at least it will be quick and you still get a tip. Relief floods me as the final clip, comb through and look in the mirror at the back is completed. I almost jump out of the chair before she has a chance to lower me. Until next time, chair...........
I have gotten perms in my hair for so many years that you would think it would be naturally curly by now, but alas it is still straight as an arrow! One of my first memories of a perm was when I was about 10 (what mom in her right mind takes her 10 year old to get a perm). The chemicals in those days where dangerous and smelled terrible. (I am 62 now so it was a long long time ago!) So after sitting still to put all those rods in my hair they put the chemical on and it turned this funny color of purple.. "opps" I remember the hairdresser saying as my head was burning up, "i think your allergic to the chemical, it has never done this before"! I honestly don't remember what happened after that.. I am 62 remember, but i do know that i left with a very curly head of blonde hair!
My fond memories... hmmmmm... First one is Andy and Ron's Barber shop in summer of '82. Ron says, "So you're heading down to Calvin this fall? You gonna be OK among all those Dutch folks?" I reply in typical clueless fashion, "What Dutch folks?" Well, two years later I married one of those Dutch folks... Best decision I ever made by the way.
Skip to two weeks ago on Madison St in my hood at Kingdom Clippers in my friend Shannnon's chair. It's interesting being one of the few white guys in the hood, even more interesting being in a neighborhood barber shop. There are some moments there where skin color just doesn't matter, where I'm just a guy getting my hair cut with other guys in my hood. That's kind of nice. I plan to visit Shannon's chair more regularly in the months to come.
When I was young, mom took me to get my hair cut and the lady cutting my hair happened to be pregnant. I can still remember how weird it felt to have this lady's belly poking into me as she cut my hair. She ended up snipping her finger too, which I was convinced was going to send her into labour.
Another time I was doing the cutting - Gareth started having me cut his hair when he became a student to save money. He told me before I started specifically what kind of hair cut he wanted and I went to tentatively with the scissors. About two hours later I was only about half of the way through and we were due to go to an engagement party in about an hour. I kept trimming and cutting and umming and ahhing until about 10 minutes before we had to go. Gareth jumped up to look in the mirror and burst out laughing ... my styling had turned into the strangest complelation of hair styles ever imaginable with hair sticking out here and not sticking out there - it was ... rough, and embarrassing. We had to run out the door, unfortunately, so poor Gareth had to grin and bear and hope that people asked about his hair so that he could tell his friends that I had done it ... unintentionally. We arrive at the party and about halfway into the evening one of Gareth's friend came up (with all guns blazing) commenting on Gareth's new amazing, stylish, had-to-be-expensive-because-it-was-so-unique haircut. We both burst out laughing and had to say, 'Actually, it's really just a hack job!' I think he may have realised his mistake upon a closer look ... surprisingly, Gareth still lets me cut his hair!
When he was younger, his mum had just finished trimming his dad's hair and, since she had the tools out, wanted to give Gareth's hair a cut as well. Now, Gareth's dad is very bald on top and Gareth had watched with wide eyes as his mum had cut the hair around his dad's ears, working around the shiny bald centre of the head. Upon getting into the chair little Gareth became very agitated and finally, able to stand it no longer, cried out, 'PLEASE DON'T MAKE MY HAIR LIKE DAD'S!!'
I'm enjoying everyone's stories.They are making me laugh! Interestingly, my hairdresser told me she often hears sad stories from her clients. Have any of you ever confided in your hairdresser or barber by telling them something that was bothering you?
