Top Ten: Hair Salon Topics This Week

Just a few of the many regulars from the Hair Salon peanut gallery. . . .

Well. It's been a minute since I've taken y'all with me to the hair salon hasn't it? I believe it has. Lucky for you, I was there today and man, oh man. I don't even know where to start.

Whew.

The girls were really cutting up today. And I can't tell you everything that was going on up in there but I do think I can tell you some of it. Matter of fact, I wrote a little top ten about it. Like to hear it? Here it go!

I bring you:

THE TOP TEN EXTREMELY RANDOM TOPICS OF CONVERSATION THAT I EITHER OVERHEARD OR PARTICIPATED IN WHILE SITTING IN THE HAIR SALON TODAY.

Le' go!

#10  Lando Cal-DISS-ian

Woman under dryer: "Dude. Have you seen Billy Dee on Dancing With the Stars?"

Me: "Shut up. Billy Dee Williams is NOT even on Dancing with the Stars."

Two stylists and woman under dryer: "Yeah, he is!"

Me:  *laughter*

Woman under dryer: "When I tell you he is a stiff, hot mess? Lawd."

Me: "Nooooo! Not Billy Dee! Noooo!"

Woman under dryer: "That hurt my heart to see the Mahogany mack daddy go out like that. The whole time I was covering my eyes saying, 'No, no, don't do it. . .don't do it, Billy Dee!'"

*laughter*

Me: "Dang. He was Lando Calrissian from The Empire Strikes Back, y'all! Lando was THAT DUDE."

Stylist: "Lando seemed more like an arthritic Storm Trooper than THAT DUDE."

*laughter*


#9  Billy Dee Fail-liams

*Everyone crowded around a YouTube clip of Billy Dee's performance*

Stylist:  "Lawd."

Lady in chair:  "Y'all leave Billy Dee alone. You know he had two hip replacements!"

Stylist: "When? Before or after the show?"

*laughter*


Lady in chair: "Oooooh, y'all are wrong for that."


#8  Law and Order

Stylist:  (dusts off client and gestures to the next person up to sit down.) "Come on, girl."

Lady sitting on couch:  "I'm on a time crunch. Can you let her just curl me real quick so that I can get going?"

Lady up next:  "What, you mean so that you can get on out and not get stuck in traffic?"

Lady sitting on couch:  "Uuhhh, actually, yeah."

Lady up next:  "Oh, well in that case, sure, girl. Go right on ahead!"

Lady sitting on couch (leaps up with big grin on her face): "Oooooh! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Lady up next (runs and jumps in chair ahead of her): "April Fools!"

Lady sitting on couch:  "Maaaaaan! That's just mean. And April Fool's Day is April FIRST not April SECOND."

Lady up next: "Unless you fool enough to think you 'bout to jump ahead of me in this salon. Then it's every day."

*laughter*

#7  How I Met Your Mother

Stylist: "Who saw the finale of How I Met Your Mother?"

Me:  "I have a confession."

Stylist:  "What?"

Me:  "I sort of don't fully understand the premise behind the show. Like, I'm serious. Like I watch it and I laugh. But I'm always secretly a little bit confused."

Lady under dryer:  "Uhhhh, well let's see. The whole show is about a man telling a story to his kids about how he met their mother. So all of the story and people are a part of that tale. And the whole show is him explaining all that led up to him meeting their mother."

Me: "Oh. Okay then. That's super witty."

Lady under dryer:  *sigh*

Stylist:  "So did you see the finale?"

Me: "No. But I'm assuming he met their mother at the end, right?"

Lady under dryer: (rolling eyes) "SPOILER ALERT."

*laughter*

#6  "Do it for the Vine!"

Stylist:  "You're all done."

Client-finishing-up:  "Damn. I look too good to be just going to the grocery store."

Me: "I know right?"

Client-finishing-up: (starts putting on lipstick and admiring herself in the mirror)

Me:  "Girl! Do it for the Vine!"

Client-finishing-up:  "I ain't gon' do it!"

Me and stylist: "Do it for the Vine!"

Client-finishing-up: "I ain't gon' do it!"

*every person in earshot sitting in the salon begins beating on their seats in unison*

Everyone: "DO IT FOR THE VINE!"

*hysterical laughter as Client-finishing-up does the breakdown moves exactly like that adorable little girl in that viral 6 second Vine video.*

Exactly, y'all. It was awesome.



 #5  En Vogue?

Woman in chair:  (holds up magazine and points at the picture shown above) "Just why? Why Madonna? Damn."

Stylist:  "Yuck."

Me:  "You know she lives in England or someplace in Europe. Plus y'all know Madonna is a free spirit."

Other sylist:  "Well. That 'free spirit' had better shave before she starts doing the Vogue. Hell, at this rate she's liable to strike a pose and scare the shit out of somebody."

*laughter*

 #4  Even more on Billy Dee

Woman under dryer: "Damn. I wonder how Billy Dee Williams' agent pitched the Colt 45 endorsement to him. Was he like, "Billy, Billy, Billy. . . .I've got an exciting opportunity for you, buddy!"

Me:  "Ha ha ha . . .I know right?"

Woman under dryer: "It's a premium beer! Your classiness will be perfect for it, Billy! Just peerrrrrr-fect."

Me: "That's hilarious, actually."

Woman under dryer: "And by hilarious you mean not hilarious at all. From movie screens to malt liquor ads. Damn, Lando. It's like that?"

Me:  "Hey. Don't let the smooth taste fool you!"

Client in chair: "That wasn't the Colt 45 tag line that was the one for King Cobra."

Woman under dryer:  "I take that back. You knowing the difference between the Colt 45 commercial and the King Cobra commercial is what's not hilarious. Good Lord."

Client in chair:  (singing it EXACTLY like Evelyn Champagne King on that commercial) "Doooooon't let the smoooth taste foooool yuhhh! King Cobra!"

*laughter*



*OMG . . .Deanna would have found that exchange HILARIOUS--no matter what. Ha ha ha!

#3  Keeping it a lit-tle too real.

Client:  "I kind of feel like this dress makes my stomach look fat."

Other client:  "I can see how you'd say that."

Client: "Damn. That was where you were supposed to say, 'OMG, no way!'"

Other client:  "Whoops my bad."

#2  Scandal-us (and them, too)

Lady on couch:  "Girl. My husband is hooked on Scandal!"

Stylist:  "Lots of dudes watch that show."

Lady on couch:  "Yeah, but the other day he started talking like Olivia's evil ass daddy. Like seriously. I was all in my head like, 'Dude. Cut. it. Out.'"

*laughter*

Lady on couch:  "Asking me to get his dry cleaning like, 'You. Are. My. Wife. You need to GET the DRY CLEANERS.'"

Me:  "Was he joking?"

Lady on couch:  "See that's the crazy part. He wasn't. And I kind of think he doesn't even realize he's doing it."

Me: "Aww damn. He might be at work doing it."

Lady on couch:  "Oh snap! Let me call his ass before he get's fired."

 (Here's some EPIC Eli Pope for those that don't watch the show. This guy right here? My favorite character on the show.)



#1  DWTS. Again.

Lady in chair:  "Awwww hells no." (looking at a YouTube clip on her iPad)

Us:  "What?"

Lady in chair:  "Why Billy Dee Williams got to bring out R2D2? And the Storm Troopers?"

Us (gathering around): "Lawd."

