The other night, I was sitting in front of my computer, staring at the invitation from Roshini to guest-post here on Glamazini. I have to say that while I was flattered and humbled, my mostly…I was stumped.
I mean, I’m relatively new to this natural hair thing. What in the world would I be able to contribute to the site where I glean more than my own share of tidbits from? I was completely lost on what I should say. That is, until my husband said something that made me smile.
We were sitting some ways apart from each other in the living room when out of the blue he turned to me and said, “Wow, your locs are really starting to become your own. I can’t even imagine you with any other hairstyle. I mean, they look really good.”
Now, what he said was nice. Flattery will get you everywhere in marriage. But it was the look in his eyes that made all the difference. On his face was one of those whimsical, glossy, enamored expressions that men make that can put a little extra swag in your step. The most accurate way to describe it was a look of pride.
“You wouldn’t love me if I cut my hair off? Or straightened it again?” I joked. His face dropped into one of disbelief then he chuckled and said, “Till death do us part…but, uh…you better not.”
Now, I have been natural for about three years now, but my locs are only a year and a half old. They began as two-strand twists, provided by Aisha at the latter end of a baby shower we’d attended. I’d been relaxer free for at least a year, but was tiptoeing around starting twists or locs. Upon hearing how long I’d stalled on doing anything to my hair, Aisha gave me one of those blank stares Roshini mentioned a couple posts ago, and sat me down without a second thought. Even that night, the look on The Dude’s face when those twists were finally in my hair, was indescribable.
Now, I’m not saying that I place my entire reasons for having natural hair on my husband, or a man’s attention period. What I am saying, is that it felt really nice. To think of all the years that women have burned their hair to a crisp, matted it beneath layers of bonding glue to attain the length that we have been programmed to believe was the epitome of beauty, and just not felt “ON” unless our hair was “Fried, Dyed, and Laid to the Side”; it truly meant something to me that my husband found my natural hair so beautiful.
Together, in our nappy-headed house, we are both looking at the hair God gave us, as a beautiful extension of who we are. His locs grow smoothly and deliberate, following a pattern that they have created themselves. Mine, they stretch and then tighten, growing steadily but in a rhythm. Each of our crowns in many ways imitate our personalities and artistic lifestyles. Him, sitting for hours while constructing deliberate patterns for the music he writes. Me, growing quiet at times and then almost bursting with words to fill a canvas with.
I don’t know where this natural journey of mine will lead me. For now, what I do know is that I’ve already grown far more in tune with my own developing definitions of beauty. My hair is my crown, and I am proud of every piece of fluff and kink. And as I sit here tonight, watching him work and thinking of how to put my feelings into words, I begin to think of music. My goodness, Aretha was right; he really does make me feel like a natural woman. And for that matter, so was India; I am not my hair, but surely, my hair is growing into becoming me.