Debbie Rigaud is author of the young adult book Perfect Shot (pictured above), the first of Simon & Schuster Pulse Romantic Comedies series to feature an African-American (and natural haired!) protagonist. She reminisces on her hair story, and how it shaped her desire to feature a natural heroine.

Author Debbie Rigaud

Growing up, I was shaped by what other people said about me. My most talked-about characteristics were, of course, the most physically obvious ones—my lanky, skinny frame and my big hair. So, for the first ten years of my life, I thought I had long hair. I’d heard enough negative comments about my size to lead me to assume I wasn’t great-looking, but it sounded like I had the long hair thing in the bag.

Sure, I had reference for what long hair really looked like. Thanks to TV, I was aware of the “Jan Brady”s in the world. And then there was the Irish-American woman my uncle lived with (my cousins and I would play with her thigh-length hair like we were maypole dancing). But once I heard other people’s “long hair” remarks about me, I obediently drank the Kool-Aid.

For years I existed comfortably with this belief, until I switched elementary schools from an all-Black to an all-Latino/Italian/Portuguese one. There I was on the first day of fifth grade, with my freshly-pressed, shoulder-blade-length hair tightly pulled back into a ponytail. I had carefully read the school handbook, which sternly ordered all girls with long hair to wear ponytails—or else. Naturally, I complied. As a new student, I did not want to start off on the wrong foot.

I’ll never forget the cheeky girl with the XXLong pony tail pointing at me and snickering as my new classmates and I were led to our homeroom in an orderly fashion. It was then that it struck me that the school handbook wasn’t referring to me at all. The “long hair” bubble I was living in finally burst and I floated out of it. Sure, I was a bit shocked, but I was also free to wear my hair in any style I chose.

As I neared puberty, the new conversation was that straight hair made me look pretty. When my grandmother visited from DC, she’d bring along her straightening combs and my sisters and I all took turns in the “hot seat.” Nevermind that as a tween, I cartwheeled rather than walked, thus sweating out my hair faster than Grandma’s Greyhound bus mascot can run. I still cherished those few days when my hair was straight. It was my all-access pass to Pretty.

By high school, I’d learned how to stretch out my press and curl for weeks, until either my grandma visited or my aunt took pity on me and ran a hot comb through. Back then, most salons didn’t want to spend the time required to straighten a thick head of hair like mine, so I didn’t go to them. My private decision to forego the bone straight relaxed look became fodder for more communal discussion. “Somebody needs a touch-up bad,” I’d hear girls cracking as I’d walk by with my blow-out in sad shape. People wondered why I didn’t just perm my hair. It was the easy choice. And as with every other social activity in high school, everybody else was doing it. Why wasn’t I?

I debated the pros and cons for over a year. At 19, I decided a perm would give me more ownership over my hair. No longer would I have to wait around for a relative to straighten it for me. I still remember sitting in my hairdresser’s seat, listening to her squeal on about “all this virgin hair!” She couldn’t believe her luck and couldn’t want to break me in.

For me, the biggest “wow” factor about the perm was how water flattened my hair. Amazing.

But I gave it about two more touch-ups, and then I abandoned the relaxer altogether. My hair just felt too synthetic. I didn’t like it. I kept my hair braided and kept clipping at the ends. By the time I was a sophomore in college, I’d settled comfortably in the two cornrows hairstyle, and later, my trademark twists.

Of course, this decision generated chatter as well. To some, I was squandering my beauty. And to my mother in particular, I was offending my family, since I come from a line of hair straightening professionals. This profession fed, clothed and educated the generation ahead of me and now I was too good to wear my hair straight? To appease her, I’d straighten my hair from time to time.

Once I was approached by a younger Black girl who wanted to know where I was from. “East Orange,” I told her. She disagreed, and said that with my “long hair,” I must be from somewhere else. I didn’t want to affirm her assumption, but she gave me that I-knew-it look when she uncovered that my parents are from Haiti. I had come face-to-face with yet another girl who bought into that same ole story as I once had — that long or straight hair equaled beauty and that “regular”/non-mixed black girls were effectively locked out from achieving society’s highest standards of beauty.

I thought about that girl years later when I came across reader mail while working at Seventeen magazine. A 17-year-old Black girl wrote in looking for advice on how to tell her mother she wanted to get a perm. She wrote that she felt awkward being the only girl without a relaxer because people were talking about her. I responded to her letter, encouraging her to be certain that any decision she made be for herself and not for others. We began a correspondence, freely discussing hair politics and the social pressures surrounding it. In the end, she got the green light from her mom and excitedly relaxed her hair. That became, I’m sure, the start of but one interesting chapter in that girl’s hair story.

