Archives for May 2016

HAIRY HORROR STORIES

I was a child in the 1970s, so I grew up watching Charlie’s Angels with icons like Farah Fawcett and her famous flick. There were also regular adverts for Harmony hairspray, which consisted of somebody with nice straight hair flicking their head about for no obvious reason. As far as I was concerned nice hair meant long hair and definitely not a very short afro. When I was a little girl, visits to the hairdresser were essentially going to have my hair cut very very short. The only thing I hated more than my scruffy little afro was having it cut very very short.

By the time I reached my teens and started choosing my own hair styles, I always avoided anything that involved cutting my hair any shorter, but as you may remember from my first post, I’ve tried just about every other hairdo possible. Many of those styles have reappeared time and time again, and some were done once and never tried again. My 1980s wet look perm with it’s miriad of products was quite high maintenance, which left my hair not only looking wet, but also feeling wet (and if we’re honest a bit slimey) I’m sure that most people have never tried sleeping in a shower cap, but I’m willing to wager that the majority of people that have, were sporting a wet look perm at the time.

The idea of taking my hair all the way back to my scalp isn’t something that has ever appealed to me, so unless that changes I don’t need to worry about what’s happening under the fro. I definitely can’t ever shave my head because there is a possibility that I’ll have a scalp like Freddy Krueger, thanks to my first experience with hair relaxer. At this point you’re probably expecting me to describe the usual DIY stupidity with a home relaxer kit, but no my first experience of chemical burns was courtesy of a salon that charged me full whack!

A little tip folks, if you’re a hairdresser and your client says that her head is burning do not

Tell her it’s not
Tell her it’s only tingling
Leave the relaxer on for goodness knows how long, whilst she grimaces in pain
All of the above!

There is nothing good about standing at the bus stop on your way home from a salon, running your hands through your new hairdo and finding that your scalp is covered in scabs. I wouldn’t tolerate that kind of thing now. I’d have put my foot down when my scalp started hurting. I wouldn’t have just sat there and made the best of it. I’d have made a fuss. Fourteen year old me didn’t know any better. I just put up with it.

Deep down somewhere, forty-something year old me is still hoping that my hair will suddenly decide to change it’s genetic make up and grow differently, but until that happens I’ll continue to try an assortment of different hair styles whilst I wait for my miracle to happen. The one thing I’m quite certain of is that the very very short afro of my youth, will not be making a comeback.

BAD HAIR WEEK

By The Suburban Afro

I’m currently having a bad hair week. Some people have bad hair days, but mine generally last at least a week.

If there was a scale of how good my hair looks where a ten is how I look when I’ve just left the hairdressers, I’m currently around a two. Last week I was a three because I could still manage a fringe with the help of the straighteners, this week I’ve dropped to a two because I can just about get all my natural hair in a bobble but not even a pair of GHD’s could get this sponge to cooperate enough to get a fringe.

I’m not particularly vain, but once I drop below a four, on the (imaginary) hair scale, I’m not myself. If I was a wealthy celebrity I’d probably have my servants covering all the mirrors, or on a bad day my mansion would be full of smashed mirrors similar to the forbidden West Wing in Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. My current level of celebrity means that I just scowl when I catch sight of my reflection and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m trapped in a bad hair week and since my folic ugliness is generally finance related, my current period of bad hair is likely to last until I obtain a wad of cash.

There is a definite correlation between how much money I have and how bad my hair looks and how long that ugliness lasts. With the right amount of income I’d only look bad when there’s a diary issue between me and my stylist.

I’m constantly between hairdos which I’m sure some people find confusing but they’re generally too polite to ask and anybody that knows me well enough to ask, knows that the hair comes and goes so there’s no need to question it.

I’m becoming increasingly aware that my relationship with my hair isn’t a particularly good thing. I’m not setting a good example for my children by moaning every time I come face to face with my natural hair. At this stage of my life however, I’d say that I usually set my children a good example, so this one little thing shouldn’t really be an issue. I don’t smoke. I don’t do recreational drugs. I don’t even get drunk on a regular basis, so spending most of my time in hair extensions isn’t going to ban me from any Mum of the year competitions, my swearing might, but the hair thing won’t.

I’m generally very low maintenance. With the obvious exceptions of food, water and my tiny tribe of direct descendants all I really need is Lucozade and hair extensions. Ideally I’d also like access to a car or decent public transport which is required for mum stuff and for the regular 30 mile trips I have to make to buy haircare products. I understand the forces of retail but travelling into central Manchester everytime I want to buy a conditioning pack or a decent shampoo is inconvenient to say the least, but that’s another blog post.

HELLO FROM THE SUBURBAN AFRO

By The Suburban Afro

As a rule of thumb my natural hair journey is me travelling as far as humanly possible away from my natural hair.

I spent most of my childhood daydreaming about having long straight hair and most of my adulthood experimenting with every kind of hairdo. I’ve been permed, relaxed, weaved and braided but when the chemicals wear off and the extensions are removed I’m back to spending time with my nemesis. My natural hair. Every time I look in the mirror my unruly, unattractive, uneven afro waves back at me.

In the grand scheme of things the ongoing battle I have with my fro isn’t a big deal, but it definitely bothers me more than any of my other imperfections. Perhaps because it’s more visible to the world, but more likely it’s because I decided at a very young age that this ugly looking sponge was just not for me and I’ve spent so much time and money trying to fight nature and losing. Mother nature has been consistently kicking my backside for the last 44 years and will quite rightly continue to do so.

So why have I decided to start a blog about my hair? Am I on some sort of journey? Do I feel inspired by people like Jamelia who have abandoned their weaves in order to embrace their natural hair? Have I finally come to accept the inevitability of the situation? Nope. I build websites for a living and needed material for a development blog site I’m experimenting with. I work a lot better if I’m dealing with real work so I decided to combine that, with my never ending hair whinges and write occasional blog posts about my frizzy nemesis. I have an afro and I live in the suburbs and long after I’ve moved onto my next digital project I will continue to be “The Suburban Afro”