The Unbearable Lightness of Being..a sell out
Today I willingly subjected myself to one of the most horrific rituals a black woman can endure.
I went to the beauty shop.
I don't "do" the hair thang. I subscribe to free range hair styling. I'm doing good if I comb it every day. I haven't been to the shop in almost 3 years but I needed a trim badly.
And that was my first mistake.
Here's what I dislike about going to the beauty shop:
me (on phone): "I need a wash, deep condition and trim, maybe flat iron it."
stylist (I've never met): "Gurl, I got you. Be here at 9"
me: "Ok, but let me warn you, I have a LOT of hair."
stylist: "Chile I'm good, we'll have you in and out in no time. I'm fast and I ain't scared."
me: "No, really, I have a LOT of hair."
stylist: "No problem. Be here at 9. It's all good."
So I walk in the shop. All the stylists look up. Silence. Stares. Eyes quickly back to the heads in their chairs. You KNOW they hope you're not there for them.
Did I mention here that I have a LOT of hair? Non permed hair. Think Chaka Khan/Diana Ross hair. Then double it. Yeah. That's what I rock.
stylist 1: "Can I help you?"
me: "I have a 9 o'clock with D."
stylist 1 (laughter): "Oh, D. Your 9 o'clock is here."
D (comes over): "chile. You got a LOT of hair."
me: "I believe I told you that on the phone."
D (picking through my hair): "But chile. All this hair. Well, my 7 o'clock didn't get here til 8 so I'm running behind. Let's wash you and put you under the dryer. Chile we gonna have to dry this mess some before I start."
Let me mention that D is young enough to be my child. The chile thing is starting to grate on my nerves. I also don't subscribe to CP time. I am insanely punctual and so now the whole over-booking thing is grating on my nerves too.
Around 10:30 she finished the weave that was ahead of me. Side note: Why do black women feel the need to have some poor asian woman's hair SEWN into their head? Just take reasonably good care of your shit, avoid the chems and let your OWN shit grow. Damn.
Finally she blow dries it. And again the stares all around.
Did I mention my hair is ass-length? Yeah. But if it's not blown out or pressed it's just at my shoulders - the natural curl factor. So yeah. I have a LOT of hair.
stylist 2: "Gurl is that ALL YOURS?"
me: "Yes ma'am, it surely is."
stylist 2: "Beautiful. Simply beautiful."
me: "Thank you."
And of course the "Bitch, you think you're cute" looks from other women in the shop. The "I could pull you down by that hair and fuck you" looks from the men in the shop. The "Thank God she didn't ask for me" looks from the other stylists. I don't like being the object of haters. I can't help what I was born with. Fuck grow your own shit and step the fuck up off of me. Vain? No. Just the way some people are and after 48 yrs of it, you know it when you see it. Whatever.
In the meantime, D's daughter and hubby come into the shop. (D is taking a short halfway break. All that hair that she was just gonna knock out so fast is taking it's toll.)
D (when she comes back over): "My daughter asked if that was your real hair."
Ok. So around 12:30 we're finally done. Note the time. 12:30. I got there at 9.
She took off about 4 inches, the split ends were horrible. It's still almost at my butt-crack. But it's straight. Now I can channel Whoopi's little black girl wearing the shirt character. It flows, it blows it's in my fucking WAY. It's also far more greasy from all the product. Yuk.
Why all this? Well I needed the trim. I've also felt my blackness a lot more lately with the election and all. I can't completely escape my culture's self-hate and need for societal conformity. And the Butterfly saw a pic of me with it like this and wanted to see it live and I rarely deny that white man anything.
So now I'm a sell-out for the time being. But a pretty one.
now playing on my iPod "And It Stoned Me", Van Morrison
I went to the beauty shop.
I don't "do" the hair thang. I subscribe to free range hair styling. I'm doing good if I comb it every day. I haven't been to the shop in almost 3 years but I needed a trim badly.
And that was my first mistake.
Here's what I dislike about going to the beauty shop:
me (on phone): "I need a wash, deep condition and trim, maybe flat iron it."
stylist (I've never met): "Gurl, I got you. Be here at 9"
me: "Ok, but let me warn you, I have a LOT of hair."
stylist: "Chile I'm good, we'll have you in and out in no time. I'm fast and I ain't scared."
me: "No, really, I have a LOT of hair."
stylist: "No problem. Be here at 9. It's all good."
