Embracing Me or How I Became a Red Hot Mama

This entry began as an email to my blogami, Marc. (Don’t you just love that word? Marc found it. Ami is French for friend.)  He wrote me a very thoughtful email in response to my email response to his comments to my journal entry on dating. I started an email response that just grew and grew and voila, a journal entry! Marc Olmsted also created the artwork that graces this entry. He calls his creations Hy-Art as they are a hybrid mix of two or more classic works of art combined in such way as to present a new vision of the original works. Go to his journal for other examples of his artistic creations.

 

I have come to realize that I have finally arrived in a good place when it comes to self-image and self-love. It’s been quite a journey getting here. As a child, as an adolescent and as a woman, I was convinced of my utter unattractiveness, that I was down right ugly. My mother didn't help, as she was highly critical of my appearance. In her eyes I was too fat, too dark, and my hair was too nappy. She was constantly putting me on diets, buying skin lighteners by the gallon, and using a hot comb to straighten my hair. However, what she believed was a reflection of the message that the larger culture was sending and in her own way, she was trying to give me the tools that she thought that I needed to make my way in the world. My mother's skin color reflects the miscegenation on her father's side of the family. My grandfather's father was a white landowner. I get my skin tone from my father's side of the family.

 

Everyone is impacted to some extent by cultural norms of beauty, but for a black girl growing up in the fifties, there was nothing to reflect that there was anything attractive about being black in the media images surrounding us. Lena Horne was the epitome of black beauty, because her features were more European (which she enhanced with plastic surgery), her skin was caramel colored, and her hair was straight in texture and then softly curled. The entire message from within and without black society was that lighter skin and straight hair was better.

 

I broke out of bondage a few times. The first time was when I was 14 and decided that I wanted an Angela Davis style afro. My mother was horrified but she eventually just gave up and ignored my embarrassing do! However, by the time that I hit my twenties, chemical relaxers were all the rage and I began getting my hair chemically straightened. The advantage was that unlike hot comb straightened hair, chemically relaxed hair could survive rain, showers, and swimming pools for about 8 to 12 weeks before reapplication was needed. When the Jheri curl hit the scene, I switched to what was a less debilitating process for the hair and was happy with my controlled curly look for years.

 

However, I was still fat and dark and convinced that I was one step away from grotesque. It wasn't until I hit my thirties that I made peace with my skin color. Partly it was due to Whoopi Goldberg's one-woman show in which she adopted a variety of persona's and engaged in comic monologues with serious undertones. I was particularly struck by her creation of a six-year-old black girl who was wearing a white man's shirt on her head, and referred to it as her "long blond hair." In a monologue less than 10 minutes long, Whoopi skewered the whole notion of "good hair" (straight, silky, more like white people's hair) and "bad hair" (kinky, nappy, more typically black people's natural hair texture).  Her six year old persona was also concerned about being "too black," and Whoopi used her humor to point out the ridiculous beliefs that powered such nonsense. I didn't shed years of insecurity in the course of watching her performance but I started the journey to self-love.

 

At some point, I later read an article by Audre Lourde on the politics of hair, in which she talked about the complex societal issues that surrounded black folks' hair. I don't remember all the details, but there had been several lawsuits involving employers attempting to ban certain hairstyles from the workplace as being unprofessional, hairstyles typically worn by black people--braids, cornrows, twists, afros, and locks. Ms. Loudre made me think about the politics of hair in an entirely new light. [Lest you think that this issue of hair is a thing of the past, this summer, two women who worked at a corrections facility in Virginia were fired because their supervisor decreed that their natural braids and locks were inappropriate and extreme hairstyles, and they refused to alter them. In 2006 in Virginia Beach, Kokoamos Island Bar refused admission to people wearing their hair in locks, twists, cornrows, or braids.]

 

My real eye opener came when I turned 40. Several of my lighter complexion black female friends and virtually all of my white female friends were bemoaning the wrinkles and crinkles of aging, but my darker sisters and I were as smooth as we were at 30. For the first time, I begin to see a real advantage to darker skin. As my good friend H wisecracks, "Black don't crack." The extra melanin in darker skin is a real advantage when it comes to showing the signs of aging, as much of the damage to skin is done by the effects of exposure to sunlight. Vanity is my name.

 

In my forties, I began to experiment with more natural hairstyles. I gave up the use of chemicals to alter my hair texture. I wore braids with extensions, which means that the hairdresser braids your hair while adding in extra hair, artificial or human, to add length and/or volume to the style. But a little over a year ago, I went through another hair evolution.

 

Not long after Imus’ remarks about nappy hair, I decided to forego the extensions that my hairdresser added to my “natural” do to provide increased length and volume. Actually, decided is not exactly accurate. I had an appointment for Saturday morning to get my usual twists with extensions added. On Friday night, after I had removed the current crop of added human hair, my hairdresser called and announced that she was overbooked and couldn’t see me until Monday. I had only two options, stay in all weekend or give myself a hairdo. I washed and braided my hair that evening. The next morning, I unbraided my hair into a decidedly nappy afro.

           

I called my sister. “I have a fro. I think that I like it but I need input. Can I come over?”

 

My sister has a glorious head of locks and I trusted her to tell me true as to whether I was rocking the fro or just delusional.

 

When I walked in, she gave me her emphatic approval of my new/old style. Since then I’ve been sporting truly natural hair with no extensions. I’ve rediscovered my own hair. Sometimes I wear an afro, at other times two strand twists and my current favorite is a look known as the twist out. The nappy texture of my hair is essential to my ability to wear these hairstyles. I love my nappiness; it takes me back to my youth, when I first wore an afro.

 

I've also come to like the woman that I see in the mirror. She's attractive. Her skin is a smooth and glowing mahogany color, her hairdo is cute and sassy, and she has a beautiful smile. I'm also no longer afraid of a full-length mirror. I'm buxom, curvaceous, womanly. A few years ago when I committed to losing weight it was because my excess weight was taking such a toll on my physical health. I had long given up the notion that I could be attractive and saw no point in fighting the weight battle; I would still be ugly. But as my health slid down hill, I realized that I wanted to live more than I wanted the numbing comfort of food.

 

I confess that I'm proud of myself. As I have mentioned before, to date I've lost 148 pounds. No surgery, no pills, just treating myself to healthy food and exercise. I feel younger which is good, because now my feelings match my unlined brow. Told you that my name is vanity.

 

I admit that I would like to be a part of a twosome. I haven't been in a relationship in quite some time and looking back on past relationships, I recognize that they were for the most part, emotionally unhealthy. I didn't love myself, how could anyone else love me? I made bad choices, selecting men who were unobtainable for whatever reason, and men whom I knew would ultimately leave me. I'm wiser now, and I know that I deserve better.

 

I don't like being rejected, but then again, who does? I really appreciate the kind words and the supportive advice that I receive from my postings about my online dating woes, but I really am okay. You see, I think that I'm an interesting, funny, sexy  woman and any man would be lucky to have me. I'm also pretty damn cute! 

 

Tags: blogami, self-love, identity, self esteem, body image, weight, fat, relationships, Marc Olmsted, Hy-Art