It Was Supposed To Be A Quick Trim...


By Erickka Sy Savané

It was supposed to be a quick trim before an event. My husband had been cutting my hair for the past few years and was largely responsible for my hard fought independence from hair. Obviously, I still had hair, but I'm talking about my freedom from twisting, curling, ironing, and curl defining. I’d finally embraced a pick out, which I love for its easy manageability. Pick, pat and go. Some days I don't even do that, I just wake up, mold it around with my hands, and I'm out. That said, I was now suddenly thrust back into the lion’s den when my hubby/barber accidentally cut a plug out of my hair.

“Oh sh*t,” he said, as the clippers grazed my neck so close I thought I saw blood. “I forgot to put the guide on."

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Do You Have A Dysfunctional Relationship With Your Hair?


By Erickka Sy Savané

I'm sitting in a chair in the middle of the living room while my husband holds some electric clippers. The buzzing sound is deafening because they are as old as Methuselah.

“Do you really wanna do it?” he asks.

Man. The truth is, as sure as I was a few minutes ago that I wanted him to break out the clippers and do whatever he wants to my hair, now I'm not so sure. The fact that he’s never cut anyone’s hair a day in his life is starting to make me feel a little cuckoo because what are the chances that this will end well? Even he’s questioning whether he should do it. But at the same time, this hair has me oppressed like the police. It’s disrupting my whole life. If I can do this now I might actually break free. But can I let this hair go though?

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