My Auntie Bunny had been telling me to listen to that song for years. It’s a soothing ode performed by India Arie as she tells her fellow sisters, “hey I am not my hair, I am not this skin, I am not your expectations no…”
Couldn’t relate.
Because like other black girls, I had been wearing weaves for as long as I could remember. Let’s reflect.
I got my first “extensions” at age three. Crotchets to be exact. I don’t remember the install of course but I know my Aunt Daphne put them in for me because my hair was a lot to handle at such a young age. I am the youngest of two and I have the coarsest hair. My Mom did the best she could to take care of my hair, but between being a single mom of two small girls, working full-time, paying bills, going to church, providing for her family along with a long list of other things, I see why caring for my hair wasn’t her first priority.
But again, she tried.
I remember when I was in third grade. At this time I had already gotten a perm and it was picture day. My Mom did my hair so cute! Two slicked down pigtails with full curls in each. I loved my hair and felt so cute. It’s still one of my favorite throwback pictures to this day.
That was the only time I can remember ever really liking my hair as a child. In third grade.
Actually, I take that back. In fourth I remember having these long waterfall type ponytails. They were cute too! But I couldn’t keep them long because my hair started to fall out in the back. Not sure why this happened. Maybe I was tying my scarves too tight? Maybe a little perm was left in too long and ate up my hair? Maybe it needed to be moisturized more? Either way, it fell out and I could never wear high pony tails again. End of story.
Fast forward to high school, the first highlight of my hair portfolio because I got my first WEAVE. Ahh, I can remember it still to this day. It was a simple, neck length wrap. I only had a few tracks added because I wanted it to look as real as possible. I never wanted anyone to know I had a weave. I had fears that someone would walk up and put out the tracks like it was a strapless wig. I had fears that when I scratched my head all my hair would move. And I had fears that the unthinkable would happen: my tracks would show. So, I kept it simple. Literally only had about three of four tracks added and I loved the camouflaging of it all. I could have “manageable” hair and less maintenance in the morning.
Now I got a weave before saying you had a weave was popular. Now not only can you tell when someone has weave, people exchange hair vendors and lace-front secrets like it’s candy.
But back then having a weave was and should be kept as a secret. So I told no one. I would spend majority of my day anxious that my tracks were showing and during each class period would make sure to go to the restroom to double check that they weren’t. Looking back, the amount of anxiety I had about my hair was insane. Because really, its just hair.
After months of my “few tracks” I started to embrace my weave journey even more by telling my two best friends (London & Jordan) that I had pieces added. They couldn’t believe it! I remember London being all “it looks so real” and that is when my obsession began.
I wanted my hair to look real. And once my best friend confirmed that it did, I was all over it.
My hair had to be done. My wraps had to be laid and my tracks could not slip. I was so anal about my tracks not slipping that I even kept a bottle of hair glue hidden in my locker. One day when I felt my track barely (emphasis on barely) detaching from my head, I went to the bathroom and drenched that section in glue. Think of how much whipped cream you put on an ice cream sundae, that’s how much glue I used it.
The track was holding on! But the rest of my hair was now matted. The track was in the back, I couldn’t see what I was doing when I applied the glue… So I was just glueing, hoping and praying it would keep the track from slipping out.
It did.
My hair looked good.
The obsession continues…
I got the phrase “presentation is key” from my Mom years ago. She has always presented herself very well: fitted boss-lady work outfits (that she never wore twice), matching bag and shoes (designer only), and perfect, yes perfect, hair.
My Mom went to the beauty shop twice a month and never missed an appointment. Saturdays were dedicated to sitting in a hot shop waiting on the beautician to spin my Mom around so she could give her approval. I loved my Mom’s hair and style. She was always presentable. I wanted to be like that.
So I started getting my hair done too. A lot. The same ol’ wrap, with the same brand of Outre hair. It was my absolute fave to say the least. Reliable and blended with my hair perfectly. If a particular beauty supply store didn’t have the 12 inch purple pack, I would beg my mom and sister to take me to another store to find it. Again, I was obsessed.
My hair needed to be perfect. I had a “your hair always looks nice” reputation to uphold. And I took it very seriously.
So much that when my hair wasn’t done I would beg to stay home from school. Literally beg! And if the whole “my hair isn’t done” line didn’t work I’d throw in a “I’m cramping too” and that’d usually do the trick.
I did well in high school. But my attendance? My attendance was terrible. From skipping classes to staying home because of my hair, it was a mess. Thankfully I grew out of those bad habits when I went to college.
College: a place where everyone has a side hustle and you can get your hair done for half the price.
So that’s what I did. I let any and everyone touch my head as long as they could braid and put in some tracks. I was paying no more than $75 for a sew in, a HUGE discount from the $150 my Mom was paying for me back in Chicago.
I LOVED sew-ins. They felt more real to me and I didn’t have to worry about getting into a fight and having the girl rip my tracks out (more anxiety).
