, , , , , ,

   I consider myself a hardcore naturalista. I’d rather a TWA than the best, Hollywood weave. Give me Bantu knots over a relaxer any day. I love seeing natural hair! I love having natural hair. My hair, like many naturalistas, was not always natural. So, this texture is novel, priceless and exalting to behold. That being said, I noticed my hair stopped growing. It was in hair limbo, and my Ghanian friend recommended I protective style with a wig. I said OK.

  I cowashed my hair and did a flat twist for the week using Aunt Jackie’s products, and through on the “naturally textured” wig before I headed out on my bike. Except, I couldn’t fit my helmet over the gosh darn wig. I felt like I was walking around with a football helmet on my head. It looked, to me, so ridiculously unnatural. When I took my helmet off, the wig almost went with it so I ducked  low pretending to inspect my tires.

   The next day, I tried braiding the wig hair so it would look more natural and be less bulky. I swear, it multiplied in width and height. I had twice as much hair. I tried to stop rearranging it on my forehead in public. I was certain it was lopsided. And it was hot. And scratchy. And hot.

   When I got home, I threw the wig off and slammed it down on my entryway bench. Free at last! I ran a hand over my hair, my real hair, and felt the breeze that wasn’t making it through my wig-helmet. My hair was silky soft, and enjoying it’s hair vacation. I glanced at the wig. OK, so maybe it was kinda cute.