For the first time EVER I’ve let a non-black or Dominican woman tend to my hair.
How is it that I became a hair racist, I have no idea. After all I lived in NYC where there’s simply no storage of minorities to do my hair. That combined with growing up and learning early on in life that most people of other races have no idea how labor intensive having non-naturally straight hair is. I can sit here and recount how many times in my life I had to explain to someone, without my hair texture, that I only wash my hair once a week or that it isn’t wash and go but a long two hour process or how my hair does not respond well to water so, no I’m not walking calmly in the rain with you. And yes, there is always an umbrella in my bag for just that emergency!
When you go through that for a good section of life, you decide pretty early on who you’ll allow to do things to your hair. Now in all fairness, I did give people of other races a chance. Mainly people of other minorities. When I was broke at NYU, I’d go to a beauty school where typically black girls would stroll over and whip my hair together in two seconds flat. They were, after all, experienced with my hair. Then one day while waiting for my turn a teacher walked over with a cute little Asian girl and began to instruct her on what to do with my hair. I wasn’t pleased but was told that since it’s a school, I had to be open. I grit my teeth and sat in her chair. Needless to say, it didn’t go well. She gave my hair the weakest wash job ever and then we had a constant battle over how long she thought I should be under the dryer (I won’t go into detail about her inability to put rollers in it). She checked my head nearly every ten minutes, mean while, I know my hair (at that time) needed more than an hour. That day I vowed – blacks and Dominicans only!
Sadly there’s a Dominican shortage here in London. And Africans simply don’t know what they’re doing. I’ve been left to tend to my own hair, wear wigs and simply pray to the universe to help me not loose it all since I’ve been blow drying and flat-ironing the bajesus out of it. Thanks to this madness it simply doesn’t look anywhere near as good as it did in New York and it’s breaking my heart. Especially when Smith is sending me pics of her unbelievably gorgeous tresses (yes, I’m green with envy).
So today I finally folded. Thanks to City Deals London, I had an appointment with Frederico, an adorable Italian guy who would do the Keratin treatment and cut my hair. While in his seat he inquired who was doing my hair and we both complained about the lack of talent and hair knowledge the African hairdressers in the UK possess and he offered to take full control of my hair dressing needs. Can I trust this man to do a relaxer? Will I trust him?
Luckily I’ve got some time to decide on that – eight weeks to be exact. Right now I’m rocking a new cut that I’m still unsure about and my hair is flatter than I like, so the verdict is still out on whether Freddy will have the privilege again but I woke up and still have hair on my head so I’m at least my hair racism is over. And I just walked past another salon that looks like it might have potential and if anyone can suggest a brilliant salon to me…recommendations are welcome!!! (And once it looks better I’ll post a pic.)