good hair

I just got out of the theater seeing this documentary compiled by Chris Rock. It unveils the depths to which black women go to secure what society defines as "good hair." As a white girl, my complaints usually revolve around a cowlick, not nappy, thick, coarse hair. Once I figured out how to use a round brush and that humidity is not my friend, I really had little to worry about.

Holy expensive beauty habits batman! I knew weaves were expensive and all, but it was ridiculous the amount of money some of these women spent on "their" hair.

The best part of this film, however, was watching it with nearly thirty other people. All black. Mostly women. Did I mention I'm white? And preppy? Even hiding in the back row, I could feel the awkward stares. I loved some of the reactions to this documentary because of my obvious status as a minority. These women were shocked and appalled at what some of their cultural peers were doing, and it made me happy.

"What're they doin' puttin' dat baby in for a perm?"

"One thousin' dolla? And they ain't payin' no rent? Tha' ain't right!"

Not to mention all of the "Mmhmmm"s and the "You got dat right!"s making sporadic appearances.

My favorite was in the parking lot after we all left. A group of women were discussing the film together as they walked out to their car. "I had no idea people would do that to their baby's hair," exclaimed one woman.

"Me neither!" The words were out of my mouth before I realized it. The women all laughed in unison and replied, "I bet you didn't." What would the tall white girl with long blond hair possibly know about hair relaxers? Or weaves? Or hot irons? Or..or..or...

More than they will ever realize, that's for pretty dang sure.