The Day I Cut My Hair

I'm sorry I've been skimping on the posts! I've been busy hanging with friends and trying to stop being a failure so that I can get a job and do something positive with my life. My internet is also being a pain in the ass (Yeah, you, COMCAST!) You can only read blogs and play Facebook games for so long before things get boring and monotonous.

I've been thinking lately, though, about the day I cut my hair. I don't know why. Maybe it was my working with my hair, being amazed by its length after nine months. It was a very special day in my life, and I want to share that.

The last time I got a perm was on Halloween 2009. I looked kind of like this (pic is from 8/20/10):

I had been flirting with the idea of going natural for a while. My homie Lindsey had made the decision a few years before, and my wallet was quickly turning against me. But I wasn't sure. I had been getting perms for as long as I could remember; by this point, it was protocol, ritual. Besides, I had shoulder-length hair. I could NEVER cut that; I'd feel naked. And what about men? They like long, straight, flowing hair. Nah, I couldn't do it.

But the thought stayed in my mind. My hair was very unhealthy, and I wasn't taking care of it like I used to because Senior year of college is always a beast. And putting perms on my credit card every couple months was simply outrageous. I was conflicted.

Then I went to my aunt and uncle's house at Thanksgiving where my cousin debuted her new short 'do. I liked it. I asked her how it felt, and she absolutely loved it. I thought to myself that if she could do it, then I could too.

Then I posted this status on Facebook (I hope you can read it). Although I asked the question, I had already made the conclusion...

I was cutting my hair.

What was supposed to be a touch-up appointment was going to be the date of the Big Chop (BC). I was tired of all the bullshit that came with having a perm. I was going natural damn it.

In preparation for the big moment, I read two books about hair in the black community; I also watched Chris Rock's Good Hair. The shit blew my mind and made me more committed. I thought it was going to be easy after I read about the crazy shit our grandmothers, and even grandfathers, did to make their hair straight.

Then January 9, 2009 rolled around. I was all ready! I took pictures the night before in preparation for a photo montage of this new journey on Facebook. I woke up to an empty apartment. I only told a handful of people that I was doing this: my homie Lindsey and my roommate Lori. I didn't even tell my own mother for fear that she'd try to stop me!

Mari, my other rommate, was in Italy, and Lori was at work. I fooled around on the computer, growing excited about everything but also growing considerably nervous. As the time came closer to needing to leave and catch my bus, my nerves took hold. And when I get extremely apprehensive, I feel the need to go to the bathroom for #2.

I tried to convince myself not to do this. Obviously, the way my body was reacting to this decision was a clear sign that cutting my hair was absolutely a horrible idea.

But I thought about how I wanted to teach my daughter about her own natural beauty. I wanted to be true to myself. I wanted to know what the hair that grew out of my hair felt like in its God-given state. I thought about my damaged hair. And I also thought about how I simply couldn't afford to keep going to the shop in the attempt to do what? Look a certain way to appeal men? To have "manageability" by taking four hours every two weeks to wash, blowdry, flat-iron, moisturize, and wrap my hair and oil my scalp? Shit was ridiculous.

I got on my bus and arrived early. So early that the stores weren't open and the only people around were the old ladies who walk around the mall for their exercise. I pulled out my library-borrowed copy of Alice Walker's The Color Purple after sitting in a comfortable sofa and turned on my iPod shuffle to calm my nerves until it was time for my appointment.

It was all kind of a blur from there. I walked over to the JC Penney salon for my appointment with Dexter. I sat for a little bit in the chair in the waiting room, right leg shaking, but kept reading to take my mind off it all.

Soon, it was my turn to go to the Dexter's chair. I told him that instead of a perm, I wanted to cut my hair off. He jumped right into it, not missing a beat after making sure that I was absolutely sure about what I wanted to do. He grabbed his electric razor after putting on my smock and in no time I began to see my hair fall to the floor. I hadn't realized how long my hair was until I saw it on the black and white linoleum.

I could breathe a sigh of relief. I had done it. I was now natural. I now had short hair, and contrary to what I had thought previously, I looked great with it. Other ladies in the salon even complimented me on my new hairstyle as well as the gumption it took to do it.

After my appointment, I went to Claire's. It was time to buy some new earrings to complement my hair! I tried to buy some headbands too, but my hair was so short that I just looked dumb as hell with a headband on.

What stands out to me though are the subsequent pictures and looks in the mirror. I loved my new hairstyle. I loved what I had done though I had been literally scared shitless just hours before. I felt empowered, brand-new. This was a new leaf that I had turned. My hair, for me, was an exclamation of, "This is me. Take it or leave it!" I was uncompromising, steadfast. I was rebelling against the oppressive system that I was forced into, because, honestly, my mom didn't give me the choice when I was a kid of whether or not I wanted to get perms.

A lot of people don't think it's that big of a deal. "You cut your hair; you went natural; so what?"

But it is a big deal, considering the history of Black men and women and their hair. When you see people perming their three-year-old's hair or putting a sew-in into a toddler beauty queen, it's a very big deal. There is something radical and rebellious about going natural, no matter why you decided to do it.

And as I play with my mini-fro, twirling my curls with my fingers, I think about that momentous day in my life, a day I'll share with my children, a day I'll always remember.

So I say all this to say that that day was freaking sweet!!!

And I have never looked back. 8]