Stylist:  "Poor Billy Dee. He looks like he is praying that he don't have to pull out his inhaler."

Lady in chair:  "Don't people have to audition? This is just sad."

Me:  "But it's Billy Dee!"

*everyone watching in silence and wincing with each twirl*



Client just hanging out: "Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

Lady in chair:  "Eek eek eek. . . . nuh nuh. . nooooo. . .awww damn, Billy Dee!"

Me:  "Oooph. That is pretty rough."

Lady under dryer: "I bet the same person who thought it would be good for him to do the King Cobra commercial amped him up to dance on national television."

Me:  "Colt 45 you mean."

Lady under dryer:  "Forgive me for not being up on my malt liquor endorsements."

*laughter*

Stylist: (shaking head with a hot curler in her hand) "Damn. When somebody told him to 'Do it for the Vine' he really should have said 'I ain't gon' do it.' And like meant it."


*laughter*


Poor Billy Dee. No man or woman is safe in the Hair Salon, y'all. Even if he had both of his hips replaced and used to be a Star Wars action hero.

I'm just sayin'.

***
Happy HumpDAY! I think I'm going to spend all of Thursday talking like Eli Pope. Just a warning.

Where I'm from: The Hair Edition.

~ WHERE I'M FROM: THE HAIR EDITION ~

I'm from, "Sugar, you had to have heartburn 'cause that babygirl got a lot of hair!"  I'm from pink bows on baby afro-puffs but just for K-Mart pictures--otherwise a big, unrestrained fuzzball for everything else.

I'm from assembly line hair styling with Goody brushes and Blue Magic hair grease. I'm from, "Hold still",  from "Stop being so tender-headed," and from a smack on the back of the arm with a comb. I'm from "baby hair" with an old toothbrush and some Vaseline to hold it down.

I'm from "Let's play Beauty Shop!" and JoLai giving me my first (but not last) asymmetric haircut--with a pair of Fiskars Pinking Shears out of Mommy's sewing kit. I'm from bangs cut over bathroom sinks and a big pink sponge-roller in the front for eighteen out of twenty four of the hours in the day. I'm from Five-Minute Fast Set, Cream of Nature Shampoo and Pink Oil Moisturizer.

I'm from big multicolored hair "balls" and smaller ones tied on the ends of long twisted pony-tails. I'm from one pony-tail on the side, a zig-zag part down the middle, and two french braids that I did all by myself.

image credit

I'm from sitting on three phonebooks and running from pressing combs. I'm from not understanding the difference between my hair "holding heat" and you just burning my damn head over and over again.  I'm from "my hair normally comes to my neck but when I get it pressed out it goes all the way to the middle of my arm--for real!" I'm from "Shirley Temple curls" on big holidays and "kiss curls" on regular days--and fully warranted vanity when returning to everyday places like school and the neighborhood playground when those curls held up longer than intended.

I'm from braids with foil and multicolored beads that took my homegirl across the street the whole sleepover to do. I'm also from losing half of them while running barefoot down the block to catch the ice cream truck and crying all the way back. I'm from "but everybody else has a Jheri Curl!" and really, really wanting hair like Ola Ray on the Thriller video.

I'm from bright orange patches in the front from heavy-handed sprays of Sun-In and even brighter orange patches when the same homegirl who braided my hair alerted me that "regular old hydrogen peroxide would do the same thing." I'm from Kool Aid rinses in junior high water fountains. I'm from first relaxers that left my hair feeling like straw but hair that laid down on my head for the first time ever in a swimming pool. I'm from Beauty College makeshift hairdos that always came out like hair-don'ts.

I'm from first paychecks and first time getting the cut I really, really wanted. I'm from big flips and fly girl mullets, from "OOO BABY BABY! SALT 'N' PEPA IS HERE!" cool girl haircuts that I paid for with my own money from being the cashier at Foot Locker but couldn't maintain at home. I'm from "pretty sleeping", Gold'n'Hot crimping irons and leaving hot curlers plugged in overnight to get them "extra hot."

Maaaaan, I'm from ten dollar relaxers in Fredrick Douglass Hall but only five dollars if you bring your own chemicals. From washcloths with burned hot curler marks on them from cooling off marcel irons that your roommate bought from Sally Beauty Supply last week. I'm from the new Hawaiian Silky perm that was both Hawaiian-looking and silky-feeling for the first week until it promptly fell out.

All of it.

I'm from returning to the press and curl and chemical free life before it was "in" and vowing never to relax my hair again--but relaxing my hair again. I'm from Janet Jackson in Poetic Justice "dooky braids" while studying for boards and when rotating on Surgery.

I'm from horseshoe bobs and Pantene samples, from "do you got some Indian in you?" and "Do you got some tracks in your hair, girl?" I'm from drugstore highlights and Jazzing hair rinses, from Aphogee hair treatments and Sea Breeze poured on itchy scalps pre-scratched with rat tail combs.

I'm from "Please, just cut it off" and "Yes, ma'am, I'm sure I want it that short", from "No, ma'am, I'm not depressed," and "I'm sorry you think I'm ungrateful for cutting it." I'm from jet black rinses for style at first then later to cover up sprouts of gray.

I'm from T'Renee, Bernetta, Mommy, Deanna, Violet, Treasure, Stefano, Meechie, Supercuts, and, now, Sakinah. I'm from The Jackson Five, Prince, Bo Derek in 10, Beat Street, Anita Baker, and Halle Berry. I'm from Alberto VO5, Stay-Sof-Fro, PCJ, Affirm and sometimes nothing at all.

I'm from natural reddish and auburn highlights and semipermanent rinses and eventually grey parts likely grandmama had that are no longer undercover.

I'm from "Young, Gifted and Black" and a story nestled into every single strand.

I'm from "we love you no matter what" and finally being alright with me, my hair, and my journey. . . .

. . . . a journey I wouldn't take nothing for now.

***
Happy Tuesday.

So tell me. . . .Where YOU from? I just KNOW y'all have some good journeys--ALL of y'all!

Hair Ye! Hair Ye!

What you know about this?

"Hey, did y'all hear this story about the Surgeon General addressing your peoples at the Bronner Brothers' Hair Show? Talking about how y'all don't exercise because you don't want to mess your hair up?"

That was the question I threw out into the hair salon last week. I said it loud enough to get  the attention of everyone from the sisters under the dryers to one in the shampoo bowl right on over to the ones getting hair chemically straightened and another who was there getting a few weave tracks sewn in. And saying "y'all" was appropriate because I, an African-American woman, was addressing a salon full of other African-American women--and that is exactly who the Surgeon General meant to reach with that message.

Black women. (Which technically she should know all about seeing as she is one.)

Okay, so actually this is a rather old story in the news. That Bronner Brothers'  Hair Show, where all of this went down, was back in August of 2011. While I'm usually quite aware of a lot of current events, I admit that I didn't even hear about this whole Surgeon General thing until very recently. I was having a text exchange with my super-fit sista-friend (and former Grady chief resident) Julie J-M about a whole bunch of nothing and somehow that ended with her sharing this with me.

Here's our exchange, pretty much verbatim:

"Just gave my residents some copies of your article in the Annals. Just read it."

"Awww, thanks. Just told MY residents about the time you did one hundred push ups in a row post call. Far more interesting, you know."

"You are ridiculous. Workouts have been on hold for a few days -- trying to keep the press and curl from unfurling."

