I can’t remember the exact day I stopped coming my hair but it’s definitely coming up on a year.
I big-chopped the summer after graduating high school and didn’t look back. Quiet as it’s kept, I thought the shit was cute but upon recent observations at some old photos, I looked a bit awkward with no hair. I didn’t plan on cutting it again though. I just opted to suffer that awkward ass TWA phase in silence and with minimal selfies.
I watched so many YouTube tutorials trying to figure out how to take care of my newly natural and I got really invested for like six months. But my hair is hella thick. In fact, that’s why my momma had it relaxed in the first place.
I always thought locs were beautiful but I was born to the faction of black folks who associate them with niggatry and negativity. I knew the weight that locs carried in society but I really didn’t give a fuck.
So, around this time last year, I just stopped combing my shit.
Let me be clear: I stopped combing my hair. I didn’t stop washing it. I didn’t stop taking care of it. I didn’t stop conditioning it. I let my hair do its thing while still giving it everything it needed to thrive.
And this is the result:
I decided to free form my locs because I always liked the look of them. Jean-Michel Basquiat is one of my favorite artists of all time and I loved his aesthetic. It’s honestly one of the most freeing things I’ve ever done. As my locs grow longer and stronger, my hair is a constant reminder of the beauty of the natural form.
My hair has also really affected my lifestyle. I’ve been trying to transition into a more health conscious diet for the past year and a half and though it’s hard, I really love what it’s doing for my whole body.
A bitch been hitting the gym, watching her carbs, allat.
I feel a glow coming. I really do. I’m welcoming 2018 with opening arms.