I am not my hair. My hair has a life and a will of it's own. I have wrestled with it all of MY life, from preparations promising smooth, silky locks to perms to ironing it in my parents basement to setting it on orange juice cans. I still have to visit the chiropractor for adjustments to my cervical spine from sleeping on those cans. I'm not complaining, however. In my accumulated years of wisdom, my hair and I have come to an understanding; I don't try (too hard) to make it do anything against it's nature and it grows. But in my vain and hopeful teenage years I still sought to achieve the perfect do. Teen magazines assured me it was possible and I believed. In preparation for the junior prom I made an appointment at the local beauty college for my first ever, sophisticated up-do. This was in Manistee, MI in the late 1960's. I set out to walk the mile or so to my destination on a pleasant, sunny spring day. A beauty student ushered me into the adjustable, swivel chair covered in pale green vinyl, wound a length of tissue around my neck and swathed me in a plastic cape. The student and her supervisor proceeded to run their fingers through my hair and call other students over to do the same and wonder at the sheer mass of it. I explained what look I desired and the student set about her work. About 2 hours later I was on my way home with what I thought of as a giant donut on my head. Tears streamed down my face and I fervently hoped I wouldn't encounter any of my friends along the way. My brother happened to be driving by, noticed me and offered me a ride home. He was mercifully quiet and when we reached our house, I bolted from the car, ran up to my room and set about trying to rearrange the donut. It didn't turn out too bad but thereafter I went back to orange juice cans and ironing and avoided student beauticians and up-dos. I once turned down a date to fly to Wisconsin in a private plane for dinner because I had just washed my hair. This would not happen today. If anyone wants to invite me to fly to another state for dinner, my hair is ready!
Because I was diagnosed with cancer and the meds I took made my hair really thin,I opted for a wig..who knows? I went to my dr. for a physical. When he asked to examine my scalp I said, "You've got to be kidding!" Well he was not, so I flipped my wig off. THAT WILL TEACH HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
When I was younger, I decided to grow a beard. It grew in red, even though my hair was brown. When I was older, I decided to try it again. This time it grew in grey. My wife called me Methuselah.
We were traveling with a group of friends out west. I did not have time to color my hair before we left, so i packed it in my suit case, and one evening i decided to change my light brown hair a shade darker. It turned out black...Really black.I shall never forget the look on our friends faces when we met them for breakfast!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
My Mom use to cut my hair when I was younger. She usually did alright, but one time I kept hearing her say, "Oops". When I looked in the mirror I saw lots of spots where she had made me bald. It really showed because I have black hair. She told me she could fix it. I didn't know she meant she could take a fine tip black marker and fill in the gaps, which she did.
I have black hair and I wanted to color it burgundy. I was to suppose to rinse out the color, but started to play on the floor with my nephew and lost track of time. When I went to the bathroom I saw that my hair was red. I screamed and rinsed my hair out, but it stayed red. When I blow dried it it looked kinda pink and I said, "What am I going to do with pink hair?!" When I went to school the next day my friends said, "What did you do to your hair? We love it!" Now all my friends want red hair.
I remember when I made the mistake of letting my girlfriend cut my hair right before going on spring break with my friends. I swear she cut it ugly deliberately. Won't make that mistake again!
My first hair cut by a professional did not happen until after I'd been living in Chicago a couple of years. I think it was in 2004. Before that time, my mom and then my older sister cut my hair as I sat on a desk chair in our yellow bathroom with a towel wrapped around my shoulders. I basically had the same haircut from when I was a little kid up until I was 23. It just had varying lengths with bangs or no bangs. The bangs were a problem when I was younger. I'd try trimming them myself, but would make them shorter and shorter in attempts to make them look even. I'd end up looking like Frankenstein. I officially gave up on that around 8th grade and didn't see those bangs return until that first professional haircut.
I grew up South of Chicago during the 70's. My Father was a carpenter and the economy was not so kind to those trade people so, my Dad was often laid off from work. My parents never talked about finances to my sisters and I but, I always knew when money was tight. When money was tight... Mom cut our hair. When extra money was available... salon time! I remember walking up to the salon with my sister's in tow. It looked like a house from the outside but once inside, rows of dome like hair dryers lined the wall with women nestled in their own world reading the latest magazines. I remember my hair being washed and rinsed in always just the right water temperature and the stylist pump, pump, pumping me higher in the chair to cut my hair. My sister's and I would catch glimpse of each other in the large mirrors. I loved the warmth of the hair dryer as my sister's and I would giggle and try to talk above the hair dryer noise that sounded like a plane was just over out heads. Reflecting on this memory... I realize this is one beauty area that I have never skimped on... even when money is tight. ; ) I love how a good haircut and styling experience still makes me feel special.