"Aaah. The plight of the black woman. Preach pastor."

"Have you blogged about that? Remember when the Surgeon General Regina Benjamin brought it up as a public health issue at the hair show last year?"

"Whaaaat?! That is SO my next post."
 

Julie JM with her natural hair (and the proof of the 100 push ups legend.)

After that, she sent me a link from the NY Times so that I could get the full scoop complete with the reader comments that followed.

Sister Surgeon General

So that's how I even got this on my radar. I figured the hair salon was a perfect place to bring this up--even if it was a year later.

"Yeah, girl! You just hearing about that? That lady took a lot of heat for saying that!" one of the stylists chimed in. "She was quoting studies and everything. Saying basically, y'all gone die from not wanting to sweat your hair out."

Everybody erupted in laughter.

Next came the peanut gallery--starting with the dryer ladies. One of them lifted up the hood and craned her neck over toward me. "Hold up, pump the brakes! What'd she say?"

A sister getting a relaxer worked into her hair answered before I could. "Basically, she went to the Bronner Brothers' Show and told that whole audience that part of the reason they all got big asses is 'cause they too damn worried about their hair." More laughter.

"Awww, hell naw!" Dryer-lady yelled out before pulling the hood back down.

When put that way, I guess it did sound kind of bad.

"Hold up. What the hell is the Surgeon General doing talking about people sweating out their hair? She need to be somewhere telling folks to say no to drugs or somethin'!" That statement came from somewhere in the room. Where, I do not know--which is the nature of how the beauty shop discussions eventually go.

"Well, I ain't mad at her for saying that. She kept it real, if you ask me." This one came from the shampoo bowl--I'm sure of it since the woman speaking was talking in a voice that was exaggeratedly loud to overcome the running water. "Real talk, I don't go to my boot camp on Friday since I get my hair done on Thursdays. And I pay for the full week!"

"I'm with you, girl. I skip my running club if it's drizzling outside. Forget that!"

And the amen choir went on and on. Finger snaps. High fives. All that.

Now. Let me digress for a bit just to seize this teachable moment in cultural competency.

*clearing throat*

Let's start with the Bronner Brothers' Hair Show, shall we? The Bronners are pretty much icons when it comes to black hair. It all started with the patriarch, Nathaniel Bronner, Sr. and his younger brother Arthur who started out selling hair care products in the forties, and subsequently had their very first Bronner Brothers' Hair Show in 1947 at the Butler Street YMCA--which is literally a rock's throw from Grady Hospital. (Jesse Hill Jr. Drive, the street that Grady is on, was originally called Butler Street up until 2002 or so.)

Anywho. The Bronner Brothers' Hair Shows have become the Mecca of all of those doing ethnic (read: black folks') hair. And yes. If you are wondering if this is the place where people make the multicolored helicopter hair art projects on stage, that answer is yes. However, beyond that, they also draw talented stylists from all over the world who do "regular" hairstyles, too. And so. You have to admit that it was pretty genius of Sister Surgeon General Benjamin to talk sistas, hair and health in that venue.

Mmmm hmmm.

Oh. The other cultural competency pearl is more an urban dictionary type thing. When that woman in the shampoo bowl said, "I ain't mad at her," I want to be sure that those reading that knew exactly what she meant.

*clearing throat again*

Literally, that statement could be simply a response to a real true concern that you've offended someone or gotten on their bad side.


"Josie, when you asked me if you'd gained weight I thought you wanted me to be honest. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings or if you're upset with me for saying yes."

"Oh no. I'm not mad at you at all, Marjorie. You were simply being a true friend."

That's one definition. Now. Let's get to the other definition--and proper use--of that same statement as used by 97.8% of all of the persons of color that I know. Better yet--how about something I heard in that very salon on that same day:

(While reading US magazine under the dryer. . . .)

"Girrrrl, Katie Holmes dipped out on your boy, didn't she? Had herself a crib on the side with a trap door and everything. Talk about Mission Impossible!"

"Chile please. I ain't EVEN mad at Katie for doing what she had to do. Ever since he acted a clown on Oprah's couch I knew that dude wasn't right."

"Yeah, girl. He acted crazy with that dude from the Today Show, too. Matt Lauer?"

"Mmmm hmmm, that was crazy.I ain't mad at her for disassociating herself with all that craziness."

"But he was cute when he was in that movie with Cuba Gooding, Jr." 

"Oh yeah! Jerry MacGuire!"

"But you know he's short, though. Like five feet even, girl!"

"Whaaaat? She's tall! I bet she can't even wear heels with him!"

"Ugghh, now I really ain't mad at her!"

(See? Don't you now understand why I love the hair salon so much?)

Ah hem. Where was I?

Oh. Yeah. Sisters and their hair and exercise.

Let me just go right on the books and say it right now: I don't think I know a SINGLE black woman (with a kinky hair pattern and without a weave) that has not considered her coiff during exercise or inclement weather. To the point of CHANGING PLANS ALTOGETHER.

Yeah. I said it.

Case in point: Spinning. You know? The bicycling classes with the thumping music in just about every gym? Spinning is a GREAT workout. No question about it. It works the glutes, the abs, the thighs, the everything. If you do a Spin class, no doubt about it--you walk out of it feeling like you can throw a car over your head. It's that kind of workout.

But.

The room gets really hot in Spin classes. And a hot room means a lot of hot sweat. Which means, if you're a sista, hair that is a hot mess.

See, I'm one of those rare, lucky individuals who sweats very little. And on top of that, when I DO sweat, it does not involve my scalp. Trust me--there are black women reading this right at this very moment who are narrowing their eyes in envy.

As well they should.

So me? I can go for a run. Do a step class. Do Body Pump. You name it. And at the most, I'll get a film over my face and that's about it. (There is pathology probably involved in that, but that's a whole 'nother story.) So yeah. Lucky me, I'm not the person who has to think or worry about my 'do becoming a don't when I'm exercising.

Except.

The one time that I went to a Spinning class. A friend talked me into it--swearing that it was the BEST workout and calorie burner. She swore I'd be hooked on it. And--what's even better--the class she invited me to was at 6AM which was right on par with my preference for morning exercise.

Did I mention that this friend of mine had stick straight hair that she often let air dry?

Mmmm hmmm.

So check it. Six AM. On a weekday. A day that I had to GO TO WORK afterward. I meet up with my friend and we get our spin on. And I fully agree that it was a kick ass workout, just like she said. I got so into it that I went into some kind of fitness zone where I was feeling the music deep down in my bones and loving the energy of it all. It was a GREAT workout. FANTASTIC even. I even looked over at my friend and told her so. REPEATEDLY. What an AWESOME workout this was. And she was smiling all big like the rockstar-workout pal that she was.

And all was right with the world.

That is, until I wiped my forehead and grazed the front of my hair.

What the. . . ?!?

Soaked. Soaked like somebody soaked it with a SUPER SOAKER. At 7AM.

Now. If you are a black woman or any woman with KINKY hair that you DON'T wear in an AFRO/LOC'ed/TWISTED/WEAVED/BRAIDED style. . . .you know what an absolute DEBACLE this was. A 911 debacle even.

