Confessions of a hair addict

To do my hair can take up to 3 hours. When I do it myself I don't sit all three hours I break it up in to sessions.


Session 1: Relaxer and wash about 45 min

Session 2: Blow-dry about 1hr.

Session 3: Flat iron and pin curl about 35min

Session 4: Take out pin curls and style 15 min


If and when I don't do my hair I look like a slob. My roommate on the other hand dose her hair in 10 min and even when she doesn’t it looks fine. She wakes up in the morning, shakes her head and runs a come through it. Needless to say I’m a little jealous

But what comforts me is knowing women have been burdening themselves with these torturous practices for centuries, and I’m not alone. I have been trying to make my hair straight all my life. I remember crying and not wanting to go to school as a child because my hair would frizz. I didn't and don't feel beautiful with out my hair done.

I have recently stopped relaxing my hair. The reason is because I had an awful experience. (I will tell you about it another time) But like any addict I can’t truly say I won’t relapse. And go back to my old ways. I have been clean since December, and will try my best to stay that way.

But my addiction started a long time ago something like this:

When I was in college I had a boyfriend who was Dominican. When his mother met me my hair was a mess. I had been struggled with it all my life. I could never get it to do anything except breads and pony tails even with a relaxer. My boy friends mother didn't speak much English but when she saw my hair I could tell she was appalled by the look on her face. Her hair was long and well kempt not a hair out of place. Mine was frizzy and wild popping out of ponytails every which way.

My boyfriend’s mother could tell I needed help. So she asked her daughter to take me to the salon with her. We went on a subway ride to a little corner salon. It was very small building but to my surprise when I walked in it was filled with women. There were Tons of women in various processes of hair torture. It was crowded, hard to move around and the hair dressers didn’t seem to ever take a break. It was like a well oiled machine.

My boyfriend’s sister told the woman in Spanish what needed to be done to my hair and the ride began. They plopped me down in the chair, sectioned my hair and began to apply the white cream. It burned a little but I was willing to take it if it was going to make my hair silky smooth. The aroma of rotting eggs lingered around my head. Soon it wasn’t burning a little it was burning a lot. I looked to the hair dresser who spoke no English but knew exactly what was on my mind by the look on my face, and rushed me to the sink to wash it out.
Ahhhhh…
The shampooing began. It seemed like they must have shampooed my hair 15 times. It felt nice, reliving. I was glad that it was almost over. But it was far from it.

“Deep condition” the shampoo girl said to me.
“Si” my boyfriend’s sister called out from the chair she sat in getting her own torture treatment.

A cream and a plastic cap were applied to my head and I was put under the dryer to wait. I didn’t know how much of an ordeal this was so I wasn’t prepared. No book, no portable video games, nothing but a Spanish soap opera on the T.V. in the far corner that I couldn’t hear over the blaring salsa music.

I sat and waited and at last I was taking back over to the sink to be rinsed.
“Yes, almost done” I thought.

Nope, honey, not even close.
A lady then took me to yet another chair and started rolling my hair. And then back under the dryer for some more soap opera and salsa music. This time it was for an hour. The day was passing by.

At last I was put into the final chair. She took out the rollers and I already felt the freedom. My head was lighter. A weight had been lifted. I could feel my hair bounce on my shoulders.

“Ouch, that hurt” I though as the hair dresser started to attack my head with a blow-dryer. She manhandled my head pushing it around to get to the hard to reach areas. Making sure ever strand was straight and flowing.

When she was done it was dark outside, but I no longer cared. I was beautiful. My hair was free flowing. I couldn’t stop shaking my head feeling my hair bounce from side to side. I was addicted I wanted my hair to look like this all the time. I never wanted to go back to those breads and ponytails they were so constricting.

I was free, but only temporarily. I would have to go back and get a wash and sets to keep it looking nice. Or try to wrap it at home.

But I'm willing to do what ever it takes because I’m hooked.

I haven't been relaxed since December but I still blow-dry and Pin curl.