I have always like Samson´s biblical story, but I don't understand or share the metaphor related to cutting your hair and losing your powers. On the opposite, I believe there is something powerful in cutting you hair. There is a metaphor for change and self-control. I had chop my hair in a radical way twice. Both were related to big changes in my life. The first time was when I moved to Santiago to study Art. And the second one was a month ago when I came to live here in Chicago. In both occasion I needed a physical change that act as a relief for this new adventure I was going through. I love the feeling I have when I first looked in the mirror after one of this radical hair cuts; there is always a sense of "why did I do this? Eee! it does not look the way I wanted", and then is follow by a big smile, an internal laugh, and a sense of pride for being brave. Cutting my hair, or chopping my hair, is my way of starting something new. A way of having a control around all the new, uncontrollable, and sometimes scary things that are happening. For me is something that I need, it is my way of saying I can. And in opposite to Samson´s story, cutting my hair is my way to gain power again.
The first hair memory that popped into my head was from when I was in high school. I was driving my parents car to a concert in Cleveland, with the radio blasting and my friends and I singing along. All of a sudden, I see lights in my rear view mirror and realize I am being pulled over for speeding. As happens any time I get stopped by the police, my heart was racing. It didn't help matters when the cop who showed up at my window gave me a strange look, like he was really checking me out and not too sure about what he saw. That's when I remembered that my hair was painted green. I mean painted too--not dyed. This was back in the day when the only hair color options were blonde, brunette, or a sedate looking brownish-red. I began sweating bullets, thinking he would do more than give me a speeding ticket just because I looked like trouble. So I was my most super polite self: "Yes sir officer. I do need to slow down. You are right." Ultimately, he had no other choice. He did issue me a ticket--but then he let us go, green hair and all. Whew!
I feel like hair is a big part of my life. I am a black Hispanic (from Dominican Republic) and I have more African in me than European. Therefore I have to maintain my hair the same way as African American women. When I think about my hair the words beautiful, stressful, and unique come to my mind. Beautiful and unique because of its jet black color, it is thick yet soft like polyester, and washing is only necessary once a week. I love its different abilities. I can leave it naturally curly, make it an afro, and straighten it whenever I want to. Stressful because it takes an hour to wash that includes washing, conditioning, detangling, and moisturizing the hair. After that is complete I can both leave the hair curly and air dry it or blow dry and straighten it. If I leave it curly and air dry, I have to style it and prepare my hair to be wrapped every night so it won’t tangle. If I straighten my hair it will take 1.5 hours then I have to wrap it every night for it not to get puffy. In the winter time I can’t leave it as an afro because it is cold and my hair dries up so I have to straighten it all the time (which is not good for the hair). I usually want to straighten it in the summer but I can’t most of the time because the humidity will make it super puffy! Not fun! Sometimes I don’t have time to deal with it especially with school and work. In my frustration I have said that I will cut it all off to release this stress! However I have not found the courage to do so. I have thought about locking it but still haven’t had the courage to do that either. I have the option of also perming my hair straight which would release all my stress but I don’t want chemicals in my hair that I know will leave me bold one day! Currently the only safe way to release some of this stress is to put in hair extensions or box braids. However that calls for paying a lot of money for quality extensions and that's hard when you don't have the money! It usually costs around $200 to buy and have someone put in the hair. I know some of you relate to this! LOL! Well that’s the life of my hair! For those of you who don’t know what extensions are go to the following website:
I get a haircut once a year, around Halloween. Creating illogical routines and traditions is kind of my thing. One year, while I was in college, I went to an especially smalltalky hairdresser. She began by asking me about my day at school, and whether or not we dressed up, or had a Halloween party. The truth was, I did have a good day at school, and I did dress up, and I was going to a Halloween party, but not the kind she was asking about.
ReplyDelete"I'm in college," I said.
"Oh, I thought you were, like, 12," she said.
Shouldn'ta said anything. Would have gotten a decent kid's discount.
For some, the hairdresser's chair represents a relaxing experience looked forward to. Personally, I avoid the chair for as long as possible. This usually involves cutting my bangs (which I just did. Husband said, "cut your bangs again, huh? Should really straighten them out, which I haven't.) Sometimes I go so far as cutting all of my hair. This always ends in a mess and I have to face the chair.
ReplyDeleteI tell myself I am being frugal, saving money cutting my own hair. But I know this is a lie. I hate getting my hair cut.
Why? you might ask. Because I always have to steel myself for the usual comments and questions.
"What products have you been using on your hair," she asks, slight disapproval evident before she hears the answer.
"Uh, Suave."
