Kicked to the curb

Headless weave.

Dear Weave,

I never knew you in your former life and I don’t think I would have wanted to. But, you know; I take that back. You may have been around the right people. The right person probably took you from a rack and claimed you herself.

Don’t be ashamed. You’re out there in the street for the past week. Look at the bright side, it’s not your fault. You may have started out as a horse, some plastic-y stuff or a lovely Indian woman. But, you now rest in between a police station and a 7-11.

You inspired me to write this o’ weave. If never I see you again, just know that there are many of you out there. And if this made no sense — good. It wasn’t supposed to.

X

Hair, Hair

So, like, what’s “good hair” exactly? I think Chris Rock made a movie about it that I still haven’t seen. This is actually the type of discussion that would lend itself to a multi-part post. But, like, I don’t have the time, dude. I’m really busy right now. Still some dues paying I have to do. Does it ever stop?

I’ll just tell you this: I was born with what could best be called “mixed hair”. Mixed? Like a dog?

Yes, like one of those dogs with short wiry hair.

No. It got like that way later.

When I was little it was fluffy and curly. But since I went to a school with a lot of Jersey kids who used mousse (<<— that’s what it was called), I got sucked into the culture. I made my rough, yet soft, jumble of odd ends hair really hard. Or, my mom put a ton of oil in it. Not Crisco, but baby oil or something heinous. I’d go to school with my hair glowing! And this was like the 6th grade.

Sad to look back on that.

Nowadays, I don’t have much hair. If I let it grow too much, I start to look like a middle aged accountant. Or worse, an inner city math teacher. I keep it short and to the point. And since I started using my own clippers, man is it cheap.

Hair, for many, is not cheap. When I lived in L.A., I learned first hand exactly what weave was.

Now there’s a lot of deep discussion to get into when you talk about women and weave. I thought I saw it all in L.A., until I was at a CVS in Linden, N.J. and I could see the glue shining off the cashier’s forehead right under the line of her weave cap…or wig cap. I don’t know what you call it. I’m fascinated by it though.  The weave was so perfect, so off-blonde, so….straight.

Of the two new stores that opened in Linden this month, one is a bakery and the other is a wig/weave shop. Now Linden has two wig/weave shops on Wood Avenue. What does this all mean? I’ll have to study on that one to decide.

Anyway, when my kid is born I’ll be curious to see the type of hair that comes out. Will it be “good hair”, which I assume means it’ll be long and luscious like Cindy Crawford circa 1990? Or, will it be “hair, hair” which means just regular old hair that the kid’s going to have to figure out how to manage once he or she gets of age to give a what? Whichever it is, I won’t be adding any baby oil to the equation.

Photo is from a Jet magazine I found via Google books.