My dad keeps trying to guilt trip me for cutting my hair off by constantly citing this verse: “But if a woman have long hair, it is a glory to her: for her hair is given her for a covering.” 1 Cor. 11:15 (KJV) …So let me understand this clearly. It was fine for me to put a product with a main ingredient found in drain cleaner (and that painful ass scene from Fight Club) in my hair. For years on end. But if I cut it to start fresh, I’m insulting God? OH.
What he’s failing to realize is that my BC was all about the “glory” of my hair, and restoring it to its full potential. Like I’ve said before, I’m no hair elitist. Creamy crack was my boo thang, and he always gave it to me right. But at a certain point, I realized that I was sacrificing versatility for manageability. Sure, my hair stayed “laid”, but unless I was rocking a banging ass wrap, my only other real options were struggle pony or struggle bun. No bueno.
I missed freshly washed, dripping wet hair that I almost didn’t want to touch because my curls were so perfect. I missed twist outs and braid outs that didn’t fall flat by the end of the day. I missed not worrying about the consequences of hot summer fun or late night recklessness, because “sweating out” a style didn’t mean lifeless, perspiration drenched tresses. It just meant I would need to throw some water and leave-in conditioner on it, and keep pushing.
So I cut my hair. Because I was hiding behind it. Because I wanted a fresh start. Because health > length. Because I was [finally] ready. Because I knew it would be beautiful. Because I fucking wanted to.
And attempting to Bible bash me isn’t going to make it grow back any faster, so…