"Um huh. And when is the last time you had a hair cut?"
"Bout 6 months ago," I reply softly, secretly getting more annoyed.
"What would you like today?"
Here it comes.
"Your hair is very fine, quite thin."
Really? It is? I didn't know that. Been living with my baby-fine hair since I was a baby. But thanks for the tip.
Instead I force a laugh, "Yes, it is. And it grows very slowly, so please just a trim, and straighten up my bangs, please. Unless you have any other ideas?"
She looks again at my thin, fine hair. "No, not really."
I know she wished she had waited for the woman after me, with her long, thick locks.
Honey, I think, at least it will be quick and you still get a tip.
Relief floods me as the final clip, comb through and look in the mirror at the back is completed. I almost jump out of the chair before she has a chance to lower me.
Until next time, chair...........
I have gotten perms in my hair for so many years that you would think it would be naturally curly by now, but alas it is still straight as an arrow! One of my first memories of a perm was when I was about 10 (what mom in her right mind takes her 10 year old to get a perm). The chemicals in those days where dangerous and smelled terrible. (I am 62 now so it was a long long time ago!) So after sitting still to put all those rods in my hair they put the chemical on and it turned this funny color of purple.. "opps" I remember the hairdresser saying as my head was burning up, "i think your allergic to the chemical, it has never done this before"! I honestly don't remember what happened after that.. I am 62 remember, but i do know that i left with a very curly head of blonde hair!
ReplyDeleteMy fond memories... hmmmmm... First one is Andy and Ron's Barber shop in summer of '82.
ReplyDeleteRon says, "So you're heading down to Calvin this fall? You gonna be OK among all those Dutch folks?" I reply in typical clueless fashion, "What Dutch folks?"
Well, two years later I married one of those Dutch folks... Best decision I ever made by the way.
Skip to two weeks ago on Madison St in my hood at Kingdom Clippers in my friend Shannnon's chair. It's interesting being one of the few white guys in the hood, even more interesting being in a neighborhood barber shop. There are some moments there where skin color just doesn't matter, where I'm just a guy getting my hair cut with other guys in my hood. That's kind of nice. I plan to visit Shannon's chair more regularly in the months to come.
When I was young, mom took me to get my hair cut and the lady cutting my hair happened to be pregnant. I can still remember how weird it felt to have this lady's belly poking into me as she cut my hair. She ended up snipping her finger too, which I was convinced was going to send her into labour.
ReplyDeleteAnother time I was doing the cutting - Gareth started having me cut his hair when he became a student to save money. He told me before I started specifically what kind of hair cut he wanted and I went to tentatively with the scissors. About two hours later I was only about half of the way through and we were due to go to an engagement party in about an hour. I kept trimming and cutting and umming and ahhing until about 10 minutes before we had to go. Gareth jumped up to look in the mirror and burst out laughing ... my styling had turned into the strangest complelation of hair styles ever imaginable with hair sticking out here and not sticking out there - it was ... rough, and embarrassing. We had to run out the door, unfortunately, so poor Gareth had to grin and bear and hope that people asked about his hair so that he could tell his friends that I had done it ... unintentionally. We arrive at the party and about halfway into the evening one of Gareth's friend came up (with all guns blazing) commenting on Gareth's new amazing, stylish, had-to-be-expensive-because-it-was-so-unique haircut. We both burst out laughing and had to say, 'Actually, it's really just a hack job!' I think he may have realised his mistake upon a closer look ... surprisingly, Gareth still lets me cut his hair!
This one's Gareth's story:
ReplyDeleteWhen he was younger, his mum had just finished trimming his dad's hair and, since she had the tools out, wanted to give Gareth's hair a cut as well. Now, Gareth's dad is very bald on top and Gareth had watched with wide eyes as his mum had cut the hair around his dad's ears, working around the shiny bald centre of the head. Upon getting into the chair little Gareth became very agitated and finally, able to stand it no longer, cried out, 'PLEASE DON'T MAKE MY HAIR LIKE DAD'S!!'
I'm enjoying everyone's stories.They are making me laugh! Interestingly, my hairdresser told me she often hears sad stories from her clients. Have any of you ever confided in your hairdresser or barber by telling them something that was bothering you?