There’s something deeply affirming about rocking the natural look. I see the power it has to spread awareness, encouragement and inspiration and I kept this in mind as I dreamed up a fictional Black girl named London Abrams. London is the main character in my young adult book PERFECT SHOT—the first book in Simon & Schuster’s Simon Pulse Romantic Comedies series to feature a Black protagonist. She’s a sporty girl with a full head of kinky curls that she rocks as if it isn’t any issue at all. When London unwittingly enters a modeling contest, she never feels the need to straighten her hair to fit in or enhance her beauty. Hopefully girls of all hair textures and hairstyles accept London as one representation of them.

It’s funny. I’ve never worked in a corporate environment. That grammar school handbook was my closest brush with hairstyle restrictions. I have always been free to wear my ‘do any way I choose. Yet my hairstyle choices have struck a lot of nerves, sparked plenty of debates, and caused lots of heads to turn in admiration, shake in disgust and nod in acknowledgment. But I learned something key along my personal hair journey. Yes, everyone will share their opinion about my choice of coif, but people’s comments say way more about them—their fears, beliefs (imagined or real), desires—than they ever will about me.

And I think young black girls everywhere need to know that.

For more information about Perfect Shot, check out Debbie’s website HERE and her blog HERE.

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Several months back we had a discussion on BGLH about whether a man could love you, but hate your natural hair. Reader Rose (pictured above) is in that situation, and submitted her reflections.

Recently, while talking to my boyfriend on the phone I asked him a deadly question. I thought I was looking for attention but apparently I was looking for a fight. I asked him what he likes about me. After an uncomfortably long pause he decided to tell me what he used to like about me had changed — my hair!

Me at 17

Randy and I met at our old job and we started dating a month before I turned 18. At the time I had relaxed hair, something I always wanted and finally got the day before I started high school. I was the typical light skinned girl with long hair, guys told me this all the time. I was “acceptable” to bring home to their mothers. I can’t believe people still think this way! I never entertained it and told them to take their issues elsewhere.

One fall morning on the train to work I was reading Suede Magazine (an African American fashion magazine that is no longer in print) and it had a spread on women with natural hair. It also featured Miko and Titi Branch, the creators of Miss Jessie’s products. That day I canceled my appointment to get a touch up and decided to go natural. I wore braids and lots of hats while I transitioned. The following May I did the big chop at Curve Salon owned by the Miss Jessie’s creators. It cost over $200 but it was the best cut of my life and lasted at least a year.

My hair 1 year after the big chop, in 2006.

2005 was a bad year! My self-esteem plummeted. To be honest, Randy never flat out said “I don’t like your natural hair” but he never said he liked it either. When I dyed my hair light brown (or “Beyonce Brown” as he called it) for my 18th birthday, he loved it. When I cut my hair into a bob because the mix of perm and color made it fall out, he complimented my “First Lady” do. But when I went natural — nothing.

Many of my male friends bluntly said that they liked my hair better when it was straight. I even got a “you look black now” meaning to be an insult. Female friends told me it was okay that I went natural because I have that “good hair.” Little do they know that my thick and long hair comes from my Haitian side, not just because I’m part-Latina. On the rare occasion that I get a Dominican blowout my boyfriend compliments me, but that’s it. Once, while trying to do something with my large, unruly fro he called me a mop head. I nipped that in the bud real quick!

Now before everyone starts bashing him I must say that he is a GREAT guy! He is funny, intelligent, a provider, is determined, and is tall, dark and handsome. He’s a college educated, family man with a great job, etc, etc, etc. We just made 7 years together last weekend and I am very happy. I just have to learn to accept the fact that he prefers my straight hair.

Oh and are you ready for the punch line… He’s been growing his waist length dreads for 14 years!!!

Us

Has anyone had a similar experience? What are your thoughts?

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Do you have a unique perspective and a way with words? Then we want you! We are looking for writers to cover natural hair and black beauty culture. Professional writing experience is a plus. Email blackgirllonghair@gmail.com for more information. Put “Writer” in the subject line.

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Have you ever gotten so fed up with your hair that you need to do something you’ve never done before? Well, I did! This past Saturday I woke up and decided that I needed a change. I had been thinking about a good protective style that could also be versatile and cute. While I love my two-strand twists, I get bored easily and they are not wash- friendly. I also felt like I had been doing too much to my hair too often- too much combing, twisting, blow drying, etc.

