for the kinky ladies: “i am not sorry. my hair is gorgeous”

Why is it sticking up like that?
Why don’t you just lie down and do what I want you to do? It will be better for the both of us. Really.
Oh, so you are just going to do this all over my head today? This is so not going to work for me.
(Pause) Get your mind out of the gutter if it has gone there.
What you just read above is the conversation us kinky ladies have in the mirror every morning as we get ready for work. If your hair strains are a mix of zigzags and tight coils like mine, then you know this conversation all too well.
I have been told by those close to me, the leaders in American Society, and by the media that my natural hair texture is unwanted, unkempt, and just plain ugly. This is the message we send out to the women with 4c hair that is easily considered a Crown of Un-glory.
But, this article is my loving shoutout to my fellow Kinky Ladies out there ready to give the middle figure to the Afro Hair Haters. This is the story of how I informally joined the AFROPUNK Hair Rebellion!

By Kia O. Moore, AFROPUNK Contributor *

The Revolution has been Realized

It was a work day and I was standing in the mirror having the Kinky Lady conversation once again.

The night before I was too tired to try to blowdry my hair, grease it down, braid it up, tie it up and come up with a pinup style so my hair would look “presentable” for the coming work day. I guess it was just one of those nights when I was fed up with trying to do something to my hair.

I snuggled under my cotton sheet with two uncovered afro puffs that I knew would be extremely dry when I woke up in the morning. I knew those sheets were going to suck my strains bone dry of all the oils moisturizing my hair, but I just didn’t care at that point. I was too sleepy. I had convinced myself that I would get up extra early in the morning to do something to tame my strains for the work day. (Now, you know that did not happen.)

The next morning I woke up at the same time I usually get up and was rushing my way around the house to get out the door for my hour and a half commute to the office. The new plan….stop in the coffee shop and do something to your head. Out the door with a toboggan over my single afro puff I went.

I finally made it to the coffee shop and I could not get my strains to lie down or sit the way I needed them to so I would look presentable. The work clock was about to start so I went to my last resort–Two French Braids. But, oh those edges. They would not cooperate to make this style look corporate enough.

So, off to work I went in a clean dapper suit and two French Braids with untamed edges.

Where It Down & Round

I got in at 8am and was in a sales meeting by 9am. Instead of being deeply focused on what the meeting was about, all I could think was…”I hope I don’t get fired because my hair looks a mess.” All I wanted was for the sales meeting to be over so I could go back to the bathroom and try to redo my hair so it would look more presentable.

About an hour and a half later the meeting wrapped and into the restroom I went with my hair tool kit in hand. For about 20 minutes I am combing, and brushing, and picking, and gelling, and pinning, and apologizing.

That is when I realized what I was really doing. I WAS APOLOGIZING for my hair growing kinky and round instead of straight and down. “I AM SORRY,” was what I was mentally telling myself with each brush stroke.

“I AM SORRY,” my hair is not straight.

“I AM SORRY,” my hair does not have that curl pattern like the video vixen leads in the rap videos.

“I AM SORRY,” my hair and cinnamon brown skin do not fit the corporate mold.

“I AM SORRY,” my look is not pretty enough.

Then I stopped. In a firm and secure tone I said aloud. “I AM NOT SORRY. But, what you are doing to your hair and yourself is.”

I put the comb back in the bag. I put the brush back in the bag. I closed up the hair gel and put it back in the bag. I put the bobby pins and hair holders in a ziplock bag, and all I had left was my long metal afro pick with the black fist and peace symbol on the end.

This hair tool was all I needed to bring peace to my soul.

“I am wearing my Afro today. This is what it means to be an Afropunk. F**k the man and his corporate hair plan.”

Photo from here

Thanks Freddy

I picked up my Afro Pick and began to form my hair. The end result was a Frederick Douglass inspired hairdo—a floppy Afro with a part on the right side.

I looked in the mirror and realized that my hair looked neater as a well-shaped afro than when
I had the two hard to pin down French Braids.

I was free. Free to be me. Free to focus on getting my work done. Free of the internal verbal lashing.

On that day, I stated in that mirror that I was no longer going to apologize for my natural state of being.

Sorry. I AM NOT SORRY. My hair is gorgeous.

And, guess what? My coworkers thought my hair was gorgeous too.

Call to Action: Share your gorgeous hair photos with me on Instagram @kia_o_mo. Kinky-coily to bone straight…all are welcomed to share. We are all gorgeous!

* Kia O. Moore is a freelance copywriter, journalist, and sales & marketing professional based out of Charlotte, NC. This article originally appeared on HiSociety.org, a subsidiary of the content social + culture marketplace AmericaXL. Find her on AFROPUNK and send her a message. She just loves to connect with people one-on-one.

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