In high school, my hair was much like it is today — dense, frizzy and impossibly coily — except about ten times longer. For most of my childhood, my mother was my primary hairstylist. Though not a professional, she would expertly flat iron, braid or otherwise tame my hair. It wasn’t until I got older, a senior preparing for college, that I really had to face my hair. I was afraid to comb or touch it as it was so long and curly that knots formed easily. Whenever I did get the nerve to mess with my hair, I would usually quit of exhaustion before it was suitably styled.
My first solution to this problem was to cut all my hair off and start from scratch. My mother hated my solution. She suggested I try a relaxer instead.
For those who don’t know, a relaxer, or a “perm” is a chemical process, similar to hair “bleaching,” that alters hair texture. Unlike a real perm, which adds curls to hair, a relaxer permanently straightens naturally coarse, ultra-curly hair. To some, the idea of using chemicals to straighten my hair may seem strange. But black people, especially black women in this culture have learned for decades that the only acceptable way to present our hair was to first make it straight. So many black women, young and old, know what it means to graduate from the flat iron or hot comb to a grown-up relaxer.
When I was nine years old I begged my mom for a relaxer. At that point, I’d never washed or styled my own hair, and the sight of my natural curls confused and terrified me. I wanted long, straight hair like my friends and aunts and cousins had. It would be about a decade before my mom suggested I relax my hair a second time. But by then, I was not nearly as excited as I had been about that child relaxer. I’d been trying so hard to care for my hair by myself and, honestly, I was offended: not as much by my mom’s suggestion as by the implications it held.
At that time, my mother’s “pros and cons” list for getting a relaxer was almost completely positive. My hair would be easy to comb and style, I wouldn’t have to “panic” if it got wet (because my hair wouldn’t revert back to its natural texture), and if I could learn to “touch up” my own roots (by re-applying relaxer to new hair growth), it wouldn’t be that difficult to maintain.
I myself had several “cons." With a relaxer, I’d never get to see my natural curl pattern except for when it was time for a touch-up, my hair might dry out and break off, like it had the last time. But mostly, I had an earnest desire to learn how to manage my own hair, in its natural state, without the help of my mother or harmful chemicals. Which brings me to another con: sodium hydroxide. The active ingredient in most chemical relaxer is highly corrosive and I have a fear of dissolving my own skin.
Mom had good intentions and wasn’t unreasonable. But what I remember most from that conversation is her mentioning that soon, I’d be far away at school and “all on my own,” with no one to do my hair but me. The implications of her logic made me feel like my hair was impossible — like it would never look nice, or I could never care for it myself — unless it was straight.
Surely, Mom didn’t want to make me feel this, she was looking out for me the best way she knew how. For her, hair relaxers were normal: she’d been getting her hair pressed or relaxed for years. In fact, my suggestion seemed abnormal to her, I could tell by how fervently she tried to talk me out of it: Why would I want to wrestle and struggle and fight with my natural hair when I could get a relaxer and make life easier for myself?
Kayla Beard is a senior studying journalism with a focus in web design at Ohio University. Please note that the views and opinions of the columnists do not reflect those of The Post. Do you relate to growing up with similar hair? Let Kayla know by tweeting her @QKayK.
