If there’s one thing God blessed me with - other than the ability to procrastinate like it’s a paid internship - it’s 4C natural hair. And not just any 4C hair, oh. I’m talking about the kind that has volume, attitude, and an unshakable commitment to chaos. This hair doesn’t just grow - it performs. It’s thick, it’s bold, and when it wants to behave, it gives “Afro goddess realness.”
And trust me, I LOVE my hair. When I unbraid it? Chef’s kiss. The fullness, the bounce, the curls - it’s everything. My Afro stands tall like it’s campaigning for class president. It’s giving “Main Character Energy.” People stop me on campus like I’m the poster child for all things organic:
“Wow, your hair is so beautiful!”
“Is it all yours?”
“What’s your secret?”
Listen, there is no secret- only prayers, deep conditioners, and the sheer willpower not to shave it all off. Because while my hair may look like a dream, living with it is a nightmare I did not sign up for.
See, the thing about 4C hair is, that it has trust issues. I leave home looking like a Nubian queen, but the moment my hair interacts with the outside world? Chaos. Sun? Shrink. Wind? Shrink. Air? Shrink. I could be minding my business and boom - my Afro decides to downsize itself without prior notice. I walk out with a sleek, juicy Afro, and return home looking like a plucked chicken. Why? What have I done to deserve this?
And let’s talk about shrinkage - the most disrespectful phenomenon to ever exist. You can stretch your hair to your shoulders, but let one raindrop touch it, and suddenly you’re rocking a TWA (teeny-weeny Afro). Once, I left my house looking like Diana Ross and came back looking like a malfunctioning microphone. My hair was serving eight different lengths at the same time - like, excuse me, who authorized this?!
But do you know the worst part? People think I’m being dramatic.
“It’s just hair,” they say.
“Why are you complaining? At least it’s thick,” they add.
Just hair?! JUST HAIR?! This “just hair” takes hours to detangle. This “just hair” requires me to plan my whole weekend around wash day, which is an Olympic sport. And yet, despite all the stress, despite all the betrayal… I can’t bring myself to let it go.
Because here’s the truth - I will NEVER cut my hair. I will NEVER relax it. My Afro and I? We’re in a toxic, ride-or-die relationship. It humbles me daily, but I’m committed to life. Through the shrinkage, the tangles, and the emotional trauma, I will fight for my crown until my last breath.
And if you see me on campus looking like I lost a fight with humidity, mind your business. My Afro and I are working through it.