Why Don’t You Love My Hair? : A Plea From A Natural Girl to Her Beautician

Meech
Meech
Jul 24, 2017 · 4 min read

I can remember the first day I stepped into your beauty shop, I was twelve years old and getting ready to enter seventh grade. My mom FINALLY let me get my hair down professionally and I was geeked. This is a coming off age moment for many black girls who are used to sitting between the braiders legs to get corn rows, micros, and box braids. I was finally getting a relaxer or a “perm” as black folk say, and for whatever reason that felt very mature to me.

Before this sacred moment if I wanted straight hair or curls I had to sit in the kitchen and pray I wouldn’t get burned on the ears by either my grandma or my mom’s pressing comb. I had enough of synthetic ponytails I was ready to be mature flip my hair like an AKA before I knew was that even meant. I can remember getting that first grown up relaxer, not a Just for Me box, but the big white tub the professionals used. I can also remember hearing my beloved beautician telling me “this is going to hurt me more than it’ll hurt you”; I knew from that moment on black hair care and maintenance came with so much damn bagagge. That creamy crack lit my head on fire, had me close to tears, but also had my preteen self laid for the first day of seventh grade.

From that moment on, I loved my beautician and trusted her wholeheartedly as she transformed me from a moth into a beautiful butterfly with a bomb wrap. My identity was my hair as I was “drapin” (midwest slang) on a lot of the girls in my class. As I grew up I started experimenting with color, going red, brown, auburn, blonde highlights, you name it! Besides a little breakage from coloring, my hair flourished and I owed it all to my favorite stylist. I continued going to see her until college when I moved away to a smaller town with zero black hairstylists and more importatly, no one that I trusted.

I pretty much had to go natural because of it and now I’m six years in. That might have been the best decision I’ve ever made and so far the best journey I’ve ever been on. I love learning how to take care of my hair, how to grow it, and how to protect it. This leads me to my current dilema where my childhood and my adult life meet up for a disastorus dance. Once a year I typically press my hair out to do a length check and trim my ends. This should a be joyous occasion, seeing the fruits of my labor as it involves to growing my hair. The short term goal is to get my hair back to the length it was in high school and then the ultimate goal is waist length hair. For two years now, my yearly trip to the salon has left me feeling self conscious and jipped.

Why are you yanking paddle brushes through my hair like you crazy?! Why are you turning the blow dryer up on high when you know I’m prone to heat damage? Am I to believe that you don’t understand the stress that puts on my precious strands? I am not tender headed but damn stop pulling on my shit sis! I want my hair to be laid but not at the expense of ruining my curl pattern. My coils are one of my most precious possessions; it’s taken me years to feel this way and now that I have, I’d also want my stylist to respect that. I may not visit the shop as much as I use to but when I do, I want to feel like my hair journey is taken into consideration.

Going natural hasn’t been easy, I’ve dealt with the insecurities of having an extremely kinky texture. I’ve went through a phase where I thought my hair just stopped growing and was always going to be TWA sized and I’ve purchased hundreds of dollars worth of products just to find out what my hair likes. This journey has become my identity in a purer way than what my hair meant to me in my teens. I’m no longer concerned with how sleek my roller wrap can get but more so how defined can I get my twist outs. My hair represents my blackness, my patience, my versatility, my visual political statement. All that I ask is that you love my crown as much as I do; clip my ends, masage my scalp, and treat it with love and affection. I’d hate to cut you off you have been doing my hair for years so get it together. Sincerely, A Happy Knappy Girl.

Meech
Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade