By Arah Iloabugichukwu
I made it all the way from the Just For Me craze to the infamous wrap
era without so much as a curling iron touching my head. Well, there was
this one time for picture day in 5th grade that my mom decided to bless
me with some Shirley temple curls. She made it about half through my
mid-back kinks before throwing in the towel, tossing the entire middle
section into a Bantu knot and sending me on my way. That 5th grade
struggle photo, complete with Pebbles’ top knot, will forever
encapsulate the relationship I have with my hair. Me in a constant state
of “Really, Girl??” and my hair offering a boisterous “Really……period!”
in return.
