Sunday, March 11, 2007
The 70's Called, They Want All Their Hair Back
I’ve taken to growing hair, mine. No fields being watered or any of that. The hair sits up their without a care in the world. Everything is fine until someone approaches me and asks me to justify the whole hair thing.
I met a friend the other day who told me I was “lost”. I told him I’d been busy and sick. So he looks at me with an expression that suggested that he knew where I was coming from. When he spoke, it was soon apparent that looks lie… “ah, you were sick? I can see, that’s why your hair has grown…” I politely pointed out that I’d let my hair do its own thing in an attempt to piss off people…Then he nodded. Yep, he understood how that worked. What I don’t get is the whole “sickness=hair growth” formula that he advanced.
I used to cut my hair like every week, not because I got a kick out of feeling the machine pressed against my head, a scenario I’m almost sure has been considered as the sole premise of several porn flicks. I actually used to get the weekly haircut because, after a week, the follicles on my head woke up from some sort of comatose and made every effort to stand out. I also used to get the said cut because my elder brothers used to do the same thing and it actually seemed cool.
Fast forward to a few years later, about three weeks ago actually, I skipped the haircut and then got this incredible idea. I’d do away with the haircut until such a time that things started to work out for me. It didn’t really seem like a bad idea coz I was realistic with my expectations. It’s not like I said my barber’s electric shaver would be denied rights unknown until the country got a new president. The way it should work out, my hair will be cut in about two months…or three. Who knows?
However there’s a snag, during the initial growth of hair period I’d look at it in the mirror and think, “What am I doing? That is way too much hair to be carrying around in public!” Then again I’d seen more on other people’s heads and it kind of put me in some odd comfort zone…a little place I like to call denial.
I met a friend who asked me what the deal was, and pointed out (sincerely?) that not everyone can grow an afro and look good. His exact words may have been, “Whoa! Afros were not meant for everyone!” It’s actually the same mindset that put me off the whole gym experience. I recall writhing on the ground trying to realign the muscles in my body with the sheer power of thought when I had a light bulb moment. A voice in my head cried out, “The Gym is not meant for everyone!”
This time round I decided that the defeatist attitude would have to take a back seat. Then one morning after taking a bath, I ran my hand through my hair. It felt…wrong. I actually felt good playing with my hair so it only made sense that I offered anyone that felt like it the chance to play with it, provided they brought it back home before dark.
Labels: Hair Raising Experiment