The Horrors of Creamy Crack

People ask me why I cut my hair. As if it’s their business.

Allow me to explain why I cut off my tresses to fashionably display this short, edgy style. Follow closely because you might get tangled into my curly mess of explanation, but be ready to comb out the knots and flow through it. Here is my story from root to tip.

When I was younger, my cousins had thick, straight hair that stretched down passed their shoulders. They would get their hair relaxed using a chemical product that helped straighten and tamed their curly manes, and was fresh by the minute. I desperately wanted their hair so that I could feel older and a part of the crew. But my hair could never thrive like theirs no matter what I did to it.

The main reason why my hair was not thriving was due to the chemical burns left on my scalp after getting a relaxer. I was addicted to that creamy crack that I did not care what measure of pain I went through to get to that point of beauty. I cried each time I received a relaxer, but never stopped getting them. One treatment was so horrible that my scalp was peeling off dried-up blood.

Relaxers have always been in my hair regimen since I was 6-years-old. I never questioned my mother on why she insisted that she continued to burn me, but I grew to accept them. I never thought I could live without them because that’s what I was used to.

Then suddenly it hit me. Find an alternative hairstyle instead of burning off your hair every two months.

I was a senior in high school and had to figure out a way to walk around campus looking decent, instead of looking like a young lion trying to find a home before getting kicked out of the group. (I am unsure if lions and lioness are in herds or groups.)

It’s important to look cute during your senior year, or it was to me. But my hair had become unruly. I discovered my favorite hairstyle — extensions. I was able to place extensions into my hair without damaging the chemically burned strings left on my head. And I was content with this alternative for a while.

With extensions, I felt like I had accomplished my long-life dream of having hair like my cousin’s. I would purchase extensions all the way down to my waist, slick down my natural baby hairs, and place simple, messy curls in them to give me that “popular girl” look. Extensions were my thing until I felt I could not handle the financial stress that came along with it.

I was very unhappy that I did not know how to do my hair and that when I would take the extensions out, I would purchase more to put back in. At the time, I was working part-time at Panera Bread and my whole paycheck, $225.06, would go towards purchasing extensions. My money and hair was flying everywhere that I was losing control of my alternative. Out came the extensions and off to Hair Cuttery for a new look.

And just like that, it was gone.

On December 7, 2013, I found my way into a salon chair at a local Hair Cuttery and introduced myself to a woman named Tiffany. Tiffany had large Sharpie-size dreadlocks that swung just above her skinny ankles and she convinced me that cutting my hair would be a fresh start for me. At first, I was convinced to keep my hair because I loved her and thought about getting dreadlocks. However, after she told me all the hard work that comes along with maintaining dreadlocks, I allowed her to place those beautician sheers right into my hair.

Tiffany cut my hair right down the center so that I could not change my mind about cutting my hair off. Snip! Snip! Snip! With my back turned towards the mirror, I cannot see what she was doing, but I could hear the scissors. They whipped pass my ears as she snipped away at what I remembered as limp tresses that just hung like a dead plant. It only was a matter of 20 minutes she spent perfecting my hair and then…

The instant reveal.

Tiffany swung the chair around and asked me to open my eyes. I was so afraid yet so interested to see what I looked like with short hair. Keep in mind, this is the first time in my life that I had short hair. As I slowly fluttered my eyes open, I could feel the hair on my skin spark up in shock. Water formed within my eyes as I looked at myself with short, curly hair.

My hair was gone.

I immediately fell in love with myself. I had tried something new, fun and edgy. Questions popped into my head as I sat in amazement at how great I looked. Will people think I have cancer? Will my mom get upset that I just cut off all my hair? Will my dad notice?

Yes, little kids thought I had cancer and felt bad for me because I was “sick” and would offer to help make me feel better, my mom screamed profoundly at my new haircut, and my dad, well let’s just say he never noticed until three days later. Out of all the reactions, I was pissed off with my dad the most because he notices every little detail and the biggest detail on me he misses. Men, I tell you.

People often wonder if I will return to the creamy crack and the answer is no. I have been natural for four years and plan to stay natural for the rest of my life. I do not wish to rediscover the days where I looked like a wild child and did not know how to do my hair. It was a depressing time in my life and I won’t be returning at all.

No one will ever understand the joy I get when running a comb through my knotted hair. I honestly love it and I will always and forever let my scalp be as free as my soul.

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