And let me just clarify--yet again--something else. KINKY HAIR is not the same as CURLY HAIR that you blew straight or flat-ironed but that now has reverted to its natural curly pattern. When I say kinky hair pattern, I'm talking about hair that requires elbow grease, heat and/or chemical relaxers to straighten out. I am NOT talking about hair that inconveniences you just a bit because you don't prefer your bouncy curls. I'm talking the kind of hair that does not afford you a whole lot of spontaneity. And that, without a very clear plan and product line up, can make something like being super-soaked in a Spinning class or ha-ha-very-funny pushed into a swimming pool in ninth grade NOT FUNNY AT ALL.

And before anyone even decides to say it, comment it, or email it--this in NO WAY means that I have an issue with my culture or the hair God gave me and those who share it with me. I have no issue with whatever style that any person chooses for their hair, either. My choice to wear my own hair in its current closely cropped and chemically relaxed style does not, in my opinion, represent some kind of self hatred for my people, my heritage or my appearance. No, it does not.

Matter of fact, I think there are lots and lots of non-kinky-haired folks who would just LOVE to wear their hair in locs or a big woolly 'fro but who can't. So--again, this is my opinion--I see all of this as a choice and a preference.

My preference is to not have my look exchanged with that of the Fresh Prince of Bel Air in just one hour. Unless, of course, The Fresh Prince Look is the one I'm going for.

So let me just tell you--that was one rough hair day. And let me also tell you that I have not done a Spinning class since.

Surely have not.

So regardless of how many folks took offense to what Dr. Surgeon General said that day--she was on to something. And if the hair salon last week served as any kind of focus group on the subject, there's a whoooooole lot of black women who ain't even mad at her for addressing the topic.

Whew. The more I type, the more I realize what an enormous topic this black women and black hair situation can be. Stay with me. .  . .this is important stuff.

Alright. So somebody, I'm sure, is reading this and thinking, "Huh? How difficult can it be to wear a hairstyle like yours? It's a finger-snap long and brushed down onto your head!"

Well. . . .sounds like we need another teachable moment, don't we?

So here is how my hairstyle works. I go to see my stylist who cuts my hair every two weeks. My natural hair pattern is wavy-kinky and would never ever lay flat and straight to my head without getting it chemically straightened. Every few weeks, my stylist applies a chemical relaxer (what sistas refer to as "getting a perm") to the areas of new growth which, with hair this short, occurs more often than those with longer styles. But it doesn't just stop with getting my hair relaxed and cut. After that, using the right products, my stylist molds my wet hair down to my scalp with something called "wrapping foam" -- which is kind of similar in consistency to mousse. Next comes paper strips that hold down the edges and just like a cake, I'm then popped into the oven.

Or under the dryer which, at the salon I go to, feels exactly like an oven sometimes.

After that, my hair is stick straight and flattened on my skull. The next step is getting it curled. Yes--curled--with a small flat iron (the top, not the edges.) No. My hair is not wet-and-wear. No. I cannot jump into a pool on a whim and then look remotely like I prefer to look without the aforementioned process taking place.

So what happens for the rest of the week, you ask? I'll tell you (hell, I've told you this much, why not?)  Using my silkiest scarf, I tie my hair under it at night. The following morning, I take off the scarf and VOILA! My look is maintained. Pretty much until the next time I see my stylist -- or some water-- whichever comes first.

So pretty much? You spend the week or two avoiding moisture to your head. Which means, if you sweat profusely in your scalp with exercise, this moisture-avoidance thing could lead to a major discouragement against a good, hard workout.

Yeah, Dr. Surgeon General. You betta preach.

So what's a kinky-wavy or kinky-curly or straight-up kinky-haired sista to do?

Well, there are options:

One is to be a billionaire like Oprah and have a team of folks ready and willing to reverse you back to the look of your choice every single morning after you workout. There's that.

There's also the option of not being a billionaire but deciding to throw vanity to the wind and just going ahead and jacking up your anti humidity dependent hair style for the sake of your health. There's also the in-between maneuvers like scarves, pomades, other makeshift fixes to make what you just jacked up presentable until you make it back to the salon.

There's that.

Then there's what I like to call "The Beyonce Option." This is where you have all of your real hair braided underneath a long blonde hair weave. And let's be clear--I ain't EVEN mad at Beyonce and am very much a fan. But I do fully recognize that blonde curly locks are not growing out of her scalp. (But mad props to the person who makes it look that way.) So with that option, you can work out all you like and then wet your sewn in naturally straight or loosely curl patterned hair all you like.

Mmmm hmmm.

We can't forget just rolling with what the good Lawd gave you. That's rocking a short curly fro or rocking some afro puffs. Individuals with these styles can and DO pretty much have wet-and-go hair. But ask any of the sistas wearing these styles and they'll tell you that it's ALL about the right products (which I have learned are NOT cheap or easy to find.)

My younger sister JoLai is an avid worker-outer. She got tired of dealing with her hair post exercise and finally just wacked it all off into a little natural style. Which works for her since this is the style she prefers and is one that makes her life easier. Yeah. It's a bold move. And it's one that works for her.

But, see, everyone isn't JoLai. And if they were, Dr. Benjamin would not have a billion-dollar industry's hair show to address over the topic of sistas, hair, and exercise. You with me? Good.

Whew.What else?

Locs! Yes, there's locs  as another option -- or what some know of as dreadlocks. (My loc-wearing sista-friends have informed me that the term "dreadlocks" is not the preferred term, so that's the last time you'll hear it from me.) Okay. The reason I didn't include locs with the last grouping is because locs are a major commitment and they are not simply wet-and-go. Yes. They can get wet without a full on debacle a la my Fresh Prince Spinning disaster. But. Wet locs are like heavy ropes that hold onto water and moisture. And drying them takes time.

Also. The people that you see with lovely, immaculate locs see professional stylists and put lots of work into keeping them that way. Otherwise they look like a giant 'fro with pole beans popping out of it.

Which is cool -- if that's the look you're going for -- kind of like Bob Marley.

But don't get it twisted (no pun intended)-- just because locs don't involve chemicals or heat, don't you think for two seconds that the time commitment is not substantial if you want them to look nice.

This look involved a process -- and the right products.

Oh and did I mention? Change your mind about locs and you pretty much have one option: SHAVE YOUR HEAD. Because once hair "locs" there is no easy way to un-loc it. (Yes there are rare caveats but I see that like tattoo removal--difficult and rarely completely successful. Being tired of locs almost always it means going from long and luscious to teeny-weeny-afro.)

Case in point:

And this is totally fine if you are ridiculously hot like Lenny Kravitz. But not so much if you are not.

Feel me?

Wow! Aren't you learning, like, SOOOO much right now? See, I'm a teacher, y'all. You don't have to thank me--this is what I do.

Yes. There's more.

Braids. Braids! There's all kinds of braids--which also provide you some respite from hair-consideration-prison if you are of the kinky-headed persuasion. Yes. This is why me and many of the other little African-American girls at your camps growing up arrived in. . .you guessed it. . .braids. It's also why every time you see Oprah on a trip somewhere away from her dream team she suddenly has her hair braided. It's what you do when you don't want to "fool with" your hair.

Yup.

First, there's cornrows. Simple, flat french braids platted flat to the scalp. Quick. Simple. And often doable at home or by your homegirl across the street.

Then there's cornrows with extensions. Synthetic hair extensions stay better than natural hair alone, so many people braid in some synthetic hair to avoid the fuzzy-wuzzy-bear head that occurs after one week of going au naturel.

