The Squad (new hair, new who?)

(originally published 21 March 2015, 8:44pm)

The way that their faces turned as they saw me walk in. “I cut it.” I said, knowing very well that they were still trying to figure out what's different about me. “It had to be done." I added.

I stood there alone, feeling like I was obligated to give them an explanation as to why I’d do such a disturbing thing. I could read their minds – I could tell what they were thinking. It was practically written all over their faces.

I had broken the number one rule of The Squad: Look best and always weave-it-up! 

Of course, I had reached my breaking point – this lifestyle was not for me.

I then went on to say, “First of all, screw that. Second, I’m the realest b*tch up in this mother, so clearly I don’t belong here.”

It felt as though I was fighting a battle that I was in on alone because not one of them responded to what I had to say. I gave them an explanation that they did not even ask for. They just stood there.

But really, it was not them who I was fighting, it was me.

(I guess five years of spending half of your salary on your hair has an emotional impact).

Some may beg to differ, but I knew then and there that my hair is my identity. That’s why I couldn't take it much longer, and I knew that I had finally become the ambassador of my own kind of beauty, my own Squad. 

I was in the wrong, not them, but also, why do I care?

I knew they couldn't be bothered – I was just another black gal who cut her hair, big whoop. They walked off and went on ‘bout their own business like nothing happened, but as for me... I had myself, my own Squad, and that was okay with me.

New hair, new me.