BIG Hair, Don’t Care - COMPLEXD MAGAZINE

My hair is big. No, I mean BIG big. As in, Erykah-Badu-Afro-Wig-In-A-Turkish-Steam-Bath big. And, of course, that has meant a lifelong struggle - fought with gels, sprays, mousses, flat irons and, finally ending (starting in my teens) with that insidious creamy crack *SCREAM* . Of course, chemical relaxers “worked,” in the sense that they reduced the sometimes mind-boggling enormity of my coiffure, but it came at huge cost – i.e. brittleness, mad breakage and a vague, gnawing sense that, sooner or later, I should probably make peace with what biology, mama and God gave me *cue inspirational Jill Scott track here* So, after years (and years) of relaxing, I finally did the braid thing and grew out every inch of my chemically-compromised tresses, figuring that at the end of my journey I’d have a big ol’ head full of natural, ethnocentric hotness that I would automatically love because it is the real ME, right? Well, errrrr. Not so much. Seems, in the intervening years since teenagedom, I had conveniently forgotten just “what lies beneath.” And, turns out, it is Chaka Khan, y’all! So now, I’m trying to resist the temptation to run out and get me a box of sodium hydroxide to slap up in this puppy. And, to that end, I gobble up any and all images which reaffirm the validity and beauty of mammoth manedom (i.e. I collect pics of chicks with wealy weeealy BIG hair).

To be continued. Read full story here:

http://www.complexdblog.com/2010/07/complexd-women-big-hair-dont-ca...