Next, there's individual braids with synthetic extensions. Again. Even if you have long hair, the extensions . . .well. . .extend how long they last. And can give you more flexibility with the look of your choice. These braids can be teeny-tiny or rope thick. They can be braided all the way to the very end or just at half way with loose hair at the ends.

Oh yeah--and a lot of folks use human hair for all of these braids, too. Like retro-Beyonce here. These are especially helpful for those who want to wear their hair down and curly and who get the tiny micro braided styles. The "micros" (as folks call them for short) are also the bomb if you're trying to grown your hair out of a short style and aren't keen on a full weave. I grew my short hair--and my relaxer-- out during my pregnancy with Zachary--with the help of micros. (Only to wack it all off again.)

Me with my "micros"

Which reminds me.

The black folks will be like "whatev" but everyone else--did y'all know that there are salons that braid hair all day and that's it? Where you can just walk in and point at the wall and say, "This" and then get your hair braided all up lickety split? And I say "lickety split" because while the braiding salon part may NOT sound unusual to you, many reading this have never actually gone inside of one, let alone sat down as a client.

This is why you have me in your life. To share these things with you. Heh.

The reason they are able to do it lickety split is because as many as THREE people might be braiding your hair at once. Mmmm hmmm. So just imagine your head bobbling all over like a pinball with three women tightly plaiting your hair in different directions. As well as talking about you in a language you don't understand.

Yep. And guess what? You can drop by to have them re-do just the EDGES when they start growing out and looking crazy -- OR even pay to just have them take them out for you. And trust me, people. This I know from personal experience.

Bananas, right?

So you tell me? Are you mad at the Surgeon General for bringing this up? Hmmph. I ain't.

Oh. Shoot! I almost forgot something else. Pressed hair. There are women who have opted NOT to chemically straighten their hair who instead get it washed and blowdried into a big woolly Chaka Khan-esque blow out. Then, using a flattening iron or an old school hot comb it is beat down into silky submission--if that's the look you are going for.

So. Since I keep bringing up Oprah, let me just use her as yet another example. So Oprah wore her hair relaxed forever, as in this picture above. Going through that process I described before nearly every day. Which sounds horrific but is true. When she wasn't on a trip wearing braids, she was pretty much making certain that her stylists were always nearby in the event of a Spinning class or some other catastrophe. Then she evolved to wearing a weave. Yep. A weave. This meant that all of her REAL hair was cornrowed down and some human hair had been sewn to those braids. Yep. Oprah rolled with this for a couple of years (see below.)

fuzzy wuzzy roots are often a weave-giveaway

Then, in the final season, she suddenly emerged with a whole SLEW of hair that she let Chris Rock run his fingers through to prove on national television was "all hers."

But all the sistas were like, "Oh, okay. Her hair must've grown while she had it braided all that time with that weave."  Yep.

She also grew all of the chemically relaxed parts out, too. This means that now her stylists were straightening her hair with heat only instead of heat and chemicals. And for those who wonder what the advantage of doing one or the other is, I'll quickly tell you that unrelaxed hair is generally "healthier" appearing, softer, and silkier when worn long. But. Get caught in the kind of weather that we had last week (misty-spit-like rain) and you will be reversed 100% back from silkiness to Chaka Khan Chaka Khan. Or more like the Jackson 5, depending upon your curl pattern. Which AGAIN is only an issue if you DON'T prefer to wear your hair in a natural style. (This is where the relaxer has its advantages.)

And lastly, let me answer a question that someone else asked me recently.

"So does Halle Berry go through all of this with her short hair, too? She makes it looks so effortless!"

The answer is most likely no. For two reasons. The first being that she is a multimillionaire with stylists on-demand. Hello? The second being that Ms. Berry's hair is a combination of African-textured and Caucasian-textured. What this usually equates to is naturally curly hair that, depending upon who you ask, can be the very best of both worlds. Not better--just a little easier to move between styles with--that's all I'm saying. Hair like hers is coarse enough to wear in some popular sista-styles yet soft enough to do what most of these things without tremendous amounts of heat or chemicals. Hair like this also returns into soft curls when wet -- not puffy afro-liciousness.

And afro-liciousness is FINE with me if that's the look you intended. But when it isn't, it can be frustrating.

So let's be clear--my hair is NOT like Halle's. No, it is not.

But with the right products and the right process it sure can seem that way.

What I do know is that she definitely has to curl her hair to make it look "red carpet ready."

Believe that.

And so. What was the point of all of this? Hell if I know. I forgot that about four paragraphs ago.

But.

You know I am all about us understanding each other. I really am. And hair is one of the biggest dichotomies ever between my culture and some others. For reals. But, see, I'm here to close that gap. At least a little bit.

Chris Rock tried with his "Good Hair" movie. But he kind of showed some of the uglier sides of sisters and our hair journey. For most of us, it really isn't ugly at all. It's a way we connect. A way we find community and talk about current events. It's a place for therapy and shoulders to cry upon.

And for me? It's memories so rich and so deep that it's hard to even explain them. It's my homegirl Bernetta threading beads onto the ends with tin foil stoppers after double dutching all day. It's my T'Renee telling me to hold my head still while tackling the little bitty "kitchen" hairs in the back of my head with a sizzling hot comb. It's sitting on a stack of phonebooks while my mom rolled my hair with sponge rollers. It's having hair so long-for-a-black-woman that people always accused me of having a weave or being "mixed with something." It's deciding to shear it down to my scalp right before taking a new job at Grady Hospital.

Man. It's so, so much . . . and a lot of my hair experience tells the story of where I'm from.

And for a lot of other women it does, too.

It sure does.

So I guess that's why -- though admirable -- our U.S. Surgeon General, Dr. Benjamin, has a hard row to hoe when it comes to trying to find a way to get black women to take a more. . .relaxed. . . .approach to their hair. Especially when it comes to exercise--or anything else that will undo a three hour hair-fixing process. She's got her work cut out for her.

Yeah, she does.

But we ain't even mad at her for starting somewhere. . . .

***
Happy Sunday--wait Monday, now.

Dang, that was a long one. Thanks for staying with it if you did. What y'all got on this?

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . . I apologize in advance for putting this in your head.

Fox-y Lady.

*Staff members' names and some minor details have been changed to protect anonymity.

This week in the clinic at Grady:

I had just finished seeing a patient with a resident and exited a patient room. As I passed the front desk, I made eye contact with one of our patient access representatives.

(Holding up her finger to me while speaking on the phone.) "Uuuuh. . .okay, ma'am. . . but Dr. Manning is with a patient, ma'am. . . .uuunhhh huh . . . . okay, I'm going to have to ask you to hold on."

I walked over toward the window and mouthed, "What's up?"  Just as I prepared to push the blinking hold light, Ms. Johnson rolled her eyes and grabbed my hand.

"Dr. Manning, you might want me to take this one." Her expression was mischievous.

I gave her a curious stare. "Why? What's up?" I asked aloud this time. I was a little scared to hear the answer.

She froze for a moment looking at me with serious eyes for beat. Then she started laughing. . . hard.  That laugh came from way down deep in her belly and floated over her head like smoke. People in the waiting room who had no idea what was going on seemed to chuckle, too. One Grady elder in particular seemed to enjoy the energy she was witnessing between us. "You don't even want to know, Dr. Manning. This lady has called up here three times in the last week looking for you."