Sew-ins were cool. I could put my hair up in a messy bun (something I could never do with tracks or my real hair) I could fall asleep without a scarf on, and I could wet it.
I could wet my hair because after realizing college sew-ins were so cheap, my need for “quality weaves” increased.
Drastically.
Sophomore year of college I became a resident assistant. I was making $66 every two weeks (literally) and my room and board was paid for by the university. It was a lick! All I had to do was make sure the girls on my floor didn’t kill each other and reminded them that whatever they did in their rooms just do it “quietly.” (AKA Don’t wake me up. I like to sleep).
But with being an RA came something even better: bigger refund checks. Before being an RA I was getting $700 a semester, now I was getting $1300. And guess what the first thing I bought was? Not shoes. Not clothes. A weave.
And a good weave at that. My Brazilian bundles were costing me $300 and I had no complaints. The hair was amazing. It didn’t shed, It would curl when wet and the texture was smooth enough for me to manage but coarse enough to blend in with my already coarse hair.
I needed this hair. I wanted this hair. So I kept getting this hair.
Until I pledged Delta.
Now for the record, Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Incorporated is a non-hazing sorority. But coincidentally around the same time of pledging I just randomly decided to take out my $300 weaves and wear my natural hair *nervous smile *
And I hated it. I could not believe I was really walking around with this furry, dry, fuzzy looking… I don’t even know if what I had was a fro, fro.
It was not cute, but the least of my worries. I was too focused on studying the Presidents, remembering line-names and keeping my grades up. Plus it helped that I was always on the go so no one really saw me expect my other 8 ships.
After finally crossing the burning sands I was officially a Delta and I needed my weave back. I had been walking around looking crazy for months! And with this new title on my back (TRE Amiable) I needed to get back to being a bad bitch.
So my link, my deuce, my can grip any amount of hair with her hands before they start cramping ship, made me a u-part wig.
Now if I was fancy before, I was hella fancy now! My expensive bundles were now in a wig and you couldn't tell me NOTHING. The anxiety of my tracks slipping out was gone and I could move how I wanted to.
The wig was perfect because I would get my real hair washed and rebraided once a month then the wig sewn back on. It was perfect. I didn’t have to deal with my real hair often and the bundles were of course, nice as hell.
Then my hair started breaking off.
Quick sidenote, the reality is this: ANYTHING (and I mean anything) that you don’t take care of will eventually fall off and die.
Okay, maybe not die. But you get what I mean.
Know somebody who ain’t got much hair? If they didn’t voluntarily chop it, they either don’t take care of it under their weaves or they experienced the infamous “My Momma gave me a perm when I was younger and it fell out.”
I say all that to say: I barely had any hair underneath them wigs.
My shit was still cute though! And that’s all I cared about.
So I kept wearing em.
For years (and I means years) I kept a wig! My ship Shelaina made me my first u-part wig in summer 2014 and I kept it until 2018.
I would sew up the holes in the cap. Deep condition the bundles. Fried and dyed it a few times, I just couldn’t let my baby go!
In between then I had other wigs made. I remember one time I ordered some bundles got them sent to Houston where Shelaina lives, had her make the wig and once she was done send it back. I had no shame in my game. I was obsessed.
Fast forward to summer 2017. I had just received my master’s degree from Illinois State University and I was feeling risque!
So I ordered some bogus hair (it was $120 - big difference for me but I was being cheap) and HATED the bundles. They didn’t flow like my fave vendor’s did. It shed like crazy and barely blended.
But I didn’t have $300 to blow on a fresh weave. I was a recent grad with no job, so I had to do what I had to do….
And got a glue in.
Now for those of you who are weave-challeneged, a glue in is when the beautician puts a weave cap on your head, cuts out the center piece and glues the tracks around it. Glue ins were cool to me because most of my hair was put up and I didn’t have to deal with it curling up in the hot Chicago heat.
But that’s the thing. It was summer. And I was hot. Those weave caps don’t have holes in it and my head would be sweating! Between the sweat and the glue I was going through it. No one would ever know that underneath my “Dora the explorer” haircut was hot, unmoisturized, barely there hair.
But it was cute, so I kept it.
Eventually I got a better paying job and was able to save up and get me a quality weave. I was getting tired of paying so much for my hair (life is different when financial aid ain’t paying your rent) but again, I had a “wow your hair is always perfect” image to uphold.
Fast forward to the middle of summer 2018. My then relationship was a shit show and I wanted to make myself feel good! So I got some faux (pronounced foe) locs.
They were cool. They were decent. They were overpriced.
I paid the girl $280 to do 3/4ths of my head. She could only do 3/4s because the back of my head had to be shaved. It was so broken off and damaged she couldn’t grip it. So I paid her the money and took the locs down 3 weeks later.
More money down the weave drain.
Then summer 2018 hits. I’m newly single, secretly depressed and over any and everything. I have a new apartment with new bills and blowing $300 on a weave is not even an option.
