When I was about 14 years old, I believed I started to come into my own. If you could envision Erykah Badu’s little sister with the headwraps, bangles up to the elbows, African print fabric- that was me. To “refreshify”a little bit, I started to listen to many different types of international/bohemian/ afrocentric musicians towards the end of elementary school. So by the beginning of high school, I started discover my own style by emulating the artists who I admired (thank god it wasn’t Britney Spears!). Anyway, my high school was an all-girls Catholic school. So creative expression- not so much. But, I would figure out ways to bring out my little earthy, eccentric accents amidst the sea of stone gray wool skirts, white cotton polos, low heeled conformist society (the boring architecture of clothing that were our school beautiful uniforms). A lot of this “rebellion” was through my hair. My hair would accessorize my otherwise dull uniform with its bigness, wildness and freedom. I would love to switch it up with some long braided extensions down to my butt with colorful yarn wrapped around each braid (inspired by Cameroonian singer, Sally Nyolo), Bantu knots, or when I was feeling a little more low-key, I would get it straightened.
My friends were from everywhere- I guess you would say we were the “eccentric nerdy” crowd. I didn’t necessarily hang out with all the black group- though we were cool- and I didn’t really hang out with the white girls. You know there are always those stupid high school groups where you go to fit in (It kind of reminds of those baby toys were you put the circles with the circles, the squares with the squares…). And the left over shapes who were just “unfittable” alas were in my group (the rainbow coalition…not the actual name but our crew was just so mixed up). We went from goth, to afrocentric, to artist, to computer geek, to rocker chick, to anime-loving, world-loving, broadway-loving, all that was different loving kind of people. We were who we were, and we were proud baby.
Anyway, on to my hair story during high school. I felt good about it. Even though I would straighten my hair, it wasn’t to fit in (like in college). The reasoning behind it was different. My hair was a form of expression that I embraced. But, I would always get some type of comment when I wore my hair natural in general like , “Your hair is too crazy!” or "Do you go to the movie theater with it out like that (chuckle, chuckle)?!"
One vivid memory…
It was English class. I came in a little late. Ultimately, my usual seat was taken (third row aisle seat). So, I lugged over people’s book bags and got a great spot all the way in the back-last row, last seat. That day I wore my hair out curly. In the seat in front of me sat a girl who was known for always making some snide comment on everyone. I was lucky enough to be seated right behind her! We were all packed in the back like sardines. We were so close to each other that the smell of people’s body orders collided with the scent of cheap perfume, making their own fragrance called Funky. We were so close that people’s whispers were just hot vapor clouds of moist (like I know you had that greasy ass egg and cheese sandwich this morning from the corner store) clouds of air. And damn the desks were small. You know the connected ones where the iron rod holding up the table keeps jabbing into your side or hip. Anyway, the girl in front me leans over to her friend to the right and says loud enough that I can hear, “Her hair looks like the naps on the back of my head.” Reflecting on it, it was just such a heavy statement… It hurt so I would just take those statements and translate them into my own exaggerated form of rebellion or in other words “fuck you!” Like if someone were to talk shit about my hair- I would pick it out even bigger. I would make it clear to people (and throw it all up in your face) that this is who I am-take it. To actually say the full phrase “take it or leave it” requires much more confidence. Because at that age we are always trying to prove something, right?
Because of my “fuck the system” mentality I sought comfort with anything that was the opposite from mainstream. So I continued to wear my hair how I saw fit (sometimes exaggerated, sometimes not). I beated my own drum…literally. Anytime I performed for an event at school, I would beat a miniature Djembe drum upon entering… you know, for effect. People had to know about how I was.
I remember I performed a song in Yoruba and a faculty member came up to me and asked if I had made up the language…go figure.
I got my nose pierced when I was 15 years old. I felt it went with my ‘lifestyle.” It was totally against school regulation. My school was the type that would flip out if you dyed your hair a shade lighter. So, when asked if I would remove my nose ring (actually not remove but put a huge band-aid over it), I replied, “I can’t. It’s part of my culture. You see, every young girl upon turning 16 must pierce their nose.” They totally bought it.
I was introduced to slam poetry. I used to read at this place called Jimmy’s Uptown in Harlem. I lied about my age and said I was 18 so I could go get in. I would go up barefooted, super bohemian (minus the drum) and slam. I loved it! I ask myself if I could do it now- I don’t know. My feeling of invincibility and overconfidence has retreated a tad with age.
It’s funny how all these different phases of my life are like puzzle pieces to who I am today. And I am still not complete. I will never be complete I think- even when I am old and gray. I just think as we grow as individuals and as people, we become more complex, more beautiful. I am that same child that I was in elementary school, the same afrocentric/confident teen in high school, that lost freshman in college, the young adult now. All the imperative components that compose me. I am ugly, I am beautiful. Everything at the same time. I am all the good and bad adjectives that I can think of because… I am human.
Yeah.
