Time to free the curls
These tears were more than 50 years in the making.
They happened this week in front of a woman I had met only moments earlier.
She was totally unfazed. “I see these all the time,” she assured me.
An everyday occurrence for her.
For me, the reaction to a move so radical I only barely entertained the thought of doing it well into my 50s.
Something few people know about me, even friends I’ve known for decades.
I have very curly hair.
I have spent an ample portion of my life trying to control it.
Taking a trip in the way back machine, to when I was a little girl.
My mother looking at my hair with disgust.
This huge mop of thick, dark curls, the only one of the three kids to come out this way.
The curl gene skipped a generation, coming from my Papa Jack, my dad’s father, a man my mother couldn’t stand.
Maybe that’s what shaped her opinion of my hair. Maybe because she had thin, stick straight hair she didn’t know what to do with mine.
Maybe it was the beauty standards of the time.
Whatever the reasoning, the message was clear.
Curls are bad.
Curls are ugly.
Curls must be contained. And so, I have spent a good portion of my life doing just that. Blow drying, flat ironing, keratin treatments, ponytails, head bands, and when all else failed, putting on a hat.
And then came this last year, with its permission to question so many of our choices.
As Husband and I are spending time in our new house on the coast, I can see summer’s humidity coming around the corner like a freight train.
Humidity is a person of texture’s kryptonite.
Sometime a few months ago I decided, “Not this year. Not doing it again.”
It was time to free the curls. My sister helped me find a stylist who specializes in curly hair.
Apparently, this is a thing. I had to book an appointment three months in advance just to get in.
Which is how I found myself sitting in this woman’s chair. Her fingers running through my hair, oohing and aahing, “Your curls are incredible! They are beautiful.”
This explains the tears.
Then, and now, as I write this.
Perhaps you understand, Dear Reader? Even beyond the battle to contain big hair.
You, too, received the messaging from your earliest days. About your hair.
About your body type.
About your personality.
You are not like the rest of us, so you’re going to have to change you.
To be like us.
Even though my mother died over five years ago, this big bold move isn’t judgement free.
One daughter loves the curls. The other one hates the look.
And the big judge, Husband, hasn’t seen them yet. He’s down at the other house.
My best bet — this won’t be his favorite look.
I’m hoping beyond the wild poof, he will see me.
The wife he loves.
Just curlier.
And now, free.
Daryn Kagan is the author of the book “Hope Possible: A Network News Anchor’s Thoughts On Losing Her Job, Finding Love, A New Career, And My Dog, Always My Dog.” Email her at Daryn@ darynkagan.com.