So I started wearing cheap wigs. (Emphasis on cheap)
The wig was cute though! I loved the color. I had never explored color much (I’ve always been a simple girl) but I loved how the brown hit my skin. I felt new. I felt sexy! I felt like I couldn’t wear these wigs forever.
It was cheap ($24.99). It was tight (I got a big head) and getting stiffer and stiffer by the day.
For someone who would spend hundreds of dollars on her hair, this was definitely a humbling experience for me.
Why couldn’t I just wear my real hair? Why couldn’t after 20+ years of weaves, braids and wigs I could just let my hair breathe?
I thought about it. Even dreamed of one day being able to like myself without a weave. But i just couldn’t. I had a reputation to uphold. A weave was me. A weave was Jalyssa.
Then one day, my beautiful, intelligent, and soulful ship Ashley did the most confident thing ever…
She cut her hair.
Now Ashley already had a sense of confidence and sass about herself. But now? Now it was oozing from the inside. She walked with even more confidence. She was even more beautiful because you could see her entire face, with no long bundles hiding it. Her bone structure popped like never before and her check bones stole show.
When I asked her why she cut her hair, she told me how she was going through a journey. And through this journey she decided to rid herself of everything that was holding her back. She wanted to shed dead weight and be free.
Everything she explained was what I wanted for myself. But again, I just couldn’t do it.
So I bought another wig. This one, similar color as before, and just as cheap.
I liked the way it looked on me, but the foundation was different from the one prior to. This one looked like a WIG. And I HATED IT.
The lace was cheap. The top had a bulge. The band was tight. Ugh! I couldn't stand it. But Jalyssa had to wear a weave. I had to always look presentable and I had to deal with these things even if I hated it and felt uncomfortable.
Then one day, I got a little courage. I cut off my hair.
Well, the dead hair. But still! I felt good about it! Granted I still put a wig on top but at least I was taking baby steps.
A few weeks passed and I was still rocking this wiggy wig. I hated it. It was hot outside and the wig made me even hotter. The band was thick and gave me a headache. It was matting up day by day.
One day as I was getting in from work I just had enough! It had got to the point where before I even locked my doors I was pulling off my wig. I was over it. It was ugly and I just didn’t want to wear it anymore.
So I wore my real hair.
With no money to get it done professionally (I had recently moved and was still trying to get furniture) I slicked it down with some gel and decided this would be my new look.
I liked it! I could scratch freely and I no longer had to worry about those wig inflicted headaches I was getting. I liked my short hair, it was cool.
Then I started feeling insecure. I was used to having my hair professionally done. I had no idea what to do with such little hair.
So I got some braids.
The braids phase didn’t last long, but it did what I was looking for at the time…
I could get up for work, slick my baby hairs down and go on about my way. I got them done once a month and didn’t mind keeping them in until they were so old you could barely see the parts.
I didn’t even care. I just didn’t want to do my hair! I had been getting my hair done since I was a small child, so if the braids got fuzzy they was just gon be fuzzy!
Then came the auntie cut (I’m almost done I swear).
I got this for my birthday. It was cute! Exactly what I was looking for: short, shaved back, and sewn in at the top so I didn’t have to deal with my real hair.
I liked it, a lot. It fit my “hey I’m 26, I’m grown ” look and I rocked it for a while. But the more I got it done, the more I realized I was still ignoring the elephant in the room.
My hair was looking so cute and auntie-ish on the outside but underneath the sew-in was hair that was dry, malnutritioned and breaking off. I was still not taking care of my hair.
For a few weeks I just didn’t care. I wanted my hair to look good even if it wasn’t foreal. I was preaching a “everything that glitters isn’t gold” message in my blogs and on Instagram but was living a “I want things to look good even if they aren’t” lifestyle.
So after weeks of debating with myself and watching baddies like Teyana Taylor, Eva Pigford and my ship Ashley, I decided I was going to wear my REAL hair.
So I found a beautician, put it in my budget and got it cut…
The experience was surprising very peaceful. The woman who did my hair had such a beautiful spirit. She explained to me my problem areas, her process and she made me feel very comfortable. I wasn’t anxious while she was cutting and I loved her energy so much I bought her lunch!
It was a good time. A relaxing time. Something that stressed me out my whole life finally just felt like… hair.
And now I’m here. Barely any hair on my head and loving it! I can scratch and not feel a track, a braid, thread or glue! Last night I even fell asleep without a scarf on and didn’t beat myself up about it. I finally feel free!
And I finally get it. Hair is not that important. I can be Jalyssa with a weave or Jalyssa with a pixie cut and still be just as smart and just as beautiful. Spending my last on weave isn’t even my personality anymore and I’m not missing work for nothing (I got bills).
It’s been over 10 years since India Arie’s I Am Not My Hair came out and I can finally resonate with the lyrics…. Because she’s right, I am NOT my hair.