Hair Love Letters: Ashley

My big chop, was never really that big. It was more like a progression. I was always a silent deviant in high school. I stopped going to the hairdresser and instead let the senegalese sisters braid my hair into intricate patterns. Then I started wearing my signature scarves and head wraps (much to the disapproval of some faculty members.) I went back and forth between the pressing comb and the jar of relaxer, sometimes clipping out of boredom . So when my senior year came and I was able to graduate early, I took the extra time to indulge myself. On a trip to visit my already natural sister with my dread-having cousin, I decided I was ready to chop off the remnants of my relaxer and start my journey toward locs as well. My cousin took the scissors to my head with no problem. I was more curious to see the results than nervous. When she was finished, I washed my hair, looked in the mirror and fell deeply, whole-heartedly in love with what I saw. We all loved it and agreed that locs were not in my immediate future. My sister then took her clippers, evened it all out, threw some color in and I never looked back.

Since then I've let it grow in all its glory, pressed, relaxed, colored, shaved, rinsed and repeated. It keeps changing and growing just like me. Sometimes it gets stressed and other times it crowns me royally. You should see the way it catches the sun! Strangers have touched it (grrrr) and family has been puzzled by it. Its alluring... sometimes neglected, but always, always loved. Just like me.