I have seen many fotki and YouTube vids showcasing naturals with lovely sets of box braids. Big ones, skinny ones, long ones, and short ones. The women wearing these styles say that it can take anywhere from 4 hours to 2 days to complete a set! I was a little hesitant to spend that kind of time and then not be happy with the result. So on Saturday, I got up and lightly blew my hair out, sectioned and braided about six large braids and made my way to the nearest African World of Braids shop. The last time I had my hair done at a braid shop, it was in Greensboro to get my lovely twists. I had hair added that time around. This time, I decided I wanted to try box braids on my own hair, without the added extensions.

I got to the shop and explained to the lady what I wanted to do. She sat me down and began undoing my braids, one at a time. I purposely blew my hair out and brushed it well so there would be no snags. All the experiences I’ve had at braid shops in the past included them ripping through my hair with a fine toothed comb! So I tried to prevent too much of that kind of damage on the front end.

She worked for four hours straight, braiding away like a champ. By the time 2 p.m. rolled around, I walked out with a head full of mini braids. The whole time, all the ladies in the shop were speaking in French and some of what sounded like an African language. I never asked where they were from but it was cool to hear the languages being tossed back and forth across the shop.

So here are the pics of what my hair looks like. I have been playing around with it and I can wear ponytails, pin-ups, and more. I am hoping to keep these in for at least 5 weeks…we’ll see. This morning I co-washed them with Herbal Essences Hello Hydration and when I got out of the shower I took a small amount of the HEHH and raked it through my braids. After that I raked through some Fantasia IC aloe gel. I melted a small amount of coconut oil in my hands and applied it to my scalp. Take a look at the results:

This was from the first day before I wet them. It is nice to see my length without having straightened my hair.

These next pics are after I co-washed this morning. It was so nice to wash and go without tangles, snarles, 30 minutes detangling sessions, etc. You know.

The right side of my braids. She made them so tight and neat.

Side view

My curly curly ends! The ends did not look like this until I showered this morning. Until then, the braids were slightly stiffer and the ends were fluffy. Now the braids are not as tight at the scalp, they have more movement, and the ends coiled right up.

Back View

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For more of Leslie check out her blog HERE.

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Before I begin I must admit that growing up, I never found natural hair to be sexy or even appealing. Yes! I admit the self-hate. Like many other people of color, I had been brainwashed into believing that Western features were ideal yada yada yada you know the rest of the story. Suffice to say, my perceptions have clearly changed. I have nothing but the utmost respect for natural women not only because they are beautiful but because they are brave. In a society that idolizes only one definition of beauty, picking up that clipper to do the “big chop” must be the scariest thing in the world. Yet natural women do it and they overcome it and for that I tip off my hat to them. I find natural women to be incredibly sexy and unique.

I go to college in the Midwest and there aren’t exactly a lot of natural women in the Midwest. Everything is very generic and people go with what the crowd is wearing or doing. During winter break two years ago some friends and I went to New York City. On Christmas Eve, my friends and I were at this huge international party in Brooklyn. Most everyone at the party was white or Latino. All of a sudden I noticed a very beautiful, locked black girl sitting at a corner. She oozed so much confidence and there was a certain sophistication in the way she spoke. I approached her politely and said “hi”. We were the only two black people in the room. She replied unenthusiastically. Every time I tried to start a discussion with her, she would ignore me and walk away. Because of her abrasive attitude, I stopped trying to talk to her. When white guys approached her and introduced themselves, on the other hand, she was very polite and she would start conversations with them. I believe she left the party with one of the guys at some point. And unfortunately I have had several unfortunate experiences with natural women like this one.

A few months ago I decided that I was going to grow an afro. I know absolutely nothing about natural hair and hair products. I asked my sister for some tips (we live in different countries) and she told me to use Google and YouTube. I started my natural hair research online and I started to notice a trend. A lot of the female natural hair bloggers had white husbands and/or boyfriends. This got me thinking; do natural women prefer white men? Is that why I have been having bad experiences with natural women?

Months went by and my small afro started to grow. Something very strange started to happen. All my white friends became absolutely obsessed with my hair. They would grab it, squeeze it and try to experiment with it. Every time they saw it, they would shower me with compliments. They even voted my hair the “best hair” among everyone in our friend circle. To them natural hair is “curly hair”. They don’t make distinctions like “kinky” or this or that or whatever. My black friends, on the other hand, were appalled by the afro. They would call it “nappy” and say I should be ashamed to come to school with hair like that. I remember my fellow African/very good friend saying that “You look like the real African bushman. Go and cut that hair”.

This got me thinking; if natural women prefer white men is it because white men are more receptive to natural hair? Is it something else? Let me hear your honest opinions.

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Simon is 22 years old and a first year graduate student. You can read more from Simon at his blog http://a-boy-from-another-planet.blogspot.com/

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