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environment of many black salons confirms the stereotype that the media create. Any given hour you’ll hear laughter rising above the sounds of a blow-dryer; men will hit on the young, twenty-something stylist while she evens out their well-defined hairline; an older woman referred to as “Preacher-Lady” will jokingly chastise Ms. Betsy for each of her crude remarks. And many small shops such as these are full of gossip.3 Nevertheless, I have found that all of these aspects are what truly creates a sense of family in each shop. Additionally, the shop experience typically bolsters the confidence of the female clients; for many, there is a clear rise in self-esteem between the time a woman enters and her departure. She starts by nervously pulling off her hat, scarf, or wig, inevitably revealing the roots she tries ever so carefully to hide. Hours later you’ll find her smiling into a mirror, working her hands through her tresses for that desired “white flow.” 4 Furthermore, I became more aware of the complexity of this issue a couple years ago during a conversation with a white friend about black hair. As we discussed the laborious procedures many black women undergo to become satisfied
with their hair, we agreed that much of this is done because of pressure to conform to societal expectations. For instance, most people associate “good hair” with “white flow,” suggesting that black women must maintain a well-kept, sleek style. Coincidentally enough, my friend recommended a documentary made by actor/comedian Chris Rock entitled Good Hair. I later went on to watch it and found myself at home about the topic and the issues it presents. Through interviews with men and women in salons, and commentary from many black celebrities, the film discusses the discomfort associated with black hair. In particular, the film talks about the greater maintenance black hair can require (for those who prefer styles outside of their natural texture), including time, money, and physical discomfort. Thus, Good Hair was (and is) a mechanism that openly voiced my stresses with the black tress. For example, the documentary does a great job in detailing “the pains of the perm” (Good Hair)—another experience I am all too familiar with.5 Perms (or relaxers 6) are composed of the chemical sodium hydroxide, or NaOH, a strong metallic base used to make paper, to purify gas-
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As single-braids are the most time consuming hairstyle, I am accustomed to witnessing many people come and go from their appointments. The second a foot takes a step out the door is when the talk rolls out. It is then that I can put faces to the names of those cheating on their husbands, that one lady dating the 65-year-old for his money, and who got whom pregnant. 4 This is a phrase that my family lightheartedly uses to describe hair that moves in a swift, docile manner. 5 I have come to the conclusion that the most anguishing of apparatuses is the “hot comb.” It is a very thin-toothed metallic comb, much like that of a curling iron. Some stylists use hot combs that cannot manually adjust, but are simply laid in a small portable oven. This means that they cannot regulate the temperate, so that stuff gets hot! Simply holding a hot comb a foot away from your face is scary enough; now imagine a mere centimeter in distance to straighten out the baby hairs. Torture. 6 A “perm” on white hair causes the chemical nature to become curly, having the opposite reaction as it would on a black individual; here it relaxes the naturally coarse texture. Hence, “relaxer” is much more accurate.
VOLUME 2
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