So I walk in the shop. All the stylists look up. Silence. Stares. Eyes quickly back to the heads in their chairs. You KNOW they hope you're not there for them.
Did I mention here that I have a LOT of hair? Non permed hair. Think Chaka Khan/Diana Ross hair. Then double it. Yeah. That's what I rock.
stylist 1: "Can I help you?"
me: "I have a 9 o'clock with D."
stylist 1 (laughter): "Oh, D. Your 9 o'clock is here."
D (comes over): "chile. You got a LOT of hair."
me: "I believe I told you that on the phone."
D (picking through my hair): "But chile. All this hair. Well, my 7 o'clock didn't get here til 8 so I'm running behind. Let's wash you and put you under the dryer. Chile we gonna have to dry this mess some before I start."
Let me mention that D is young enough to be my child. The chile thing is starting to grate on my nerves. I also don't subscribe to CP time. I am insanely punctual and so now the whole over-booking thing is grating on my nerves too.
Around 10:30 she finished the weave that was ahead of me. Side note: Why do black women feel the need to have some poor asian woman's hair SEWN into their head? Just take reasonably good care of your shit, avoid the chems and let your OWN shit grow. Damn.
Finally she blow dries it. And again the stares all around.
Did I mention my hair is ass-length? Yeah. But if it's not blown out or pressed it's just at my shoulders - the natural curl factor. So yeah. I have a LOT of hair.
stylist 2: "Gurl is that ALL YOURS?"
me: "Yes ma'am, it surely is."
stylist 2: "Beautiful. Simply beautiful."
me: "Thank you."
And of course the "Bitch, you think you're cute" looks from other women in the shop. The "I could pull you down by that hair and fuck you" looks from the men in the shop. The "Thank God she didn't ask for me" looks from the other stylists. I don't like being the object of haters. I can't help what I was born with. Fuck grow your own shit and step the fuck up off of me. Vain? No. Just the way some people are and after 48 yrs of it, you know it when you see it. Whatever.
In the meantime, D's daughter and hubby come into the shop. (D is taking a short halfway break. All that hair that she was just gonna knock out so fast is taking it's toll.)
D (when she comes back over): "My daughter asked if that was your real hair."
Ok. So around 12:30 we're finally done. Note the time. 12:30. I got there at 9.
She took off about 4 inches, the split ends were horrible. It's still almost at my butt-crack. But it's straight. Now I can channel Whoopi's little black girl wearing the shirt character. It flows, it blows it's in my fucking WAY. It's also far more greasy from all the product. Yuk.
Why all this? Well I needed the trim. I've also felt my blackness a lot more lately with the election and all. I can't completely escape my culture's self-hate and need for societal conformity. And the Butterfly saw a pic of me with it like this and wanted to see it live and I rarely deny that white man anything.
So now I'm a sell-out for the time being. But a pretty one.
now playing on my iPod "And It Stoned Me", Van Morrison
Labels: being black in america, hair, haters
posted by greer at
6:37 PM
2 Comments:
Wow, that is quite a story.
All I have to say is, I dunno, it's pretty nice to go to the beauty shop and let someone else deal with it sometimes. I struggle at home, especially trying to save money now, and make a mess and get hair everywhere if I trim it. I miss going out and getting my roots did pink and not getting a pink bathroom!
I can't speak to hair and selling out. Maybe it's similar in a tiny way the first time I went to a tanning salon so as not to look like a pasty ghost thing on film at a summer writing conference. I felt less like I was scrambling up my cells to make a big plate o' cancer, and more like I was actively losing IQ points as the minutes ticked by.
The result of the salon trip sounds cool. Change is good sometimes!
Well the whole selling out thing is more a personal issue than a race as a whole issue. I was raised by folks who were one or two generations removed from slaves, so the whole "acceptance" thing was burnt into my psyche. I KNOW the history behind why black folks do what they do to look the way they do. I made a conscious decision to reject that mindset 15 yrs ago. But the girly-girl in me breaks through now and again. I've also been in the throes of a mid-life crisis for about 3 yrs now which is slowly tapering off. I'm having trouble accepting the crone stage of life.
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