Happy Being Me (Even if Me is Nappy) - Dedicated to Andre Fuller

You guys already know a bit about my self-esteem issues and my church issues. So imagine what went down when I cut my hair!

Dra-ma!

Ever since I was a little girl, I loved short, natural hair. I remember how gorgeous I thought Shari Belafonte was in the 70’s with her short, cropped cut and used to love this wig called the Linda Boy Cut advertised in the back of Essence magazine each month. 

But, like many Black men, my father had serious long-hair issues. 

I remember cutting my hair in the notorious snatch back when I as a freshman at Howard in 1982. I musta thought I was big and bad since I was 150 miles away from home, totally forgetting that I would actually be going home again and soon!

When I walked off the train at 30^th Street Station in Philadelphia that Thanksgiving, my father’s face went from a grin to crestfallen in 10 seconds flat. I immediately knew I was in deep doo-doo.

My father expressed his complete and utter disapproval by not speaking to a soul for three days and finally telling me he didn’t like anything about me.

Ouch!

Not very affirming for a fledgling freshman whose self-esteem was hanging by a thread.

And my hair wasn't even nappy! It was still fried, dyed, and laid-to-the-side. Fluffy, chemically-straightened curls just blowin’ in the wind.

Like many sisters, thus began this tug-o-war with how I wear my hair. 

Fast-forward some 10 years and I faced this same showdown with my then husband. 

I decided to cut my hair in the infamous Halle Berry style of the early 90’s and I looked GOOD! But my husband was about to make me go live in the garage! 

It was around this time that my scalp staged a major revolt known as seborrheic dermatitis (a form of dandruff) and folliculitis. You see, I have very sensitive skin and never tolerated relaxers well. My scalp would literally be on fire and, after years of damage, finally said, “Enough!”

The awful scaly flakes were eventually cured but the chronic itching, redness, and irritation was not (still isn’t).

Did I also mention that I went to different dermatologists for 10 years who prescribed everything from shampoos, special concoctions, and rounds of antibiotics that did not work? I smelled like a cross between Sulfur 8 and Glover’s Mane. When the last resort was scalp injections, I said, “That’s it! I’m outta here!”

So after years of suffering I decided I wanted to cut my hair and wear it natural. 

I was like, “Damn it, I am 30 years old and should be able to pick my own hair style!” And if you're gonna complain about any kind of short, I might as well go for it!

I did cut my hair short but I wish I could say I wore it natural from the jump.

I punked out based on my fear that I wouldn’t look feminine enough, as well as admonitions from the Deacons and Pastor from my church that a woman’s hair is her glory and I need to grow my hair back for my husband.

Don’t even get me started.

Anyway, I would use a “texturizer” to “relax” my curl just a bit and experimented with color. A milder relaxer, I reasoned, and no heat from curling irons and blow dryers. So let’s just add another chemical (color) to maintain the same level of torture, why don’t we?

I eventually went to another dermatologist who told me the only way my scalp woes would improve was to go as natural as possible. 

But how could I be Happy Being Me since Me is Nappy?

Well, one evening during the Christmas Break of 2004, I took my sad, lonely self to dinner at Carrabba’s in Bowie (it was Dad’s turn that year).

Since this was spontaneous, there was a hellified wait and I decided to sit at the bar where you can watch the chef’s cook. I “happened” to sit next to a sorority sister and one of her friends who had THE sharpest Caesar cut. I said to her - a complete stranger, mind you – “I wish I had the guts to cut my hair natural like that.”

She, my now good friend Dr. Kim, said to me, “What are you talking about?! You’re already there!”

I was like, “No, you don’t understand. My ex-husband already thinks I’m a lesbian since I divorced him and lost 40 pounds (don’t know why he didn’t get the correlation - he just thought I had HIV) and the church thinks I’m the anti‑Christ. This will just solidify their suspicions.”

She was like, “Girl, look: on my next day off, I’m going to take you to my barber and we’re going to do this!”

Well, we did and I worried for weeks about not looking enough like a girl. I wore more make-up and added bigger earrings. 

Eventually, I got so many compliments – especially from men – I was like, "I got it goin' on!"

I’ve been wearing my hair in this awesome style for six years and have still been told by some very, shall I say, ill-informed people that if I want a man, I need to grow my hair back. Incidentally, when I got the Halle Berry cut 10 years before, one of my aunts told me I needed to grow my hair back (it was close on the sides and the back) because no husband wants to wake up to a bald head every day. My mother’s response was, “You have a head full of hair and are still divorced so what’s the difference?” As the texters and IMmers say, SMH.

About a month ago I started growing my hair out just a tad based on my teenage daughter’s urging. Apparently, I am on my way to all gray and our hairstylist thought a little length and a little color might do me some good. The jury is still out on whether it will stay this way or not but it’s NAPPY and I’m HAPPY!

P.S. This picture is me with the close cut, not the new longer, dyed hair :-)