Whilst riding on the subway home today, you know, contemplating my perpetual singledom as I often do (thinking up good names for my many future cats - Topper, Lord Byron, Pepper Labeija), when I had the unfortunate luck of looking up and seeing Some Beige Bitch I Went To High School With step into the car.
I had no book to bury my nose in, no headphones to drown out the world, and so I found myself having to make small talk with this basic bitch until I got to my stop. We reminisced over the past (which really wasn’t reminiscing at all because I barely said two words to her the three years we went to school together), and then, inexplicably, the following exchange took place:
French Vanilla: What happened to your hair?
Me: My hair?
French Vanilla: Yeah, what happened to it?
Me: I cut it.
French Vanilla: Wow, that takes balls - did you see Good Hair?
Me: No [Side-note - I have.]
French Vanilla: Oh. Well I give you props. I could never do that. I would feel so unattractive with short hair - especially nappy hair. [Side-note - she’s Filipino.]
I mean, I literally did not know how to respond to that - and before I could make my mind up to throw subtle shade at her bad highlights, she was getting off the train, and I was left standing there thinking…Is that what people think? When they see me? Really?
Growing up, I always had long, chemically straight hair. By the time I was in high school it was damaged, and on a whim one day I cut it. It grew into an OK afro, but I got bored, and cut it again - and it’s been during this evolution of my hair that I’ve felt most insecure. Miss French Vanilla certainly didn’t make matters any better.
When I finally arrived home tonight, I started rummaging through my sister’s stash of lace front wigs - my sister has a wig collection that rivals Beyonce - and tried on one of her long, straight, Kim Kardashian moments. And yeah, I felt prettier…I guess. It made me feel better for like, two seconds, twirling the hair from side to side as I posed for Photo Booth. But at the end of the day, I like my hair because it’s mine and I can do whatever the hell I want with it. It is what it fucking is. I’ve decided to ignore any and all comments on my hair going forward, even the compliments. If I wake up one day and decide I want to rock an 18 inch long Brazilian wavy wig, or I want to get a huge afro weave, or I just want to shave off all my hair and dye it silver a question like “What happened to your hair?” will be a non-motherfucking-factor in my life.
You figure it out, bitch.
Haha, speaking of hair, look what I posted on my blog when I was younger. I rocked that short red hair! Yass!! It’s funny how we change and grow - Right now I don’t think I would EVER wear an 18 inch long Brazilian wavy wig. Yikes!