I have to admit that I’m very excited about the release of Chris Rock’s docu-comedy, Good Hair. At first glance, and I think I may be right, I assume that the film is about women’s obsession with the appearance, texture, color, and sex appeal of our hair with a particular focus on black women. I’ve also assumed that by the title, he would be tackling the concept in the black community of “good hair” only being that hair which is of the same texture and quality of white women. I think he is going to touch on dispelling the myth that the only way for a black woman to be beautiful is by straightening, weaving, or “wigging” her hair in order to hide any hideous kinks that may lurk beneath the lie of it all. Hopefully, I will find that I’m correct when I go to see the movie. And, while I am very excited about Chris Rock, I’m kinda angry with Oprah (what else if new).
Chris was a guest on the Oprah show last week. Against my usual routine, I DVR’d the show so I could hear what he had to say. During the course of the interview, Oprah told Chris she felt that viewing the movie helped to create open dialogue between herself and her white employees with regards to women's hair and the secrets that seem to surround it. She said that many of the Harpo employees were suddenly asking her which of her previous hairstyles had been weaves, wigs, or (gasp) her own hair. She seemed excited about the fact that now they could all sit around and air their dirty hair laundry thanks to Good Hair. Well, I beg to differ. While I absolutely love the idea of this movie and wholly hope that the audiences will be multi-racial, I do not want it to be some cinematic invitation for more random people to start walking up to me and asking me questions about my hair. I’ve always found it annoying and it has often made me feel like an animal in a zoo or a rare piece of art on display in a museum. And, while it’s nice to have others appreciate what beauty and mystery they feel I may possess, I prefer to keep things just that; a mystery.
Regardless of what may be in that movie, I do not feel like having sudden discussions about what kind of products I use or whether or not I wear wigs or where I buy my hair. I don’t want to discuss how my hair went from medium length to shoulder length in a twelve hour span of time. I don’t want to talk about what I use to color my hair. And, I definitely don’t want to talk about how often I wash my hair. I am not a novelty. I am a human being. Though I’ve been locking for a little over a year now, I’ve still kept my affinity for wigs. Each time I’ve worn one, I've gotten a million and one questions about whether or not that’s my real hair or how many hours did I spend “getting it like that” or I get the other annoying statements like, “You know, my granddaughter is bi-racial and she also likes to wear braids.” Ugh. It disgusts me to no end. After being cornered and questioned at the break room sink, I recently told a white co-worker that I was wearing a wig. When I wore that particular wig a few days later, she exclaims in her unreasonably shrill voice, “I LOVE THAT WIG!!!” all while winking at me. Now, I’ve never tried to pass anything other than what I grew myself as my real hair. However, I also don’t arrive at work with a sign attached to my shirt that informs everyone of the synthetic item attached to my scalp. When I thought about it, I realized that it wasn’t the fact that she loudly outted me as a wig wearer that pissed me off the most. It was the fact that it pleased her to know that I, and many other black women she knows, wear wigs. It was as if she felt she had one up on us. She wasn’t operating from a place of interest and desire to connect. She was coming from a place of sheer nosiness with a touch of “hate”.
Chris was a guest on the Oprah show last week. Against my usual routine, I DVR’d the show so I could hear what he had to say. During the course of the interview, Oprah told Chris she felt that viewing the movie helped to create open dialogue between herself and her white employees with regards to women's hair and the secrets that seem to surround it. She said that many of the Harpo employees were suddenly asking her which of her previous hairstyles had been weaves, wigs, or (gasp) her own hair. She seemed excited about the fact that now they could all sit around and air their dirty hair laundry thanks to Good Hair. Well, I beg to differ. While I absolutely love the idea of this movie and wholly hope that the audiences will be multi-racial, I do not want it to be some cinematic invitation for more random people to start walking up to me and asking me questions about my hair. I’ve always found it annoying and it has often made me feel like an animal in a zoo or a rare piece of art on display in a museum. And, while it’s nice to have others appreciate what beauty and mystery they feel I may possess, I prefer to keep things just that; a mystery.
Regardless of what may be in that movie, I do not feel like having sudden discussions about what kind of products I use or whether or not I wear wigs or where I buy my hair. I don’t want to discuss how my hair went from medium length to shoulder length in a twelve hour span of time. I don’t want to talk about what I use to color my hair. And, I definitely don’t want to talk about how often I wash my hair. I am not a novelty. I am a human being. Though I’ve been locking for a little over a year now, I’ve still kept my affinity for wigs. Each time I’ve worn one, I've gotten a million and one questions about whether or not that’s my real hair or how many hours did I spend “getting it like that” or I get the other annoying statements like, “You know, my granddaughter is bi-racial and she also likes to wear braids.” Ugh. It disgusts me to no end. After being cornered and questioned at the break room sink, I recently told a white co-worker that I was wearing a wig. When I wore that particular wig a few days later, she exclaims in her unreasonably shrill voice, “I LOVE THAT WIG!!!” all while winking at me. Now, I’ve never tried to pass anything other than what I grew myself as my real hair. However, I also don’t arrive at work with a sign attached to my shirt that informs everyone of the synthetic item attached to my scalp. When I thought about it, I realized that it wasn’t the fact that she loudly outted me as a wig wearer that pissed me off the most. It was the fact that it pleased her to know that I, and many other black women she knows, wear wigs. It was as if she felt she had one up on us. She wasn’t operating from a place of interest and desire to connect. She was coming from a place of sheer nosiness with a touch of “hate”.
I’m hoping that when people see this movie, they will no longer feel the need to ask a bunch of stupid questions about me and my hair. I’m hoping they will see enough to quench their curiosity and inform them that some questions just don’t need to be asked.
1 comment:
My wife has also been sharing to me the things that people say to her when she wears her front lace wigs. Sometimes she gets compliments, and sometimes she gets raised eyebrows. There are days when her colleagues praise her creativity and ask for tips, and there are days when people doubt if she's really wearing a wig or not. She gets mixed reactions every day, but that doesn't get her down. She said that as long as I'm okay with her wigs, she's gonna keep wearing 'em.
Post a Comment