Fashion Kin's

Yesterday on the advice of my brother, I watched “Good hair” the documentary by Chris Rock on the report complicated than black women have with their hair. I think that only black women can understand this report neurotic. Quite simply their whole life revolves around it. They are the afros, relaxed, braided or woven they pass the nuisance to deal with it. They? uh I mean since we last heard of black I am even if it’s half. My hair is my life. I can not think and I understand that in my environment it takes me a little crazy for a girl or a bit superficial but I can not do autrement.Comment you explain?

First you must know that little respect for a tradition my father has shaved his head. Not once, not twice, stories have beautiful hair. Beautiful hair I do not know but very thick hair that’s for sure. In the 70s, j’arborais a superb Afro hair worthy of the Jackson Five. I grew up and my hair stayed curly half, half frizzy but especially trèèèèèèèèès many. Oh, I have envied my girlfriends and their hair long, their quilts, their ponytails. Everything was forbidden. So of course I dreamed. I saw myself running wagging his head to move my ponytail. I guess you should find it silly but for me it was the absolute dream.

Occasionally, however, my dream became reality almost since I did ask Rastas. I think that this word must be completely lame. These were additions of synthetic hair that Senegalese women wove me for dozens of hours. But I bore it all without flinching as it was for me the access to multiple opportunities and feel like my girlfriends.

Then came high school and my first experiences more or less happy. First the curls, by which we mean, curly hair on the principle of styling. It was pretty nice but there was a major drawback, treatment. Every morning to keep the wet curly look, I had to spray my hair with a care that was dripping on my shoulders. Needless to say that I quickly got tired of having to wait almost an hour before getting dressed. So I opted for straightening. First in Paris and Strasbourg. I do not know if you have ever been in a salon afro but it has nothing in common with a traditional salon. That said … how exotic. Time no longer matters, hygiene not always either. Every year I went once or twice in a lounge at the other end of town in one of the worst neighborhoods in the city. But what would one do to her hair. A few months later the mother of a friend who was a hairdresser assured me I can make brushings. For if my hair was relaxed it did not mean that I had straight hair just that they were more flexible. So now this hairdresser decides kindly inform me of brushes, foot. Except, except that bin does not blow-dry my hair and this lady who wants more accustomed to purple hair old ladies transformed me into strange creatures. A delicious blend of Robert Smith and Bill of Tokio Hotel. A tragedy, really.

Things have really changed when I entered the living room and a Biguine their hairdresser gave me a real blow-dry. I think I worshiped as if I had seen the Virgin. It changed my life and I followed in several rooms. Since I had several but I remain faithful to the person who transformed my hair. Except that all this has a cost and a rather important. Like many of my sisters hair, whatever the hairstyle was adopted, I spend a huge budget for my hair. No products as some of them but in hairdressers. For, they are always impeccable, I am forced to go there every week. Now of course I have a flat iron but I have such a mass of hair I need two hours of sacred and biceps to overcome this hair.

Oh I hear you there. Yes you girls with straight hair, I hear you saying “Oh you should leave them curly. Oh I would love to see you au naturel. ” In natural for me but that’s natural. If I swear. Because with curly hair I feel like another. More blurred, more childlike, more hippie. With straight hair I feel like to control things. Neurotic I told you.

But I do not know one day maybe I let myself go and after having cut short my hair I let them resume life and I mine. A life where I could go to the pool and steam room without having to program an appointment at the hairdresser. A life where I could go out without an umbrella. A life where I could take a shower without taking care to protect my hair. A life cool.

To the point of view of a girl who broke free of all that, take a look at the lioness who afro hair instead give a lot of personality.

Edit: Apparently I hurt some people with this post and I’m sorry. Those who are used to read me know that I tend to exaggerate the line and be ironic, but my goal was not to stigmatize or caricature. Maybe I was clumsy. When I speak of the Afro salons are those of 20 years ago and when I say “exotic” is to emphasize the change of scenery that I experienced not to say that blacks are exotic … Anyway, I mixed up but I want to apologize if I ‘I was hurting this was not my intention.