Her hair is too curly. That’s the first thing the girl thinks as she walks into her school that seems to be the metropolis of suburbia. Then she notices everyone else’s hair. Straight blonde hair. Wavy brown hair. Silky black hair. It becomes an avid search- try to find someone with hair like her own as soon as possible. But, as she walks further and further into the depths of school, reality begins to hit her- the search is going to become inconclusive.
Now, the girl begins to walk faster and faster, self-consciousness bubbling up inside her. She feels as if all eyes are on her- no- all eyes are on her hair. She swears she’s basically running now trying to get to her first period class, out of the hallway, out of the light.
The girl sits down at her seat, constantly touching her hair, as she feels eyes boring into the back of her neck. Her chest heaves hard with anxiety as she now has time to genuinely think about everything she does not want to think.
My hair is too big, it’s probably in someone’s way.
I bet someone will ask to touch my hair. And what am I going to say, no? Then I’ll just be that “angry black girl”.
Tomorrow, I’m straightening my hair.
The lunch bell finally rings and the girl reluctantly brings herself to walk through the quad. Again, the feeling of eyes pelting her back is like heavy rain hitting a window- too hard to go unnoticed but too soft to be worthy of a reaction.
She takes a detour into the bathroom, hoping to end the fictitious staring, but she is met with a crowd of girls. The girl moves to the mirror, staring herself down. Her unruly curls almost cover her face and she can’t tell if her face is beginning to become oily from her hair or embarrassment. It makes her want to melt into the floor. She doesn’t though. Instead she chooses to listen to other’s conversations in order to ignore her own issues. A girl to the right of her has perfectly tan skin but is complaining about it being “too dark”. The girl wants to close her ears and cover her eyes, but she can’t and she doesn’t. So, she tortures herself by looking at her mocha-colored skin in the reflection while listening to a girl complaining about her “too tan” complexion.
The conversation to her left isn’t much better. Two girls whine about how their hair is frizzy because of humidity. The girl takes a quick glance over to see for herself- both of the girls have flawlessly straight dark brown and blonde hair. The girl looks back at her reflection feeling as if her hair looks like she’s shocked by electricity. Quickly, the girl leaves the bathroom, as the insecurities of her “too dark” complexion and “too frizzy” hair begin to weigh heavily on her conscience.
Just as promised, the girl’s hair is straight the next day. She walks into school and feels conformed. There is no hard search to find anyone to relate to- she looks just like everyone else. She reassures herself it’s a good thing, although a weird feeling settles in her stomach.
In class, she is sure no one will comment on her hair. And why would they when she blends right in?
Before lunch, she stops in the bathroom and goes to the mirror. She looks into it but has to search hard for her real reflection. The same girls are there as yesterday. The “too tan” girl looks over at her.
“You’re really pretty,” the “too tan” girl says. “For a black girl.”
The girl does not know what to say. She wants to say something, anything better, in order to do herself justice, than what she does say. “Thanks.”
One of the girls on the left turns to them and says, “Don’t you hate how this weather make our hair so frizzy? I mean, look at this.”
The girl wishes she had to willpower to give her a comment equivalent to rolling her eyes, but instead she gives a slight nod.
The girl looks back at herself in the mirror. Her reflection begins to contort and blur. Suddenly, she is not seeing herself; she reflects as the girls to the left with their “too frizzy” hair and the girls to the right with their “too tan” skin. The truth of her imminent conformity scares her. Quickly, the girl leaves the bathroom, as the insecurities of her “too dark” complexion and “too frizzy” hair begin to lift off her shoulders.
It’s the end of the school day. She walks down the hallway, not too fast but not too slow. As she looks around, she begins to recognize each person as their own individual. A girl passes her with bright red hair cascading down to her lower back. Another walks by with a huge afro and does not stop for one second to make sure no one is watching.
The last boy she passes as she walks out the gates has vitiligo, nevertheless he exudes his unique quality with not a hint of diffidence. She recognizes him from her first period class; he sits right behind her. Just as they are parallel, he calls to her, “You should wear your hair curly,” he says. “It looks good on you.”
She doesn’t have time to respond, as he has already turned the corner.
The next day, her hair is curly again. She notices everyone else’s hair. Long bright red hair. Short, brown wavy hair. No hair. She does not feel the need to search for someone with black, curly hair. She is okay with being unique. More than okay. She walks down the hallway, but now she relishes in the curious looks and attention her individuality receives. She too exudes her unique qualities.
In first period, the back of her neck is free of tingling insecurities. Her chest takes a breath of serenity in the fact that she isn’t worrying about other’s fictitious opinions. She turns around to the guy behind her, his boldness shining through his wide smile.
“Thank you,” is all she needs to say.
At lunch, she chooses to go to the bathroom, weaving her way through the line of girls to get to the sink. She smiles at her reflection, and, for the first time, her real reflection smiles back at her. Defined curls fall to her shoulders framing a glowing melanin face.
The girl turns to the “too tan” girl. “For the record, I don’t think your skin is too tan,” she says.
The girl doesn’t wait for a response, turning to the “too frizzy” girl. “I don’t think your hair is too frizzy,” she says.
She turns and strides out of the bathroom.
As she leaves the suburban school, the girl recognizes three things:
1. Her hair is not too frizzy.
2. Her skin cannot be too dark.
3. Her hair is never too curly.