Apparently she'd gotten the attention of Ms. Thompson, one of our senior nurses. "Oh. . .that lady? Again? She called about Dr. Manning again? How funny is that!"  They both erupted for a few seconds and quickly regained their composure. The Grady elder kept smiling in our direction.

"Okay, y'all are starting to scare me. What is it?"

"Better yet--go ahead and take the call, Dr. Manning.  I'm. . " Ms. Johnson snorted to keep herself from laughing, "No, for real. I'm serious. Go ahead. . .  on the blinking light."

I stood there staring at them suspiciously.  I wanted to know what I was getting myself into. "Is this someone who could be mentally ill? Like is it inappropriate?"

Ms. Thompson pressed her lips together to keep from giggling. "Is it inappropriate?  Hmmm." She exchanged another glance with Ms. Johnson. "Well, I guess that's a matter of opinion. Drastic circumstances call for drastic measures."

"I know that's right!" Ms. Johnson cosigned. Again she pointed to the blinking light. I narrowed my eyes as Ms. Johnson grabbed the receiver and quickly said, "Dr. Manning will be right with you. . . .uh huh. . .okay. . . .unnh huh. . . okay."  She placed the hold button again and gave me an exaggerated grin.

"Is it like a medical emergency?" I asked, immediately recognizing how dumb that question was.

"You know what?" Ms. Thompson answered with her eyebrows raised, "Technically, this could be an emergency. Right, Johnson?"

"Oh yeaaaaah. Definitely."

I gave Ms. Thompson a playful scowl. "Oh, see. Y'all tryin' to be funny."

"I'm for real, Dr. Manning!  It could be an emergency depending upon who you ask."

"Shooooot. 911, even."  Ms. Johnson took a big sigh and held up the entire phone, blinking light and all.

I couldn't take it any more. Stretching my arm behind the counter, I released the hold button while balancing the receiver on my shoulder. "Good morning!" I announced, "This is Dr. Manning!"

"Dr. Manning? Oh! Hey, Dr. Manning!" The voice was young, enthusiastic, and female. It was also in direct competition with what sounded like at least three kids in very close proximity.

"Good morning, ma'am. How can I assist you?"

"Oh! Well, this is my third time trying to reach you. I'm so glad I got you! See, I called twice and -- SIT DOWN! SIT YO' LITTLE BUTT DOWN! DON'T MAKE ME--SIT DOWN! --sorry, yeah, I called and said it was important. Did you get my messages?"

"Ma'am, I apologize. I haven't been in the clinic much this week, I'm sorry.  I hope it wasn't something life threatening?" I cut my eyes over at Ms. Johnson who was now covering her mouth with both hands to keep from doubling over.

"Well, it was important. . .not life or death, but important, you know what I'm sayin'?-- PUT THAT DOWN! DON'T TRY ME! I MEAN IT! WHAT THE. . DO IT AGAIN! SEE WHAT HAPPENS! --  See, I saw you on Fox 5 News.  In fact, I see you every week when you on there." (One of the kids is now crying in the background--loud.) "I seen you last week and said, 'I'm 'bout to call Grady Hospital right now!'"

Now I was feeling nervous. What the heck was she calling about? "Okay. You've got my undivided attention. Tell me, ma'am. How can I help you?"

"Well, I seen you on Fox 5, and like I was saying, I always be seeing you. And -- SHUSH YOUR MOUTH! THIS THE HOSPITAL ON THE PHONE!! THIS IS IMPORTANT!! -- Sorry 'bout that. . . yeah, so when I see you, I always think, 'Damn, her hair is hot to death!'

::crickets::  

"So, yeah I see that cut every week and love how you rock that short cut, you know. And--HEEEEY! DID YOU. . .AWW HELL. . .IS YOUR SEATBELT OFF?? AWWW HELL NO! -- Excuse me, Dr. Manning." (scrambling, scolding, mama-with-gritted-teeth-voice muffled through phone) "Sorry, 'bout that. . .   so, yeah, last time I saw you I was like, 'Oh yeah, that Dr. Manning? Tha's my girl!' 'Cause you know, I been thinking 'bout goin' short again."

0_0  -----> (look on my face) 

"So ANYway. . . I called up here and asked for you, you know? And-- TOUCH THAT SEATBELT AGAIN AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS!"

0_o -----> (me) 

"Yeah. . .so anyway. . . I left like two or three messages, you know?  I said, 'I'm just gon' keep callin' till I get her on the phone! Like I said, I been thinkin' 'bout goin' short again, so -- BOY! IF YOU DON'T GET OUT MY PURSE!'"

I cleared my throat. "Uuuhhh. . . thanks?"

"Yeah. So . . .wait let me get a pen. . .hold on. . . . . okay. . .  . so, yeah, I wanted to get the name of your hair stylist. . . .okay. . .I'm ready. . . ."

Wait. Huh?

Seriously? Seriously.

(Oh, and in her defense? Take it from this black woman--when it comes to sisters and our hair, the situation can become an absolute emergency. Like 911, even.)
***
Happy Wednesday.

Hair Raising Tales Part 3: The F.P.

*names and details changed although written with patient's permission.

The long (hair) good-bye.

The history behind the F.P. thing.

I have this little thing that I do on rounds each day. I've done it ever since I was an intern and how or why I started this ritual, I do not know. But I do it and I've done it going on fifteen years now. Every day I knight one of my patients as my "F.P." --shorthand for favorite patient.

When I first started doing this, I kept it to myself. On rounds, I'd simply place an asterisk in the upper right hand corner of the patient's tracking card--which meant that the patient was in the F.P. running. When rounds ended, I'd place the card of my F.P. on top. Again, why I did this? Eh. Beats me. I guess it just made the whole process of meeting and caring for folks a little more fun.

The other funny part about the F.P. thing is that there has never really been any kind of rhyme or reason to what deems someone F.P.-worthy. Sometimes it's something obvious like being wonderfully pleasant for no reason. Other times my F.P. might be delightfully wrapped in a cocoon of mild senile dementia interrupted by wisdom so crisp that if defies belief. And then there are the days where my F.P. is mindblowingly contrary and cantankerous, doing anything from kicking the whole team out of the room to tossing f-bombs around like confetti to refusing any and every therapeutic thing offered.Yep. Those folks challenge me so much that they're paradoxically endearing to me.

When I became an attending, I got a little more open about my F.P. ritual. So much so that by the midpoint of every ward month, members of my team often preface their patient presentations with this preamble: "This patient is totally going to be your F.P. today, Dr. M." By the end of the month, they are knighting their own F.P.s. And I just love it.

Which reminds me--I'll never forget the day that I hugged my student, Joelle, in the hallway as she cried over her patient who'd taken an unexpected turn for the worse. With a red nose and leaky eyes she sniffled quietly and said, "He was my F.P., Dr. Manning." Hearing that made me cry, too.

Every now and then, I meet a patient who is just so special that their F.P. status transcends a one day designation. These patients achieve a title that I developed somewhere during my senior year of residency--"F.P. All-Stars." I guess being an F.P. All-Star is like being in one of those airline platinum clubs where you immediately trump all others upon arrival. Work in a hospital long enough and you can form quite the collection of F.P.s. Not to mention F.P. All-Stars.

Anywho.

