, , , , ,

   I recently started dating a great guy, who is White, and absolutely loves my coily hair. He carelessly plays with it while driving, or runs his hands through it (well, as far as he can get anyway) all the time. When I spend time with him, I strategically plan my hair. And he hasn’t slept over yet which leaves me with 3 hair hurdles:

1. Wash Day:
   If we get serious, sooner or later I’ll need to wash my hair. This will probably mystify him the most. Why is it when he touches my hair it’s slick with oils and butters? Why is it all full of bands and twists? Why not a quick towel fluff and bun?
     I’m just going to be blunt: look, wash day ain’t pretty but if you want to be able to keep running your hands through my hair without losing a finger, I need to get intimate with my deep conditioners and Shea butter.


2. Night Time

  At night, I pull some doo-doo plaits (big, ugly twists not meant for outside) and pull on a silk bonnet. I would totally understand if I never got a text back in the morning if he seen how I looked going to bed but, if I can switch from XXL basketball shorts and a tank top to sexy, red silk lingerie at bed; surely I can put a bit of effort and put my hair in 2 French braids or a top not, or curlers even with a cute bonnet (read: not a  stocking cap!).
   If all else fails, I can be straight up: Look, dude, if I have to put up with your roaring snores, then you have to put up with my bonnet and protective styles.


3. Dinner at the Parents

  I don’t know, some old folk are pretty cool but my guy’s family isn’t just Canadian, a pretty tolerant bunch of people. They are French Canadian. So not only am I a Black Anglophone, I have hair that looks like it’s flowering.
   Here’s the deal: I’ll tone down my wild tress hairstyles into a modestly sweet bun or ponytail to meet the ‘rents while we eat asparagus wrapped in prosciutto and other bougie food and drink oak-aged corked wine.

   Love is about compromise, right?