The subject of hair is so vitally important to me and the community of people around me. That importance was instilled in me as a little girl, from getting my hair washed to straightened by the hot iron comb from my Mother's kitchen stove the night before church on Sunday. It was pivotal to me throughout my adolescence to now as an adult woman. Box braids to sharp bobs, wraps and doobies to lengthy extensions, top knots to big natural curls and waves to bone straight. And don't even get me started on color. To me, hair is an expression. It's everything!
There are some many women like me that feel this same sentiment. Which prompted me to ask my own Mother, Paula about her attitude towards her hair growing up. The older I get the more I want to learn about my parent’s journey as young people. I believe it not only helps me humanize them beyond just being "my parents," it also allows me to tap into their childhood memories. Which ultimately has helped in cultivating who they've become today. I asked my mom about her hair adventures as a teenager, and she expressed a beautiful and telling story of how she wore her first afro in high school.
I loved it so much that I decided to share her story with Fraîche for a published keepsake and just because I think her story's cool. It's a refreshing take on how young women like her during that era took hair and beauty just as serious as we still do today. It's so much more than just hair, I love that we have this beautiful sentiment in common, even twenty-nine years apart.
It was 1969, I was still in high school, and the Afro was the going hairstyle for Black people, Afros short, medium, large, or super large, it was the do to due. For Black women it was Afro Puffs or an Afro Bun sitting like a queen on the top of your head. Your Mane could be brown, blonde, fire engine red or black as long as it was a 'Fro you were in the in crowd. There's a song that was out, "The in Crowd" by Dobie Gray.
My dilemma was my hair was from a lineage of Black Foot, Cherokee and White (through colonization). Which made our hair to be straighter than most Blacks, soft and hard to kink up. I was totally devastated; Miss Super Black could not rock a 'Fro. Was not happening. I was at my new High School and saw this fair complexioned sister with a beautiful afro like Angela Davis or Kathleen Cleaver, and I was puzzled by how she was able to get her hair kinky enough to stand firm on its own and survive the wind, rain, and wool hats and remain firm and beautiful.
So, I boldly asked her how she was able to get such a beautiful Afro, she smiled and said, "it sounds risky but the shit works." She said, "write this down... get a cup of Tide soap powder, some vinegar to mix it in the Tide, add a little water to create like a shampoo and wash your hair." Stunned, I said, "is my hair going to fall out?" she said, "I don't know but you see it worked for me and my hair is fine like yours, you have white in you?" I said, with great indignation, "no, only Indian." That's why my hair is considered "good hair". I was determined to wear an afro, so I planned that night. I told my mother I was going to wash my hair and wear an afro, but I did not reveal to her how I was going to get the trending hairstyle.
"So, I boldly asked her how she was able to get such a beautiful Afro, she smiled and said, "it sounds risky but the shit works."
Paula Peebles
I poured the white powder Tide into a plastic bowl that I snuck out of the kitchen, a Tupperware bowl, Lord my mother would kill me if I got caught. We had only one bathroom, so I waited until everyone was done with their bathroom use and quietly went into the bathroom and locked the door. I ran the cold water initially so my mother would think I was brushing my teeth or something before washing my hair. I began to pour the vinegar into the Tide, and it started to bubble and thickened, just like the sister had told me. The solution of Tide & white vinegar became very thick and almost lumpy, so I added some hot water and began to stir it until it became loose enough to apply to my hair like a shampoo.
Now the time had come to apply it to my long sandy brown hair, I took a tablespoon scoop of the solution and spread it across my hair east, west, north, and south from the center and placed the spoon back in the remaining solution. I began to wash my hair like the solution was shampoo — there were no bubbles, no silky shampoo feeling, only my hair forming into what appeared to be kinky lumps. I RUBBED THE SOLUTION into my scalp for about 10 to 15 minutes and then I rinsed my hair for about 20 minutes with warm water. I threw the towel on my head and quickly exited the bathroom.
I did not blow dry for fear the heat would make my hair go limp. Air dry! When I removed the towel, I was super elated and wanted to scream to the entire house that I had a 'Fro. Of course, I did not for fear of what my parents would have possibly done. The next day, I woke early to make certain my Afro stood firm and beautiful before heading to school. It was gorgeous and I knew it. I was called sister and with a huge smile I proudly accepted this term of endearment.
