Hip-Hop Hair History: or how I got caught wearing a bald-head

this is an edited version of an article that originally appeared in Tyrone, the writer’s site

Harlem. August 2011.

H Harlem’s not what it used to be. Once the Mecca of Black America, Harlem now, for all intents and purposes is ground zero for gentrification in NY. First Old Navy I saw in a Black Neighborhood was in Harlem. Now they have chains galore and condos popping up faster than the Harlem Shake fad. But you still get a grasp of Black New York style. Me? I’m too old for “style.” I wear what I dig. However on this day I noticed something…and it was troubling. What I noticed rocked me to the very core of my being and had me reevaluate the last 15 years of my life. What I noticed was that NO ONE wore their head bald…if they could help it.

This may seem trivial to some. Either you can’t grow hair and you’ve become intimate with a razor or the barbershop trip is as ritualistic to you as Jummah Prayer. But for me (one who, aside from a lock created crater, can grow hair), it was never even a thought. Black men wore locks, or fades, or fros, or (gasp) braids, or baldies…and it had been so — in my mind, at least, for over twenty years — but that was not the case.

In order for this to make any sense, in order for you to have my Saul-like experience, I will have to walk you through a bit of Hair History. I’m old but not that old, yet I feel like I can trace the history of hairstyles like a musicologist can point to the origin point of pop music. Ready? Let us begin.

1970s

Afros. The end.

1980s (early)

As the 1970s faded away and the 80s rolled around, the Afro changed forms. Some became shorter and left a spoiler like puff in the back BKA a shag. Some just became shorter — but not short enough to NOT be a fro (these were later to be dubbed twfs…or teenie weenie fros). But some…some were attacked by a scourge that originated in the west — that fad was the Jheri curl.

Incidentally, the Jheri Curl’s popularity rose as the baby-party scene took hold over Black Los Angeles. Originally stored in 300 gallon drums in the back of hairstylist to the stars, Good Fred Ellis’ shop, he tested his glycerin, water, alcohol concoction on the public by having his son Daryl and a young Roger Clayton (of Uncle Jamm’s Army fame) toss sampler vials out to the crowd in a method repeated later by crack dealers.

Johnson & Johnson improved on the formula and the curl spread across the country like a plague. For the first years of the 80s, the drip-drip look kept a stranglehold on the heads of Black men (and women) across the Nation. A good curl had to be constantly sprayed with “activator” to maintain its wet, drippy look. No pillow case or seat back was safe.

The first to recover from this epidemic was the East Coast and here is where our Hairhistory becomes interesting — Hair style became regional.

1980s (mid)

While hairstyles were not exclusive to any one region, one hair style generally dominated. North of the Mason/Dixie line — any Blackman worth his pigment was trying to get 360 waves. If he didn’t have a veritable Galaxy on his head, then his waves were subpar. To that end, Black men were rarely seen without a brush. Whether it was in their hand, brushing non-stop, or in their pocket, locked and loaded, the brush was every bit a part of the Adidas/Puma (no one wore Nike yet, I promise), Lee, Le Tigre uniform. The DC/Metro area on down to Richmond were groundbreakers of the fade. Generally speaking, we called them Caesars but they were the first (to my recollection) to have a little bit of hair up top, then as the hair approached the ear, have it slowly fade to bald. Unlike any other region (aside from Cali, which we’ll discuss later), they held on to this look well into the mid 90s. Braids? Those were for hoods and ex cons. Locks were for Rastas, and Curls were for everywhere else in the US. The late 80s would change that.

