Before I found a vehement yearning to conquer my fear of life without weaves and relaxers, I reveled and embraced covering up my inner self. The more hair I added, the more you couldn't see me and in the beginning, it was a comfort. I wanted to see my beauty in pictures so I spent $300 every 6 weeks to have the auburn weave creation of my lifetime because I needed visual proof that I was beautiful and I wanted it confessed in pictures.
After my third failed attempt in a long term relationship, I did just that. I was beginning to drown into the possibility that I would find the love of my life and that he would be black. And I was torn because I wanted to give him that back too but without my issues of extended tresses. Seemingly, there wasn't an issue with finding a relationship with a willing participant but keeping the interest alive was more difficult. I wanted to give my man sexy, exotic, intelligence but most of all be an active companion.
My dilemma, however, was being able to join in any type of activity that included altering my hair's appearance. For example, I could shake it at the club and dress it up and have it down my back, but when the lights went out and the bobby pins were undone, this extension of myself (wigs in this case), went into the nightstand. Now, I've become the imposter of a vixen that couldn't measure up with the original package.
Very profound.
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