My Hair and I Are Fed Up

It's exhausting keeping up with my hair. I am constantly being challenged; emotionally, physically, and otherwise.

It's always had a mind of its own. Never afraid to drive a hard bargain when negotiating with bobby pins in the morning. Never agreeing to hairstyles found on Pinterest -- a polite "Thanks, but no thanks," to some, a louder, more aggressive "No!" to others. Never making friends with water of any form -- humidity, sweat, nor rain.

My scalp has ached from my thick curls being combed and twisted out, and my arms from doing the combing and twisting. But some of the exhaustion runs a bit deeper, reaches a bit farther, and wow am I tired of dragging my feet. Well, more like I'm tired of people trying to drag my feet. Okay, really more like I'm tired of allowing people to drag my feet.

"Your hair look so...bushy, today."
"You look like a kid on the Rugrats!"
"You look like Abbi Kadabbi from Sesame Street!"
"You look like Mickey Mouse!"

The last three were all said in the same day when I wore in two puffs atop my head. I find myself feeling guilty for getting irritated by their comments -- they don't mean to be offensive. They're friends, colleagues, people I admire and respect. And I guess I don't really even blame them, but it adds another stumble onto my long trek to complete and total love-thy-hair bliss. I get that commenters are merely observing my unique and "different" (by their standards) hair and connecting it to something familiar. It would really helpful if they were familiar with the insulting comments I've gotten over the years.

Growing up in such a white community led to so many questions about my hair and its care routine.

"YOUT PUT CAR GREASE IN YOUR HAIR?!!?"
"It's so puuuuffffyyy!!"

I was in the first grade when I got my first relaxer. A relaxer treatment is like a "reverse-perm" process, using chemicals to straighten hair. At first it just made hair management easier. Gone were the nights of combing through knotted tangles. But as I grew older, and as handfuls of Disney Channel stars with straight hair were thrown at me, the more addicted I became to keeping my hair straight; always looking to my next relaxer appointment, or buying a new straightener that would guarantee even straighter, longer-lasting straight strands. It made me look more like my peers and aspirational-celebs, which as we all know, is a huge priority in middle school.

Shout out to Therone, who will be thrilled that this photo is making a comeback!

I began to use my straightener as an armor. Shield myself. A way to blend in and be accepted. I was so excited to control something that used to make me different and set myself at the status quo. I wasn't aware of my self-whitewashing, but my 20/20 hindsight makes me realize I was forcing myself to comply with standards of white feminine beauty. To put it in a dramatic way, it was like my blackness disappeared with the steam of my straightener. Not to say that I didn't identify or connect to parts of Black culture, but I think 2005-Felicia would have been a lot happier being able to identify with black women that also had to use silk pillows to keep their hair moisturized and wraps to keep their hair looking fresh in the morning. And at a really basic level, I wish I would have known that I did not have to straighten my hair to look or feel beautiful.

Senior photos, 2010

Continuous years of straightening my hair led to damaged ends and days of regret after saying "No" to swimming invites so the chlorine-water wouldn't the relaxer out of my hair (and in one instance, literally wearing a plastic bag to not ruin the relaxer).

Friends were often peppering me with requests to see my hair in its natural state. I thought I had appeased the public with this photo, but I'm not sure what I was thinking, because this was still my hair with a relaxer in it, just no flat-ironing after washing.

"Fro" to straight hair

A conversation with the truest style-icon I know, Paige Brown, during my freshman year of college led me to start letting my relaxer grow out. Paige taught me about how much healthier my hair could be, and with my hair breaking off from intense heat all of the time, that sounded like a promising idea. Still, I flat-ironed it everyday.

It was Summer 2012 when I wore my hair natural in public. The summer itself was a summer for the books for many reasons (some of them are semi-documented here), but most significantly, it was my first time living in a community where the majority of the population were people of color. I would stroll around Washington Heights, listening to the In The Heights soundtrack, seeing these beautiful women with big curls and thick thighs. It made me realize that there were actually people that I could relate to physically. The final encouragement to go au naturale was fueled by a fellow DoSomething.org intern, Michelle Azzi, and my need to impress Corbin Bleu. Michelle had been pestering me to wear my hair naturally all summer, but when we were told we were going to meet Corbin at a volunteer event, I decided to take her up on the challenge. My rationale was that I would catch Corbin's eye if I shared the same afro-style hair as him.

I remember walking out of my subleased apartment and feeling terrified. I literally could not remember the last time I let someone (besides my mom and hair stylist) see me with curly hair. By the end of the day, my hair was up in bobby pins and a bandana, but it was a huge fearless step for me to take. And I really do think that it worked to get Corbin's attention.

HI CORBIN

I dipped my toes in the proverbial natural hair pool several times after that, but still stuck to a pretty strict straight-hair regimen. But I was getting braver, I would even chronicle the rare moment through photos.

"Afro hair, don't care. #aunaturale"

"If you tag #utexaspinkparty I will wear my hair natural for a day!"

The next time I truly let my natural hair loose was for UT's production of In The Heights. I was inspired by all of the women of color I had interacted with in real life, and it reminded me of that sense of kinship I shared with them. It was an exhilarating and freeing experience. And YEAH FINE, the compliments didn't hurt, either.

"Lights up on Washington Heights! Opening night, leggo"

And then, I started keeping it curly. I took college-graduation photos with curly hair, auditioned for shows with curly hair, and just started vibing with curly hair in a brand new way. I vibed with my curly hair all summer long.

Senior photos, 2014

As I made my permanent move to New York City, my hair went back to straight with my curls making sporadic appearances. Then in April, I wore my hair curly for an audition, and never looked back. There was one day in May that I straightened it for kicks and giggles, but while walking to find a Popeye's, walked straight into a rainstorm, and I took that as some kind of sign that I should just continue embracing my natural curls. So, I did.

"#Sun"

A few weeks later, I met a woman with thin blond hair. She was an overall kind person, so when she said "So I just LOVE your hair, I could never get my hair to do that," I knew she meant it in a positive way. But I honestly got a little defensive. "Well I would HOPE you could NEVER get your hair to do this! This hair is a badge of honor of being black and beautiful, and it wouldn't be fair for you to artificially achieve this look while I've battled my way to this state of self-hair-love. SO THERE." Well, well, well....looks like someone is liking her natural hair.

This state of self-hair-love is a idyllic place to be, my friends. Mornings are less-stressful, days are more enjoyable, and the number of "bad hair days" I've endured has shrunk. I've found a family with the women of color of the DoSomething.org office, who proved willing to answer any and all questions I had about natural hair. After all of the self-deprecation I experienced in the years before, I loving power-walking on this natural hair high.

But then, at a matinee at An American in Paris, I tripped on a rock. A rock that was actually a woman who loudly whispered from the row behind me, "Can you not lean left?" Ooh, I was angry. Excuse me? Was my natural hair blocking a part of the stage? My natural hair that I have spent years fighting against and have finally accepted as beautiful?  Because I, ma'am, am in the process of embracing my black womanhood, and if you have a problem with that, than I suggest that you lean right or perhaps take it up with the architect of this theater to rise your seat higher. Because I want to be free and enjoy this run. I want to let my hips move, my arms swing, and let my curls blow in the breeze. I'm ready to sprint.