1980s (late)

I wasn’t there. So I don’t know when or how it happened but somewhere around 1987–88, hairstyles began to mirror lifestyles…at least in New York City. Braids still pretty much meant the same thing — prison, that is when they were cornrows. But somehow or the other, they escaped the scalp and began to hang free; companions to the liberated locks — both signifying consciousness rooted in Black awareness and empowerment…or they were into House music. You saw either of those hairstyles, you could pretty much cast them in the part of Afrocentric w/dashiki, chew stick, and nap sack full o’ books or paisley shirted (I made it a word), ultra baggy jeaned, platform or patent leather shoe wearers. The 360 wave rocker still was around, but he was a minority. He was dominated by the Hightop/Flattop/Gumby/”New Wave Afro” wearer and they were both into Hip Hop. Starter coats, Team Jerseys, Jordan’s (Nike were now acceptable). That was the Tri-State. The DC Metro area — still holding on to the fade….and every place else in America — the curl.

1990s (where my story comes in)

When I entered college, a self-proclaimed Afrocentric and House head, I askewed my Flattop and grew out locks. Hip Hop was my first love so I never fully converted to the paisley shirt. I blended styles — sweatshirts, jeans, and wingtips (they were also accepted among the house set). Being Afrocentric had me cover those locks and I proudly wore my “crowns” and pompously munched on my chew sticks — all the while studying Africa and African religions. That study made me decide to attempt to join an African Brotherhood, KMT.

Having seen my brother go through the initiation process where he couldn’t speak, wore Black everyday (for 10 weeks and 17 days) …and rocked a bald head, I knew I would have to do the same. I had read about how boys crossing into manhood shaved their heads and how Priests of some High Societies were chrome domes so the thought of cutting my locks wasn’t a hard one. January 1991 — it was the beginning of the bald head.

And, up until last year, hair was only atop my head for the winter of 92–3 — (the Afro made a return around this time, with nicely tapered sideburns and faded back). There were a few bald heads at the time, most notably, Sadat X (yes, reader — he was well known then) but it wasn’t necessarily a “hairstyle” at the time.

1993 (spring)

Most states had developed a vaccine for the curl — even Cali was giving it up. (I firmly believe that Ice Cube cutting his curl hammered the death nail into the cursed Jheri). The Fro was still going pretty strong in the Tri-state. DC, for reasons unknown, adopted cornrows as the fade spread nationwide. Locks held on among the conscious. But a group…well…a video for a song would make the bald head. mainstream.

“Stick ‘Em up, Stick ‘Em up, bring ‘Em out dead. Shine ‘Em up, Shine ‘Em up, Shine a bald head. 1 gun, 2 gun, 3 gun, four, your — mind — is all about crime. Onyx!!!”

And with that opening — the bald head took over.

Everywhere I looked — bald heads. Da Youngstas — once fros — bald. The Afros (yes, they were called the Afros dear reader) — bald. Even Run-DMC — bald. By the time Freaknic ‘93 rolled around, Black men who converged on Atlanta from all over the country — yes, they too were…BALD.

Some men returned to hair, but from here on out, it was common to see Brothas with bald heads…or so I thought.

L Last year, before my moment of revelation, I was letting my hair grow — I had even went to the barbershop for the first time in over twenty years. My wife loved the hair. My daughter, who had been asking me to grow hair since she was three (yes, three) was overjoyed. Everywhere I went where people knew me their eyes lit up at the sight of hair on my head — and I hated it. Twenty dollars a pop for a haircut; the wait, my too tightly twisted lock induced cow-lick, the need to go to the barbershop…what a hassle.

But then on that fateful day, I saw the light. I wasn’t just a person who preferred to wear his head bald, I was a man that was out of style. When I was bald, I might as well had been the man that still took care of a shag…or worst…a rat tail. Being bald…with the ability to grow hair…was almost an insult to those men who, if they had a choice, would wear hair. Bald was no longer a style — it was a last resort, a retreat.

I kept hair. I kept going to the barber…for five months. But $200 later, I realized — I didn’t care about style. I was (and am) a man of convenience. So one day, instead of going to the barber, I took out the mustache trimmers and with great joy, went back in time. I returned to the bald cut. It’s easy. And, despite what I’m told, I feel I look my best with a naked head. It may not be a style — but I’m stuck. (I also have to match my top with my shoes but that’s another article for another day.)