On Friday I was at the end of my solo rounds. I'd allowed the team to disperse after seeing our new admissions, especially since I knew the senior resident had already work rounded with the team on all of our pre-existing patients. At this point, I had been going around seeing the rest of our service of patients, reiterating the points that had already been made earlier that morning by the team. I love moments like this--they give me time to really connect with my patients in that way that I used to during internship. And enjoy my F.P.s even more. Especially ones like Mrs. Zebedee.

Mrs. Zebedee.

I'd intentionally saved Mrs. Zebedee for last. She was not only my F.P. on this day, but an F.P. All-Star. Even though she was pretty sick, seeing her was such a treat. Her attitude is always so calming and sure that it immediately washes me with a peace that is hard to explain. On this day, it wasn't terribly busy, so I'd carved out a little extra time at the end of my rounds just for enjoying her presence. I couldn't wait.

A fairly aggressive cancer was what had her hospitalized this time--the same one that caused our paths to meet in the past. The team had already told me that Mrs. Z. was doing okay today and that she was still tolerating her chemotherapy like a champ. My plan was to confirm this through a quick examination and a few questions then, depending upon how she was feeling, let her dictate what would happen next. A chat perhaps? A hand squeeze followed by a request to close her window shade? The ball was in her court. No daycare clock ticking or meetings looming over my head. This time was hers.

I approached her room, pausing to press down the sign hanging on the outside that had come partially untaped. It read "Neutropenic Precautions"--indicating that the chemo had wiped her white blood cells down to nearly nothing. This meant anyone with so much as a sniffle should steer clear of her and avoid bringing anything that could put her at risk of infection. After a soft rap on her door, I entered and just as predicted, was greeted with a big, warm smile.

"Hey, pretty lady," I greeted her.

"Hey, baby," she replied while sitting up in preparation for my examination.

I asked her my obligatory questions and searched her chest and back with my cold stethoscope. After a careful inspection of her skin for rashes or pressure ulcers and that ever intrusive abdominal examination, I recounted what she'd already heard from my resident and interns. She nodded in acknowledgment.

"You look good." I studied her smooth brown skin that didn't even have a hint of a wrinkle. Deep dimples sunk like valleys into her cheeks as she smiled in response to the compliment. Then she patted her covered head and then furrowed her brow.

"My hair," she said, pausing to clear her throat. "My hair is coming out."

I pulled a chair and sat down as close to her bed as I could. From the corner of my eye, I could see a picture of her beaming with those signature dimples and the thing she was most known for--her thick mane of jet black hair. As a hairstylist for many years, she was the master of doing the thing that every black woman has wanted at least once in their life--growing long hair. Hearing that she was officially losing hers immediately put a lump in my throat.

"How is it--I mean--are you. . .okay?" Great. That came out stupid sounding.

She slid her hand from her forehead, wiping off the satin bonnet that had been hiding her scalp. Instead of a clean ball of fuzz, I saw patchy areas of complete hair loss interspersed with islands of intact hair now clipped close to her scalp.

"I expected it to be different," she answered me while staring somewhere distant. "It's not. . . like I thought."

"What did you think?"

"I thought I'd feel more devastated. But surprisingly, I don't. It feels a little like a rebirth, you know? It's funny. Seems to bother everybody else more than it bothers me."

I narrowed my eyes and leaned forward. Propping my foot up on the edge of the bed, I rested my elbow on my knee and my chin in my palm. I wanted her to know that I wasn't in a hurry and that I was there to listen.

She went on. "I went ahead and clipped it on down. Once it started coming out, I figured I'd help it on along."

"Hmmm," I murmured not knowing what else to say. "How do you like it?" Right after saying that I immediately pressed my lips together out of fear that I'd said something stupid again, but she didn't seem bothered.

"Well," she said while cocking her head sideways to find her words, "I hadn't really ever had my head shaved before so I never knew what my head looked like. And you know what I'm thinking?"

"What's that?"

"I'm thinking my head is kinda cute." We both laughed as she struck a playful pose in her bed.

"You go, girl!"

"Girl, I woulda cut this mess off sooner if I'd known underneath all this I was Halle Berry!" She chuckled again, but this time more gentle. Her face became serious. "The hard part was yesterday. . ."

"What happened yesterday?"

"My daughter. She was trying to put my hair into a pony tail for me and every time she brushed it, a whole handful came out. I think it really upset her."

I thought about what she was saying and tried to imagine that exact scenario between my own mother and me. A quick wave of angst came over me as I found myself reminded of my own parents' mortality. "Did y'all. . .talk about it?" I asked. I didn't know what else to say.

She sighed hard and rubbed her head again. "Naaah. She wasn't ready."

"Has she seen you since you cut it down?"

"No. And I'm not going to even tell her unless she asks me to remove my bonnet. It's funny. Now this child's hair has been all the way to her tailbone one year and then fried, dyed and laid to the side another year and then she came home once with it buzzed down with clippers just like a boy--but me, her mama, has had the same hair for her whole life. I just think it was a lot."

"Wow," I whispered. When looked at from that perspective that sounded like a lot.

"When people love you, it becomes your reason for living. Like, before when I was younger? You know, I was worried about me. But now, I'm concerned about me because they love me and I love them. It wasn't like that when I was younger. 'Cause I didn't know love like I know it now, you know?"

I just sat there staring at her with these images swirling in my head:

Finally, I nodded my head and closed my eyes. "Yes, I do know." Because I did. I understood exactly what she meant.

"Don't get me wrong," she went on, "I care about myself and I want to get well for me, too. But, see, as you get older, if you're lucky everything you do is in the context of love. Everything."

I felt myself getting choked up so decided to stay silent. I took in her words carefully, scribbling notes in my head and across my heart for later.

She touched her head again slowly. "So, this hair? It didn't hurt me to lose it until I saw the look on my daughter's face. Now that? That hurt." She stared out of the window for a moment and I followed her eyes to the giant Coca Cola billboard with Atlanta traffic underneath. Eventually she sighed and looked back in my direction, shaking her head quickly and putting back on her signature dimpled smile.

"Everything you do is in the context of love," I repeated her wise words back to her. Staring skyward, I nodded slowly and let those words marinate. Then I added, "I like that. I will remember that."

Because I did like that. And I will remember that.

She reached out and squeezed my hand. "You are sweet," she said.

"And you are wise."

I hugged her and told her to get some rest. She hugged me back and said, "God bless you, baby. And all the doctors here at Grady." She hugged me like she meant it and she said that like she meant it, too. Because she did. I could tell.


"God bless you, too, Mrs. Z." I headed across the room toward the door.

She watched me walk past her bed and then said, "Love you."

I paused for a second, peered my head back inside and said, "You, too, Mrs. Z."

Because in that moment, that's exactly what I was feeling, too. And I felt lucky that I did.

"If you're lucky, everything you do is in the context of love."

~ Mrs. Zebedee

May we all be so lucky. And may your life be filled with your own collection of All-Stars, too.

****
Happy Tuesday.

Belated Thursday Top Ten: Beauty Shop Shenanigans

You've heard me say on several occasions that I love getting my hair cut.  25% of that can be explained by my completely illogical belief that haircuts instantly shave five to ten pounds off of my body. I would give another 25% to simply liking how I look after having my hair professionally coiffed underscoring that old adage that says "when you look good you feel good." That leaves a whole 50% right?  Let me tell you--without question--that half of the reason why I love getting haircuts is simply being in the hair salon.