ReplyDeleteI am not my hair. My hair has a life and a will of it's own. I have wrestled with it all of MY life, from preparations promising smooth, silky locks to perms to ironing it in my parents basement to setting it on orange juice cans. I still have to visit the chiropractor for adjustments to my cervical spine from sleeping on those cans. I'm not complaining, however. In my accumulated years of wisdom, my hair and I have come to an understanding; I don't try (too hard) to make it do anything against it's nature and it grows. But in my vain and hopeful teenage years I still sought to achieve the perfect do. Teen magazines assured me it was possible and I believed. In preparation for the junior prom I made an appointment at the local beauty college for my first ever, sophisticated up-do. This was in Manistee, MI in the late 1960's. I set out to walk the mile or so to my destination on a pleasant, sunny spring day. A beauty student ushered me into the adjustable, swivel chair covered in pale green vinyl, wound a length of tissue around my neck and swathed me in a plastic cape. The student and her supervisor proceeded to run their fingers through my hair and call other students over to do the same and wonder at the sheer mass of it. I explained what look I desired and the student set about her work. About 2 hours later I was on my way home with what I thought of as a giant donut on my head. Tears streamed down my face and I fervently hoped I wouldn't encounter any of my friends along the way. My brother happened to be driving by, noticed me and offered me a ride home. He was mercifully quiet and when we reached our house, I bolted from the car, ran up to my room and set about trying to rearrange the donut. It didn't turn out too bad but thereafter I went back to orange juice cans and ironing and avoided student beauticians and up-dos. I once turned down a date to fly to Wisconsin in a private plane for dinner because I had just washed my hair. This would not happen today. If anyone wants to invite me to fly to another state for dinner, my hair is ready!
ReplyDeleteBecause I was diagnosed with cancer and the meds I took made my hair really thin,I opted for a wig..who knows? I went to my dr. for a physical. When he asked to examine my scalp I said, "You've got to be kidding!" Well he was not, so I flipped my wig off. THAT WILL TEACH HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ReplyDeleteWhen I was younger, I decided to grow a beard. It grew in red, even though my hair was brown. When I was older, I decided to try it again. This time it grew in grey. My wife called me Methuselah.
ReplyDeleteWe were traveling with a group of friends out west. I did not have time to color my hair before we left, so i packed it in my suit case, and one evening i decided to change my light brown hair a shade darker. It turned out black...Really black.I shall never forget the look on our friends faces when we met them for breakfast!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ReplyDeleteMy Mom use to cut my hair when I was younger. She usually did alright, but one time I kept hearing her say, "Oops". When I looked in the mirror I saw lots of spots where she had made me bald. It really showed because I have black hair. She told me she could fix it. I didn't know she meant she could take a fine tip black marker and fill in the gaps, which she did.
ReplyDeleteI have black hair and I wanted to color it burgundy.
ReplyDeleteI was to suppose to rinse out the color, but started to play on the floor with my nephew and lost track of time. When I went to the bathroom I saw that my hair was red. I screamed and rinsed my hair out, but it stayed red. When I blow dried it it looked kinda pink and I said, "What am I going to do with pink hair?!" When I went to school the next day my friends said, "What did you do to your hair? We love it!" Now all my friends want red hair.
When black girls want to make you u mad they say "U bald".
ReplyDeleteand u chick think im bald head
ReplyDeleteI remember when I made the mistake of letting my girlfriend cut my hair right before going on spring break with my friends. I swear she cut it ugly deliberately. Won't make that mistake again!
ReplyDeleteMy first hair cut by a professional did not happen until after I'd been living in Chicago a couple of years. I think it was in 2004. Before that time, my mom and then my older sister cut my hair as I sat on a desk chair in our yellow bathroom with a towel wrapped around my shoulders. I basically had the same haircut from when I was a little kid up until I was 23. It just had varying lengths with bangs or no bangs. The bangs were a problem when I was younger. I'd try trimming them myself, but would make them shorter and shorter in attempts to make them look even. I'd end up looking like Frankenstein. I officially gave up on that around 8th grade and didn't see those bangs return until that first professional haircut.
