As is so common in Afro-Atlantic culture, I too began to relax during the metamorphosis from girl to young woman. I was fourteen and as you know, it is very important at that age to look mature. Since I had also worn an afro since I was six, a new haircut was especially welcome.
As is so common in Afro-Atlantic culture, I too began to relax during the metamorphosis from girl to young woman. I was fourteen and as you know, it is very important to look mature at that age. Since I had also worn an afro since I was six, a new haircut was extra welcome. At first I was very happy with my new “grown-up” haircut. Unfortunately, the joy did not last long.
Besides being a dance freak, I was also a sports fanatic and humidity and sweat did not help my smooth hair. At a long-awaited party, my carefully prepared hairstyle collapsed after just one song, like a failed keksie. A little humidity and I looked like a drowned cat. My hair slowly but surely became a source of annoyance and constant worry. I also started to dislike the process of relaxing. Sitting at the hairdresser for hours was definitely not my favorite pastime. The burning cream that always caused wounds did not make it any better. However, I also accepted this, because I did not know what else to do with my hair. I thought that all this was just part of having frizzy hair and I accepted it.
After high school, this changed. I don’t know if it was because of the Dutch climate that I wasn’t used to, but suddenly my hair started to break a lot. My hair didn’t grow, was dry, thin and lifeless. Now I started to get seriously worried. I thought it was my fault and decided to take much better care of my hair. Desperate as I was, I had my hair braided. The fake long braids took some getting used to, but I thought it would only be for a short while. I would wear the artificial braids until my own hair was healthy and well again. Then I could relax it again. If I really took care of my hair according to the book, it would be fine. That’s what I thought, but you guessed it. It went “fine” for exactly a month before my hair started to break again.
I tried everything. I went from one hairdresser to another, each more expensive than the other. On the advice of the hairdresser I switched from a lye to a no-lye relaxer and instead of relaxing every three months I now had it professionally “touched up” every two months. But none of these measures helped. Once my hair was relaxed, it was simply doomed to break. I ended up in a vicious circle of braids, healthy hair, relaxing and broken hair.
One day, when a nearly bald spot stared at me pitifully in the mirror, I thought, “Why am I doing this?” Why this compulsive behavior? Why do I have to relax my hair? It’s really no fun setting your scalp on fire every few weeks, and the care for relaxed hair is not only time-consuming but also expensive. The worst part was that my hair really suffered from it. The bald spot was the last straw. It was the moment I decided to stop relaxing. I had no idea what I was going to do with my frizzy curls, but my mind was made up. I wanted my normal hair back. Above all, I wanted healthy hair.
In the meantime, I had become an expert in caring for braids through the vicious circle. Even though I couldn’t do proper hairstyles, I managed by braiding them every three months. I would take the braids out, wash my hair and have it braided again right away. Easy peasy. That way, I didn’t have to worry about my hair for a year. My hair grew and blossomed and I was in no hurry to learn to deal with my own frizzy hair better or to learn to do hairstyles myself. Until the day that the hairdresser I had been going to for years let me down.
On the day of the appointment she just wasn't there. I think I rang the doorbell a thousand times. I couldn't believe it. It was Sunday. The next day was a work day and although I was always proud of my self-made Pippi Longstocking braids, I really didn't dare show up at work with them. In panic I called all possible hairdressers, but unfortunately there was no one who could braid for me. In the end I gave up and decided to call in sick the next day to go to a hair salon.
So I ended up back at the salon to relax. Intense feelings of sadness, pain, helplessness and anger came over me when that burning paste was once again smeared in my hair. I knew that the almost bald spot that had finally disappeared would soon be back. I couldn't stand it, but who could I blame? The home hairdresser who had let me down, this hairdresser who was just doing her job and relaxing my hair or my curls that were clearly not resistant to the chemicals? Of course I could pass the buck and blame everything and everyone, but in the end it was really my choice to relax my hair again, because I didn't know what to do with my natural head of frizzy hair. Suddenly a deep sense of shame came over me. How was it possible that I had grown so far from myself that I couldn't manage the hair I was naturally blessed with? When I realized this, this act of desperation became a turning point in my frizzy life.
I now realized that I had to at least know how to take care of my hair and be able to do some basic hairstyles. There had to be more to afro hair than just an afro and artificial braids. And it couldn't be that hard.
Eager to learn all about frizzy hair, I ordered books via Amazon.com and bought the few “black hair” magazines that were available in Dutch bookstores. This was unknowingly the true beginning of my transformation to frizzy hair.
This time I consciously experienced the transition from relaxed to frizzy hair. I had hairstyles made and then tried them again a few weeks later. Inspired by the magazines I bought, I did this with Twists and Bantus, among others. Unbelievable, but I, who was so left-handed when it came to frizzy hair, could indeed make some basic hairstyles before you knew it. My hair grew like a weed and nothing felt better than my healthy, lively, blossoming curls. Even disapproving looks or laughing comments about my not-so-successful hairstyles did not detract from this invincible feeling of self-acceptance. I felt like Samson. Now I began to understand the power and strength of hair and so I slowly but surely developed a special bond with this beautiful hair type.
I would like to share this feeling with all women who have also had trouble caring for their natural hair. I hope from the bottom of my heart that this book will convey my affection for frizzy hair, or just a part of it, to the reader, because I believe that our hair has been undervalued far too often and for far too long.
Those who recognize themselves in my story and want to share their experience, I invite you to email your story to info @ kroeshaar.com. You can also visit the website kroeshaar.com and start your own diary or send in your story via a form. Thank you in advance.
This is the foreword to my book Naturally Curly .