I always hated sitting in between my mother’s legs on a plastic stool with soaking wet hair that dripped down my back. If you were to ask my mom what it was like doing my hair as a child she’d probably tell you I sounded like a lamb to the slaughter, she’s so dramatic (she couldn’t be more correct). Growing up I was always told to take pride in my appearance and if my outfit wasn’t ideal at least I could do my hair, a good hair day is a good day. My mother always took pride in doing my hair and honestly, every hairstyle was an absolute look! My mother passed the hair baton to me once I was old enough to do my hair. Some days were so cute I would have the little colourful butterfly clips scattered in my hair or I would wear it in different hairstyles and then some days I looked like I was stuck in the 80s. As I discovered leave-in conditioner, curl cream, protective styles, and a Denman brush the more I loved wearing my hair naturally. Growing up I was always told I had beautiful, thick hair. Of course that went straight to my head. I love how long and thick my hair is, and I love the plethora of hairstyles I can wear. But, girl, wash days are an Olympic event. My curly-haired friends can agree that wash day is dreadful. Wash day for me looked like pre-poo my scalp (Pre-poo = pre-shampoo. It refers to any protective moisturizing product you apply to your scalp and hair before shampooing.), detangle & section, shampoo again, deep condition, condition, and moisturize/ style. You know wash day can be a dreadful experience, but when you see your curls coil perfectly you know it’s worth it. My hair was finally getting to the length I desired and when I got my silk presses done you could not tell me anything. You called my name? Hold on, let me tuck my hair behind my ear so I can hear you. When people asked if I would ever cut my hair, I would immediately shake my head because my hair is like my child, I put so much time and effort into this mane and cutting it off would be a waste. If I were to cut my hair, I would only get a cute undercut design, but even then, I shake my head at the idea. Fast forward to COVID when TikTok became the main source of entertainment, advice, tips, hacks, etc.
I would scroll on TikTok for hours looking at different beauty tips and tricks and bookmarking my favorite ones. TikTok and Pinterest were my main sources of entertainment at the time. Pinterest essentially is the same thing as Instagram but with less socializing and more creativity put into collages or “boards”. Your Pinterest is catered to the things you like, and it will show up on your home page and mine ranging from hairstyles, recipes, outfit inspirations, and memes. I mentioned that an undercut would be the most I’d do if I ever cut my hair, I searched undercut hairstyles on Pinterest and the girls in the photos could rock it so well, but I couldn’t see myself doing that. I put my phone down and sat on the idea of trying something new, I gave it some thought and decided why not. The worst that can happen is it looks bad, but who cares if the world was on lockdown, my hair would be covering the hack job, and my hair would grow fast. So, I grab my kitchen scissors (first red flag), go onto YouTube (this gets worse by the way), and look at how to do an undercut. This is all at 1AM. I went through countless videos trying to find a perfect video of someone who has my curl pattern and I finally found one titled “My First Big Chop” I thought the title was a bit dramatic for an undercut, I proceeded to watch the video. This woman had beautiful, chocolate brown, curly hair with blonde Ish tips. She put her hair in sections, two at the top and two at the bottom, I replicated what she was doing. She grabbed the scissors and took the back two ponytails; I’m thinking she’s going to cut small pieces and then work her way up. Folks, I was wrong. She CUT those ponytails like a new store owner cutting the ribbon off the front doors. Now, here I am. In aghast, looking like Cynthia from Rugrats. I sat down in front of my vanity mirror looking at my bottom ponytails with the scissors in my right hand, I was thinking “eh, what’s the worst that could happen?” I had a come to Jesus’ moment and FaceTimed my best friend. Her POV? Cynthia from Rugrats holding kitchen scissors, saying “So, like, what if we did a cute undercut together on the phone right now?” Shoutout to my bestie for always supporting me, shine on girl. She asked me questions for clarification to see if I really wanted to do this and I nodded profusely. All I could feel was adrenaline. I’ve never manipulated my hair in such a way that changes my appearance, at least not a drastic one. I took a small chunk of the ponytail, closed my eyes, put the scissors close to my scalp, and I snipped my hair. At that moment, you could hear heavy breathing from both ends of the phone call. I opened my eyes, and I thought I had done something with that microscopic piece of hair that I cut. I mean, I thought I was the Bees Knees. I realized that the short hair was kind of cute. In that moment all the compliments I got on my hair and the comments of “you have good hair”, “don’t cut your hair it’s so pretty”, “Guys don’t like girls with short hair”, “if you cut your hair you’ll regret it.” went down the drain. With an iron grip I took my kitchen scissors and cut off my ponytails. All. Four. Of. Them. I didn’t know my best friend’s eyes could get that wide. She noticed when I was cutting my hair that I was smiling the entire time, and she said “You look so happy.” I was happy, I’ve never felt happier. I felt like I could be seen for who I am.
I never realized how I used my hair as a security blanket, I had so many insecurities about my body and appearance, in my head, it made sense that if my hair always looked good people would comment on my hair rather than look at me. Sad, isn’t it? I wish I could give that girl a hug. I was raised with the impression that “beautiful women have long hair” and that couldn’t be more wrong; only “certain” girls could rock a pixie cut. If you define beauty by the length or texture of someone’s hair shame on you. Our society has these norms of what women should look like especially black women. Black women and girls were always taught to have their hair done. We were taught that straight hair is more “professional” and accepting than curly hair. Our hair was our identity. Our hair determined who we hung out with and how it looked to other people. If you were the black girl with straight hair and frizzy roots you were deemed the “white black girl” because you didn’t care enough that your roots were straight and that your friends were praying for your downfall for not telling you. If your hair had loose curls, and went past your shoulders you were the “black girl with the good hair.” You get the picture. Hair politics is cutthroat. You can either look like Beyonce or a tumbleweed.
At that moment I didn’t care what people would say about my hair, I didn’t care if some shmuck down the street didn’t think I was pretty just because he and I had the same fade, I didn’t care. I felt like I didn’t have to hide or cover up anymore. In those moments during my hair journey when I regretted cutting my hair I sat with that discomfort, and it made me realize that for so long I thought my hair was my identity, I thought I had lost my beauty. Oh, how I was so very wrong. I embraced those insecure moments, the good and the bad and not only did it help with my confidence, but this revealed courage that I never knew I had. Would you believe me If I said I did it again?
In our flaws, our beauty lies, insecurities, they’re bound to guise.
