“I once had a weave… it didn’t go well. My scalp couldn’t breathe. I had it as a bob cut, so I looked like a ‘Karen’. I thought ‘Well I paid for it, I may as well wear it’, but I remember my mom coming after me with a pair of scissors going ‘We’re cutting it out, it’s terrible!’
My mother’s white, and she loves my hair when it’s fluffy. She used to puff it up and stick a bow in front of it. She thought it was amazing. I looked like a Bishon Frise. Everyone wanted to touch it, because they had never seen it before, since it was just the three of us in school. I’m used to being different and the only black person in a crowd.
I can make my curls more defined, it just takes so long and requires me twirling each curl around my finger. When I was younger my mom would do it for me, but it had to be done in the morning, because if I slept on it, it would flatten the curls. So I remember waking up at the crack of dawn to curl each strand on my head. People wake up that early to do their make-up for the day, I’d have to do it to not look like a pom-pom.
The last place I worked, this girl from Guadeloupe was like “Oh! now I have someone to speak to about hair!” and I was like “I don’t know anything about hair”. She thought because I was black that I should know everything there is to know about how to manage black hair. I was raised by a white woman.”