by Kat of The Naturalista Files
For the past year, my eyes have been opened to something new. I have developed a habit of staring at strange women everywhere I go. Well that might sound weird, so let me further explain. You see, I laid off the creamy crack almost two years ago. I then Big Chopped a little over a year and a half ago. I’m always on the lookout for beautiful and bouncy kinks and curls.
Imagine my excitement seeing a fellow kinky haired girl at my job. She worked in another department, so our interactions would be brief, but glowing. I admired the beautiful crown that she big chopped a year earlier than I had. We traded tips and tricks. She introduced me to Kinky Curly, y’all!! It was a perfect budding friendship. I was filled with pride to see someone a few years younger than me be bold enough to do what many women my senior wouldn’t be brave enough to do.
Well, I got promoted, life got hectic. I saw less and less of my friend. I was hoping she hadn’t been laid off in all the recession craziness. I couldn’t even find her number. Imagine my surprise when just last week, (this was a few weeks ago) she tapped me on the shoulder. I turned and saw a familiar smiling face, but then my smile became phonier than a two dollar bill.
Why you ask? Her hair was gone!! It was now in a smooth, low bun. I searched her head for curls as we continued the obligatory weather chit chat. Something was terribly suspect. Something reeked of the creamy crack. The obvious happened when our conversation turned to hair.
She complimented me and said how much mine had grown. I stayed mum, for if I had nothing nice to say, I knew to keep my trap shut. But for real, I fumbled out a question like “what about yours”? And then it happened. She divulged the facts.
A hairdresser put what she thought was a deep conditioner in. It was really a texturizer. Hence the limp look. My heart sank. My heart sank even more by the way she so plainly said it all. She shrugged her shoulders and conceded that now her hair was manageable, and it was too much of a headache before.
How could she possibly mean that? I knew she had given up. We said our goodbyes and went about our business. It was quite a sight. I wanted to give her encouragement, but it felt rude. Seeing her reaffirmed why I rock this big fro. Rocking what was given to me naturally, at birth, is what makes me stand tall.
I truthfully don’t know why it even bothered me. Maybe because her glow was gone, and she looked less vibrant. Maybe because there are moments, where I too, am tempted to go back to the white stuff. Just to make it ‘easier”. But who would this be easier on? This is the way I was made. Loving it (and me) in its natural form, truly is easier.