At the risk of sounding extremely cliche, I’m going to say it: I am not my hair. This isn’t my first time cutting my hair, but it is definitely my first time cutting my hair out of Love. My first time I chopped her off, like many others I’m sure, it was right after my first real heartbreak. I got dumped and needed to reemerge as a new bitch (new hair, who dis?).
While that was an exhilarating experience, it wasn’t coming from a place of peace. This time around, I just wanted to give me Love. I wanted to strip myself of everything that hid me. Hair, I’ve noticed, had become my number one blanket. From braids, to faux locs, to constantly struggling with inconsistent twist outs and straightening my hair on more of a regular basis than I’d like, the way my hair looked determined the route of my day. If I couldn’t get my hair right that morning, the rest mattered not, and it showed in how I carried myself.
Not a very good segue to now talking about my pubes, but here’s a little story about my pubes (it’ll make sense in the end).
When I was young, I knew about porn way too early. Not 70s pubic afro porn, but new age, your pussy better look like a new born’s porn. That made me believe that pubic hair was undesirable, not to mention being in ear shot of too many “boy talk” conversations. The moment I grew my first strand of hair, which was pretty late (I don’t really grow body hair), I started shaving nearly everyday. Hella excessive, I know. But I kept this up all through high school and college.
One day, I just got annoyed with it. I thought to myself, what would change if I didn’t do this? So, I stopped. No waxing, shaving, or even trimming for a full 365 days. Within that time, I still had sex. But it was different. It forced a confidence out of me that I didn’t know that I had. I’ve always been confident about sex, but my bush confidence was on another level. It was a presence that said, “here she is, and you’re still gonna Love her”. And I never got one complaint or ounce of hesitation from a partner. After all, what could they say? I owned it. That confidence came about when I stopped hiding behind what I thought the “perfect pussy” was. That same confidence has poured in from me no longer hiding behind my hair.
I was always said to have “good hair” (which…whatever), and that made me feel good. I hung onto that a bit, even when I didn’t know I was. It would make one wonder, who am I without it? I say I’m the same, but better. I’m beautiful and I have an extra 30 to 45 minutes in the morning. I feel much more confident and ready to pounce and conquer.
So, to the hair I took away, thank you for shielding me when I needed that. I don’t need you anymore. Nowadays, I wax on a regular basis, but I still hold on to that bush confidence that I gained from that year. If I ever grow my hair back, although with it will come more work in the morning, I will also have this confident spirit that I get from these baby curls. A spirit that need not be hidden.