I Am (Not) My Hair

Straight hair. Short hair. Pixie cut. Bob. Blonde hair. Wavy hair. Hair in the shower. Ew, hair in the drain! Long hair. Thick hair. Curly hair. Thin hair. No hair. Hair is everywhere. And sometimes, it is notoriously missing from shiny, bright, bald, bulbous heads. There's a whole aisle dedicated to it in Wal-Mart. Actually, there may be two. Rows lined with fragrant shampoos, conditioners that make your hair grow, hair dyes, hair gels, hair spray, an assortment of accessories that I've still not figured out (beyond the basic bobby pin and hair tie) and a range of other things. And at the very end, the things I need most: the ethnic hair products. Of course, they take up one side on half the aisle, but they're there. My products, my nutrients, my trusted friends. The nappy girl products. Yeah, that's them.

I've been experimenting with my hair now (or I should say my mother and I have) for 22 years. 22 years, and I still haven't found the right chemical combination. Alcohol dries your hair out. Sulfate makes it even worse. Palmade makes it greasy! That other stuff makes it stink! Watch out for those hair gels, they either make your hair too soft or too stiff. Nothing is just right! Even Goldilocks couldn't figure her way out in the hair care section.

I'm sure men must think most women are just over-reacting. What's the big deal, it's just hair? (Of course, they don't realize the seriousness until they find their first gray hair, or their hair line starts receding, or that little bald spot on their crown develops. But they understand, in the end. They all do.) But when articles appear in the New York Times about the stigma against older women having long hair (when articles appear in the NY Times about hair at all), the issue of hair has to be taken seriously. But it has to be taken even more seriously when you're a half black women living in a world where the hair care market is saturated with products for white women (and only marginally for black women). And of course, neither is right for you. Don't get me wrong, black hair care products are great (and hell, some of the white ones are pretty great, too). But there's nothing like knowing that someone, somewhere in the world, has made a product JUST FOR YOU. But that feeling, it is one I've not yet known. There are great alternatives. I hear all the time just how fabulous Dominican hairdressers are. And that probably has something to do with the fact that Dominicans have hair very similar to the texture that biracial girls do (you know, not quite kinky, not quite straight; it's hovering somewhere in the middle because like everything else in our genetic code, it couldn't make up its damn mind). But still, it isn't quite right, is it?

I had a teacher in Feminist Psychology once who told me that producers make products that are most beneficial (and least detrimental) to themselves. That's why in a male-driven market, feminine products will lead to TSS, contraceptives that "regulate" female hormones will be made to seem more appealing than rubbers a man can just pop on his dick, and pain meds aimed at specifically female aches will be created and sold at exorbitant prices. If women were in charge, she hypothesized, we would make products that were better, healthier, for us. I guess it's the same for hair care. Most producers are white, hence, more white hair care products. And the black producers that there are, they're primarily concerned with their black consumers. Us mixed chicks? Alas, we're the minority here. And while every now and then some miracle elixir may come out that works magic on our hair, we're pretty much relegated to the position of waiting, wishing, and hoping.

Don't misunderstand me. I'm thankful for what advances have been made in the mixed girl hair care world. (I thank God every night for Brazilians and the Brazilian Keratin Treatment, which has finally allowed me to actually comb and style my hair for the first time in 22 years). But I am hopeful that one day, maybe when I have my own little curly headed daughter and her hair to fuss with, they'll have something that works (so that I won't have to put her through the torture that I endured when my mother put a relaxer on my head that burned my hair out. Live and learn, right?).

In the end, though, it's not really the hair that matters, is it? Not to sound cliché, but…hair is just hair. And it's just there. And most of the time it's annoying and frustrating. It gets absolutely everywhere, and I don't even want to think about how much I spend per year on products to keep it up. But still, it's hair, and it's there, and it's mine. It's long. It's thick. It's coarse and it's curly. And it's mine. And it's wild and it's crazy, just like me. So, while I totally agree with Indie Arie, (you know…"I am not my hair, I am the soul that lives within"?), I am my hair. It's a pretty in-your-face representation of my personality. And I'm learning to love that.