ReplyDeleteI grew up South of Chicago during the 70's. My Father was a carpenter and the economy was not so kind to those trade people so, my Dad was often laid off from work. My parents never talked about finances to my sisters and I but, I always knew when money was tight. When money was tight... Mom cut our hair. When extra money was available... salon time! I remember walking up to the salon with my sister's in tow. It looked like a house from the outside but once inside, rows of dome like hair dryers lined the wall with women nestled in their own world reading the latest magazines. I remember my hair being washed and rinsed in always just the right water temperature and the stylist pump, pump, pumping me higher in the chair to cut my hair. My sister's and I would catch glimpse of each other in the large mirrors. I loved the warmth of the hair dryer as my sister's and I would giggle and try to talk above the hair dryer noise that sounded like a plane was just over out heads.
ReplyDeleteReflecting on this memory... I realize this is one beauty area that I have never skimped on... even when money is tight. ; ) I love how a good haircut and styling experience still makes me feel special.
I have always like Samson´s biblical story, but I don't understand or share the metaphor related to cutting your hair and losing your powers. On the opposite, I believe there is something powerful in cutting you hair. There is a metaphor for change and self-control.
ReplyDeleteI had chop my hair in a radical way twice. Both were related to big changes in my life. The first time was when I moved to Santiago to study Art. And the second one was a month ago when I came to live here in Chicago.
In both occasion I needed a physical change that act as a relief for this new adventure I was going through.
I love the feeling I have when I first looked in the mirror after one of this radical hair cuts; there is always a sense of "why did I do this? Eee! it does not look the way I wanted", and then is follow by a big smile, an internal laugh, and a sense of pride for being brave.
Cutting my hair, or chopping my hair, is my way of starting something new. A way of having a control around all the new, uncontrollable, and sometimes scary things that are happening. For me is something that I need, it is my way of saying I can. And in opposite to Samson´s story, cutting my hair is my way to gain power again.
The first hair memory that popped into my head was from when I was in high school. I was driving my parents car to a concert in Cleveland, with the radio blasting and my friends and I singing along. All of a sudden, I see lights in my rear view mirror and realize I am being pulled over for speeding. As happens any time I get stopped by the police, my heart was racing. It didn't help matters when the cop who showed up at my window gave me a strange look, like he was really checking me out and not too sure about what he saw. That's when I remembered that my hair was painted green. I mean painted too--not dyed. This was back in the day when the only hair color options were blonde, brunette, or a sedate looking brownish-red. I began sweating bullets, thinking he would do more than give me a speeding ticket just because I looked like trouble. So I was my most super polite self: "Yes sir officer. I do need to slow down. You are right." Ultimately, he had no other choice. He did issue me a ticket--but then he let us go, green hair and all. Whew!
ReplyDeleteI feel like hair is a big part of my life. I am a black Hispanic (from Dominican Republic) and I have more African in me than European. Therefore I have to maintain my hair the same way as African American women. When I think about my hair the words beautiful, stressful, and unique come to my mind. Beautiful and unique because of its jet black color, it is thick yet soft like polyester, and washing is only necessary once a week. I love its different abilities. I can leave it naturally curly, make it an afro, and straighten it whenever I want to. Stressful because it takes an hour to wash that includes washing, conditioning, detangling, and moisturizing the hair. After that is complete I can both leave the hair curly and air dry it or blow dry and straighten it. If I leave it curly and air dry, I have to style it and prepare my hair to be wrapped every night so it won’t tangle. If I straighten my hair it will take 1.5 hours then I have to wrap it every night for it not to get puffy. In the winter time I can’t leave it as an afro because it is cold and my hair dries up so I have to straighten it all the time (which is not good for the hair). I usually want to straighten it in the summer but I can’t most of the time because the humidity will make it super puffy! Not fun! Sometimes I don’t have time to deal with it especially with school and work. In my frustration I have said that I will cut it all off to release this stress! However I have not found the courage to do so. I have thought about locking it but still haven’t had the courage to do that either. I have the option of also perming my hair straight which would release all my stress but I don’t want chemicals in my hair that I know will leave me bold one day! Currently the only safe way to release some of this stress is to put in hair extensions or box braids. However that calls for paying a lot of money for quality extensions and that's hard when you don't have the money! It usually costs around $200 to buy and have someone put in the hair. I know some of you relate to this! LOL! Well that’s the life of my hair! For those of you who don’t know what extensions are go to the following website:
ReplyDeletehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Artificial_hair_integrations