No it's not going anywhere soon.
Black women and the folicles that grow out of our heads is a topic that will always be loaded. This week I decided I wanted to switch it up from the pony tail/bun I'v been doing for a minute. And stepping up my Kanye work out plan and not having a perm left me two options other than pressing every day: afro or sew in. I chose the latter. I was suppose to get it done by a friend's round-the-way hairdresser, but she ended up having a family emergency that she just called to tell me happened and explain standing me up.
So Saturday, I decided, like the mother hen I can be, I will do it myself.
Jessica witnessed the whole thing and as the Te
acakes arrived Saturday I was on the last braid and finishing up the sewing. When I finished, we started talking. Shaena came right after we started, and the first thing she does is compliment me on my hair and says it looks "fresh" which had us all balling.
If only she knew how "fresh" it was. That's me and Shaena the night before graduation with our presses needing a flat iron in hot behinfd Love. . .but the eyebrows are fierce.
Then today looking up the Glamocracy blog on Glamour Magazine's site, I stumbled upon the write up from the panel discussion they had following the whole Glamour/Black Women's Hair Debacle. Interesting read indeed, and not just because my boss represented on the panel.
Are we part of the problem?
Can we pretend it doesn't matter?
Are we part of the problem? I think to some degree we are. I would like to think that every black person knows the results of not getting a perm, in return we're labeled as 'nappy headed' or taunted with 'get your hair done'. That being said, 'white/Corporate America' thinks they can define our 'Hairitage' based on things they've heard or opinions they've formulated. Instead of some of us tearing each other down for sporting natural hairstyles we should be supporting each other. We can pretend it doesn't matter but after all the pretending you have to face reality. I know from personal experience that the pretending ends, there's always a stare, a commentor, or a question.