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| I got 9/4 the loc clipped to the top |
So today I had my hair colored at the place I go to in
Brooklyn. I’ve been contemplating it for a long time and I’d never had it done
professionally before. I used to do it myself in high school and in college.
That’s really bad for your hair in the long run at least for locs anyway so
don’t do it. SEEK A PROFESSIONAL.
So anyway, when I came in and sat down to wait I asked one
of the stylists if they do hair color and she went to the back of the salon and
brought back a hair color swatch sample. It’s the kind most women are used to
seeing. Short snatches of straight synthetic hair in a range of different
colors tacked to a white board. It was folded up into three sections and as I
looked at the last section with the deeper shades I saw two loc swathes! Like
real locs. Like somebody sacrificed one loc each to give examples of how these
colors would look on locs! I was elated. Yes it was just two but I didn’t
expect any! One of the locs was exactly the color I wanted, a deep but vibrant
golden coppery color. Oh I just looked at that loc and touched it and held it
in the light and smiled. Can we
have more loc swatches in New York City Natural hair salons please? Am I late
on this? Are there more?
Okay so part two of this journey is realizing definitively
for the first time that I’m really not into my hair when it first gets done. I
appreciate the job that is done. I praise the chair of every African woman on
125th street that braided Kankelon into my head. But I like my new
hair and hairstyles to get a little lived in before I’m really comfortable.
In college I had a friend, a guy who had amazing locs who
used to call me “Rasta Baby.” My hair was wild and fluffy and dyed golden
blonde by me and I just remember loving how I looked and never thinking about
tightening up my roots so much that you could see my scalp. I washed it,
greased it, and twisted with no particular frequency and I just was very
comfortable. But then I did go to Bard College. That probably would not have
gone over well at Howard University. Hmmm…(Filing that away for later)
When my hair was done being washed and rinsed the stylist
told me to look in the mirror at the color. I had heard them oohing and ahhing
over it while my head was still in the sink. When I looked in the mirror I saw
a reflection of someone from ten years ago. And I beamed at myself. But I knew
it was me in the mirror, not her. But I recognized that look so well, that wild
“Rasta Baby” look and I liked it.
When I left the salon about five hours later with the same
style I usually get (I’m still working on being imaginative and daring at the
salon.) I looked in the mirror and saw the color of my wild days in a
conservative, neat and perfectly coifed context. And it’s weird. It’s like when
Freddie blew her hair out on “A
Different World.” You don’t understand how it hurt me when that happened. I
lived for Freddie’s wild, light colored hair that matched her equally
charismatic, artsy, alternative attitude.
But I didn’t freak out about it. That’s something that’s
come easier to me with age at least in regards to my hair. I may not always be
pleased with it but I can find a way to make it work. I had to put it up
because it’s just to hot out right not for me to stand it any other way. But
when it starts get a little wear and when I take it down and experiment I’m
sure I’ll be able to strike a nice balance between “Rasta Baby” and present day
me who I am just as fond of.
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