Confidence in a Jar

In the mornings, when I am on time, it is my job to force my female students out of the mirror and into their first period class. I often take a minute to observe them. Their purses are full of makeup, combs, brushes, perfume and glue – just in case a track slips at some point during the day – a girl has to stay ready right? Through the sea of tracks, wigs, and broken strands of relaxed hair, I look at their faces. Each one of these young women is beautiful and smart. I make a point of telling them this everyday but it is no match for their Achilles heel – their hair.

One of my favorite pictures of myself as a young child was taken right after my hair was pressed. For the longest time I adored it because I felt that I looked pretty. It is that simple when you’re a child – to be pretty is to have it all. I remember our weekend – long process very vividly. Friday nights were for washing and braiding. On Saturday my sisters and I would have our turn in “the chair”. This is where the magic happened. After an hour of holding my ear, tilting my head to the side, and being popped with a comb for jumping when the hot comb heated up the grease on my scalp, I emerged. Finally. Pretty. While contemplating writing this I tried to track where I learned this concept that natural hair was unattractive. The answer has a great deal to do with the most important male figure in a lady’s life.

We waited anxiously for my father to see our hair on pressing weekends. He was the one person that I was sure would tell me I looked beautiful after the painful ritual. In many ways, it made the time in the chair so worthwhile when he would compliment us after our transformation. Don’t mistake me, he didn’t believe that his girls were unattractive in their natural state but his preference was evident. It was clear to me even then that I could garner the attention I wanted, that is the confirmation of my beauty, when my hair was done. Even now when I return to Little Rock he often mentions that although he loves me just the same, he wouldn’t mind if I returned to my former Dark and Lovely days. The problem is I haven’t looked that way for longer than a month in ten years and I don’t intend on going back.

I “went natural” for the first time at 18. As a freshman at Florida A & M University I was ripe with the worst kind of afrocentrism – the self righteous kind. I boldly denounced all that was European with a wrapped head and incense in hand. I walked around in my natural state looking down on all the sistas that used “creamy crack” to define their beauty. This all changed when I returned to Little Rock and my loving high school sweetheart literally could not look at me because of my natural state. At home, I was simply the girl that came back with the nappy hair, no longer worried about my queendom, I relaxed it. Both of these choices were made with the wrong intention – to impress or appease another person.

Since then I’ve done it all: braids, afros big and small, locs, wigs, weaves, and relaxers of the lye and no lye variety. Each time looking for that magical style that would give me the elusive acceptance I sought as a child. The goal was always to look pretty by someone else’s standards. Now at 27 my goal is to get acquainted with my core. It is a daily process to stop living with the assumption that I am only beautiful when I am not natural. I know there are women that will tell you they never have a day in which they want to go back. I can honestly say I’m not one of those women. This process has not been easy for me and that is because, for the first few years, my intention was to reach a standard of beauty that I would never achieve. It is impossible to feel beautiful when you don’t truly believe that you are beautiful and although that is a general statement it is no less true.

I am aware of the hazards of straightening my hair and they play a major part in my decision to remain natural. There are more important reasons for my choice. My hair is not necessarily a statement of my blackness. I don’t believe I have to declare that in any way for anyone. My pride in my heritage is evident. My hair is for me. It is a choice to actively break away from a standard of beauty that I may not have created but totally bought into. Every day I step out of my comfort zone and become more confident in who I am by choosing to go against what I’ve assumed my whole life makes me pretty. It radiates through my spirit making me more bold, self aware, and open to give to those around me. This is about choice. We have the choice to say, whether relaxed or natural, this is who I am and I believe in her wholeheartedly.

Make today count my loves

CassandraDione aka ThaRocksFinest