Brush that hair!

I've been reading about hair lately. Mainly black hair (and other types of curly hair), and the ways which white society declares it to be inferior to straighter hair because it cannot be "tamed" (read: made to lie flat). Some good posts on this subject include Nappy Hair in the Jolie-Pitt World at Womanist Musings (focuses on black hair) and Hair Stories Redux at Justine Larbalestier (a broader look at "other" hair in general). Anyway, it got me thinking about what I've been through with my own hair.

I don't have black hair, or even curly hair, so I can't say whether or not any of my experiences are comparable to people with other kinds of hair - though I can say with certainty that some of them aren't. But here goes.

As far as hair goes, I actually scored pretty high in the hierarchy. My hair is long, wavy, and golden-blonde. From the time I was three years old I heard nothing but good things from my mother about how beautiful my hair was, even prettier than my sister's because it had "body." Mother was incredibly protective of my hair (both mine and my sister's, actually). Most of the time it was locked into a braid, protected from the hair-mussing activities of a couple of young kids. Once a week she would let it down and brush it out.

Before I go on, I need to explain one thing about my mother: she is incredibly ignorant, clueless, and self-centered. She cannot comprehend the existence of any experience that is not basically identical to what she has gone through, and she thinks that she can fix anyone's problems by giving them the solution that worked for her. Have I mentioned my mother is pink-skinned?

After a while she stopped braiding, and my hair would get tangled rather worse. Well, okay, no biggie. It was harder to brush and yadda, but she was oh-so-careful and tried to be as gentle as possible, so if either my sister or I complained, then we were obviously overreacting. She couldn't seem to comprehend that the results of her actions might be different from her intent - but then, she never was good at being "gentle." (There's another post in that.) She'd sink the brush into a tangle and pull down, and most of the pressure would go straight to my scalp. As soon as I complained I'd be reassured that "it's not that bad," which she obviously knew because I was the one being brushed.

Anyway.

Later on she turned hair care over to me, and that's when the problems started. See, my mother's a flat-head. Her hair is straight and lies down perfectly, so she thinks that all straight hair should do that and if it doesn't then it's a failure on the owner's part. Well, my hair is poofy (the aforementioned "body"). When it's properly clean, it floats around my head and will not lie flat unless I really put the effort (read: abuse and/or water) into it. Which I don't want to do, because my fluffy hair has personality, and I like it that way. But my mother is convinced that it denotes a lack of hygiene, and unless it's perfectly flat, she accuses me of not brushing my hair.

The only way I can get it to do what she wants is to let a day or so of oil build up in it, and then it's time for a shower, you scumbag. (She has something of a hygiene obsession, which could make another post.)

The flip side of the coin is that when you have "perfect" hair (luscious, full, wavy, blonde hair - see also mine), you're expected to love it. You should count it as one of your assets, and treat it like your most prized possession. You should brush it obsessively, condition it, put pretty things in it, and otherwise make it into a showpiece for everyone else because it's just so nice to look at. Obviously this isn't on the same level as telling someone they should hate/change their hair because it's "bad," but it's damaging in its own right - especially for a FTM who couldn't care less if he has traditionally attractive female locks.