Now.

Since I have been on the topic of hair lately--black hair to be specific--I thought I'd devote this week's top ten to one of my favorite places:  The Beauty Shop.  While I am certain that many of the things that go down in predominantly African-american salons aren't terribly different than the things going on in other salons, the aforementioned is what I know, therefore is on what I can comment.

Oh, before I start.

Since we've been discussing a lot of cultural things lately, for those unfamiliar I will take this moment to explain a little bit  about black hair salon culture, which relates to black hair in general. First of all, I think most people know that such hair does not get washed or wet every single day.  And sure. I will go so far as to admit that I've had a teeny bit of envy at times for those women I knew in residency who used to show up with wet ringlets in the morning that would dry into springy curls by lunch time.  With the exception of naturally fine and curly hair (which some black people certainly do have) most don't have hair that is "wash and go." Which reminds me:  I once went to "SuperCuts" during my internship for a trim and nearly jumped out of the chair and tackled the woman when she started off by SPRAYING my hair with a bottle of water! I literally screamed,"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!"  I nearly scared her to death (but only because she nearly scared me to death first.)

Wait, where was I?

Oh yeah. Sistagirl hair salon culture.  So, here's the thing. A lot of black women go to the hair salon either once per week or once every other week depending upon how their hair is styled.  My stylist is probably the only person who has consistently seen me every one to two weeks for the last ten years without fail other than my husband.

with Sakinah, the best hair stylist evah!

Now, of course there are black women who have mastered their own hair such that these visits aren't necessary.  But I assure you that any sister you see wearing a short pixie is frequenting the salon on a regular basis. Oh yeah, and Beyonce has a weave. (Just thought I'd share that in case you thought that stick straight blond hair was growing from her scalp.)

Anyways.

So here's what happens: The beauty shop becomes a second home where everybody knows everybody. The conversation is rich and unfiltered. The laughter is hearty and genuine. And the gossip? Ridiculous. Everybody has an opinion about everything in there.  And me? Oh man, I just love it. Every second of it. The energy, the audacity, the everything.

And so. . . . without further ado. . . . I bring you the top ten conversations heard recently in the hair salon.

Note:  The people speaking could be some of anybody. Hair salon discussions are a free for all. Like Us Magazine on steroids. Usually these conversations involve at least two stylists, the women in their chairs, and whomever is in earshot, which could be anyone from the hair product delivery man to the shampoo girl.

Top Ten Things Heard in the Beauty Shop

***

#10 :  The Lo Down

Looking at People Magazine:

"J-Lo has some beautiful skin to be forty."

"Is she forty?"

"At least."

"Oh. Well, what you think about her being on the leg commercial?"

"She has knocked knees!"

"And her ankles are too skinny."

"I think her legs look good."

"I think she too damn old to be wearing them booty shorts."

"She's only forty!"

"Is she forty?"

"That's what it says here in People."

"Well, it needs to say that when you turn forty you need to stop wearing booty shorts."

***

#9 :  Keepin' it real.

"Hey everybody!"

"What are you having today?"

"Just a shampoo.  Whose chips are these? Can I have some?"

"Mine. You can have some--damn, girl!  Did you get a boob job?"

"Naw, girl!" (smacking on chips) "This is just a fancy bra with these water balloon push-ups."

***

#8  : A Royal Mess

"Who watched the Royal Wedding?"

"I saw it."

"Yeah, me too."

"Damn, y'all got up that early?"

"Naaah. TiVo."

"Kate looked real cute. She's a cute girl."

"She looked real cute."

"Yeah, but that Carmelo or Camilla or whoever the hell that chick is that married William's daddy looked a hot mess."

"Oh. She always looks a hot ass mess. She needs a makeover."

"Yeah. If I was Diana, I wouldn't've been worried 'bout her ass either."

***

#7 :  Is there a doctor in the house?

"Girl, somebody asked Bill Cosby what he thinks about Donald Trump and how he's been busting on Obama!"

"Awww damn! What did he say?"

"He said, 'I don't think nothing.'"

"Daaaaaamn!"

"Hey Kim. . . . what's up with Bill Cosby's eye?"

***

#6  :  Diet is "Die" with a "T."

"Hey y'all!"

"Hey girl!"

Sits down with a bag of food.

"Popeye's Chicken?  Girl, I thought you was on a diet!"

"I know. . . ." (laughing) ". . but Popeye was calling my name!"

"Well, I hope he calling you when you can't fit your clothes."

***

#5 : A Swift Kick

Looking at Us Magazine:

"What's all the hype over this Taylor Swift girl?  I don't get it."

"I like her music."

"But she does look kind of homely."

"You know she used to date that hot boy from the Vampire movies."

"Which one?"

"The one that everyone likes."

"Rob Pattinson?"

"Naawww. Not the one with the white powder on his face. The other one."

***

#4 :  Damn Yankees

"Is Derek Jeter black or white?"

"I think he's biracial."

"I thought he was Latino?"

"Naww. You thinking of Alex Rodriquez."

"Is that the same dude as A. Rod?"

"Yeah."

"You know he got that Kate Hudson girl pregnant."

"No, that ain't his baby. She's with another dude now."

"Another dude? Damn."

"Yep. Some other dude. But nobody real famous or nothin'."

"How you know?"

(Holds up Life and Style magazine.)

***

#3 : Star Power

"Did y'all see NeNe cuss Star Jones out on The Celebrity Apprentice the other day?"

"NeNe is always cursing somebody out."

"Is Star Jones a celebrity?"

"Well, LaToya Jackson was on there, too."

"Oh. Then I guess she is a celebrity."

***

#2:  Unbe-weave-able

"Gayle needs an intervention."

"Gayle who? Talkin' about Oprah's Gayle?"

"Ugggh. Yes."

"I like Gayle. What's wrong with Gayle?"

"I like her, too. But what the hell is going on with her hair? If my best friend was a billionaire, dammit, I'd have a better weave than that."

"I think that's a wig she wears."

"Okay. Then I'd have a better wig."

***

#1 : A Gay Old Time

Looking at People Magazine

"Ricky Martin is GAY?!"

"Where the hell have you been? That's old news."

"He's on the cover of this new People. I just read it here."

"Where in the hell did you find that magazine?"

"That ain't news. The minute he La Vida Loco'd across that stage on the Grammy's that year I knew he wasn't straight."

"What?"

"Those weren't a straight man's moves."

"Wow. Ricky Martin is GAY?"

"Hey,  what about Tyler Perry?"

"Huh?"

"Did he come out yet?"

"Ricky Martin is GAY? I just can't believe Ricky Martin is GAY."

"Dammit! Would you stop pulling magazines out of the recycle bin?"

"Doogie Howser came out, too."

"Doogie Howser?!"

"Yeah, like a thousand years ago. And why does he have to be Doogie Howser? He's a grown ass man on a hit show!"

"What show is that?"

"Somethin' 'bout your mama. Uuuhhh, something like that."

"You mean 'How I Met Your Mother.'"

"That's what I said."

"Hey, what about Ryan Seacrest?"

"Ricky Martin is GAY?"

 ***

Happy Belated Thursday.

Back in the day: I'm sure there was trashtalking even then.

Come to think of it. . .at times, this is sort of like my experience. A lot like this. Ha ha ha . . .



***
 Hey. . . .What goes down in your hair salon or barber shop?