I had a hair weave. Well, a few hair weaves. The first one I ever had was for a fashion show I modeled for put on by my employer. That weave was crazy! But so was my actual hair. My real was hair dyed black and blonde with a skunk stripe in my bangs, and the loooong black and blonde weave only made it look crazier.

The weave took my shoulder length hair down to almost my waist, and it was teased, and crimped, so I'm sure I gained an extra 5" to my height. Imagine Christina Aguilara from the Dirrty video. Only way scarier. At one point a friend thought it would be funny to talk me into braiding some fake plastic M16 bullets into it. Yeah, I did that.

I had a hard time living with my first weave. Once the glue dries, I swear it shrinks up so tightly around your head. It feels like a teeny tiny hat that you can't take off. It's itchy too! If you scratch right on your tracks, you run the risk of pulling on them, or on the glue which may loosen them. So you can't actually scratch an itch, but you can vigorously tap them, or stab yourself once with your fingernail to relieve the itching. Washing your hair is a challenge. I would only wash the ends of my hair, and my bangs where there weren't any tracks, and once all that extra hair got wet, the weight of the water would actually pull my head back some. Sleeping with a weave was a nightmare.

My best friend did the weave for me, so I never went to a salon for weave maintenance. I never bought any kind of glue remover, so I just kinda had to "wait the weave out". Eventually the glue would loosen, and the tracks would start to fall out. But not before some of the tracks began dreading into my own hair. Yeah, my hair was terribly dry due to years of bleaching. I'm sure some of you out there know that extremely dry hair can dread up a bit over night. Ugh.

My first weave was an experience, but it didn't stop me from going back.

Why am I telling you this? Well, I finally got to see "Good Hair", a documentary by Chris Rock. Yes Chris Rock did a doc., and it was not only hysterical, but it was also enlightening.

Chris Rock says his inspiration was his young daughters. One of which came home one day to ask him why she didn't have "good hair."

*Now when I put good hair in quotations, I am using it the same way Chris uses it. For the sake of this post, "good hair" refers (ironically) to caucasian hair. I say ironically because most white women don't even like their own hair.

The media tells me I have "good hair" all the time. Because I'm white. I have long swingy, shiny, bouncy, soft hair. But that hasn't stopped me from trying to achieve any number of looks through out the years. Long hair, short hair, dying, curling, flat ironing, perming, razor cutting, and drying solutions to change the texture of my hair, yes, even the weaves.

As a white woman, I am bombarded with images every day pointing out my short comings, and my flaws, and I learn from many different places how to fix them. For me, as long as I don't mind risking damaging processes, and a bit of money, I can have pretty much any hair I want.

But for black women, the process isn't as simple. They are told every single day that their hair needs to be something completely different from what it is. It needs to do things that nature simply won't allow. While I can get a simple razor cut to change the texture of my hair, black women have to go through much more expensive, and damaging procedures to change theirs. 

I was excited to see this doc. when I first heard about it. I have always wanted to see the ins and outs of what black women go through to get the coveted "good hair." I do get a little peek once in a while though. My best friend is Mexican. He has crazy curly hair (which I love) but he doesn't always love it. I have been there as his follicles suffocate under a blob of relaxer.

As a white woman, I know what we go through with our own hair, but black hair has always fascinated me. Admit it white women, you are a bit intrigued too. I am fascinated because I love black hair. Really, I love any hair that isn't mine. But there is something about black hair. And I'm not talking about Beyonce's hair. I'm talking about long swingy micro braids ala Brandy, tight little springy curls, dreads, or big bouncy afros. I love black hair when it's worked naturally. But even if it is worked naturally, the procedures can still be painful, and time consuming.
Heehee, I love that head up there. :)

Like I said, I like any hair that's not mine. But I suspect that's because I am told regularly that I am not beautiful unless I consume beauty products, and procedures. And even then, there is another product right around the corner that will make me more beautiful, so I can't possibly be as beautiful as I could be if I used another product. But I've already discussed my opinions on that. :)

Chris travels all over trying to understand the importance of hair to black women. He visits beauty parlors, and salons to speak with women who actually put their hair on layaway.

He speaks with men at barber shops about their wives hair, asking them if they are allowed to even touch it during sex. He speaks with many female celebrities about their own hair. Most of which have "good hair". Some even admit to not even touching their own hair for fear of messing it up. A highlight for me was when Pep from Salt and Pepa explained how she ended up with the asymmetrical cut from the "Push It" video after a relaxer accident. I always loved that hair cut on her.

His interviews with celebrities eventually take him to India where much of America's weaves come from. Indian women grow their hair out, shave it off as a religious sacrifice (some of it is shaved solely to make a profit, and some is actually stolen in the night), where it is in turn sold here to women.

He visits a chemist who shows him what the chemical make up of relaxer can do to a soda can and a raw chicken. He even follows several stylists who compete for a title in the largest hair show in America.

But between the jokes, and silliness that Chris is known for, photos of his two little girls continuously flash on the screen. Their beautiful faces cheesing for the camera, and their untouched hair looking just as beautiful.

My good friend's daughter is half black. Her hair has always been long with natural springy curls. She is getting older now, and I haven't seen her in a little while. I fear the day that the media finally gets to her. I fear that one day I may see her, and not recognize her and her beautifully natural hair. But then, maybe that's just me. I prefer to see people as natural as possible.  

Being a white woman, I can never understand what it is that black women put themselves through daily to achieve a certain standard of beauty. To white women, hair can be very important, but my hair will never be to me, what black hair is to some black women.

What I can understand though, is that feeling of never measuring up. Never feeling beautiful enough. Black, or white, when will we women take back our self-esteem. Will we ever love ourselves the way we are? Or is there no going back?