What I Learned from having Box Braids

For the last two months, I have been carrying around what felt like 20 pounds of extra hair on my head. Short story – I got box braids. And since the kink in my hair is one of my favourite things to write about, I had to let you in on a few secrets of the biracial box braided experience. Prepare to be wow'd. Just kidding. 

I had a really awesome childhood. I never had to worry about a place to sleep at night. I never had to worry about food being put on the table, or an absent parent. I never had to question whether or not I’d be taken care of, and I never worried about battling the world without best friends by my side because I grew up with three siblings. 

Some would say, growing up for me was pretty easy. But there were a few things that were difficult. A few things shaped me into the person I am today.

Growing up with biracial hair in a mostly white town was not easy.

I know what you’re thinking. Perhaps you are wondering why I complain about something so seemingly insignificant because “everyone is beautiful in their own way.” 

I believe this to be true. 

Perhaps you are wondering why I talk about this when halfro hair isn’t nearly as unruly and difficult to manage as some other girls my age. That could be true too.

 Maybe you’re one of those people who have always dreamed of curls and so I should probably stfu and count my blessings. But let me break it down for you more simply.

My mom is white and had never styled hair like this before. Mom if you're reading this, thank you for the four hour combing sessions on sunday nights. My dad is black. He just couldn’t give two shits about what my hair looked like as long as it was neat and combed. He still asks me frequently why I don't just shave it all off. It works for him. 

Ethnic hair products weren’t available at drug stores, or department stores, or anywhere in the town I grew up in. Could you imagine how incredibly annoying it would be to drive to Toronto, the nearest metropolis an hour and a half away just to buy gel that was thick enough to tame your heaps of curls. To all the people who made fun of me for using olive oil on my head as a child... GTFO. 

Finding a salon with a non white hair dresser... not a thing. Finding a hair dresser who could actually cut and style my hair? Not a thing. I read a cool article a while back about how a source of stress while moving for the black community in the US and Canada is finding a soulmate barber. Feel that. 

"Hun, do you mind if I straighten your hair before I cut it?" 

"WHOA where are you from to get hair like this" 

" Excuse me, five extra associate hair dressers, can you please help me blow-dry this girls hair? It is SO big."

"So your dad has afro hair... and your mom has nice hair?" 

*DUMBFOUNDED* Never gets old. 

Walking out of a salon feeling great as opposed to stressed sweaty and a total burden? NOT A THING.

Beach parties growing up – not a thing. Unless I sheepishly asked one of my friends moms to comb my hair out immediately after so that I would save myself from getting matts in my hair. That process would take an hour minimum, and 4+ hours to dry.

Wearing winter hats. Or baseball caps. Or anything kind of hat! Not a thing.

Finding people at recess, or on TV, or in the entertainment industry who had hair exactly like mine. Not really a thing. Unless it was the “before” shot of a woman who is about to get a makeover. She has frizzy curly hair and then someone straightens it and suddenly she’s the hottest girl at school. (Thank you Princess Diaries... for ruining EVERYTHING!!!!!!!)

The romantic pool scene where the dude pushes me into the pool and we frolic around, splashing in lust and then he runs his fingers through my hair effortlessly – LOL. NOT. A. THING. I'm peeing. 

Head lice was a thing though. Enter my doom. My poor mother.

Point blank – it wasn’t easy to grow up having biracial hair and feel confident and secure and beautiful rocking it in a town that didn’t support that. So very early on in my life – I found my solution. The thing that made me feel comfortable and confident, while still making me feel a bit different from the crowd. Braids.

I braided my hair so much when I was young – I might have some of the fastest braiding hands you’ve ever seen. I braided my hair almost every day in high school. 

My sister on the right, Me on the left feat. very fast braids. Age 15

And when I was in middle school – I did the hair makeover of my dreams. Box braids. A lady came to my house and weaved extensions into my braids that lasted for months at a time. No styling. No combing through mats. No crying over not being able to wear my hair down without it shooting over and outwards. Sleek. Sophisticated. Beautiful. Braided hair. Check.

I stopped braiding my hair around grade 11 when my mom bought a flat iron. And around that time I started to learn how to manage my halfro hair.  Now how to I put this delicately... the top of my head is the only area of my body that I think twice about on a daily basis. I think about my hair before I go out with my friends. I think about my hair before I go on vacation, or camping, or on an impromptu day at the beach. I think about my hair before I go on dates. So much so that when I’m not having a good hair day, I’d rather cancel than meet a nice potential. 

And as I’m learning more about myself, my culture, and social justice, I noticed myself caring a little bit less. I noticed myself being surrounded by groups of likeminded people who complimented how large and in charge it was. I noticed myself in schools talking about growing up mixed and feeling compelled to make sure young girls feel supported and beautiful with whatever hair they have.

And then, because my hair is so hard to manage sometimes and its so hot in the summer, I decided I wanted to get box braids again. For the first time in 10 years.

Let me be frank. My braids made me feel hot AF. I felt like a badass walking source of energy that could not be denied!

But not at first, and not all the time. I cried for three hours when I first got them done. Not only was it hard to hold up my neck. But looking at myself in the mirror once they were all done made me revert back to my childhood. Back to a girl that cried over her differences. My sister came into my room and had to help put my hair in the biggest scrunchie we could find. Talk about a flashback. I wasn't used to looking biracial. And I think its because for a large part of my existence I was made to feel that white features were more beautiful. Pro tip: telling me I'm beautiful in my own way doesn't help. Beauty constructions have hit girls of colour in the face for our entire lives. Overcoming it is not a simple as people might think. 

But once I spent a few days with my new do, I really started embracing how beautiful my braids were. So, now that my long winded introduction has come to an end – I’d like to share with you a few of the discoveries I have made since having box braids as a young woman.

1)    When I had braids, I learned once again that black women are warriors. Not only because they exist in a system that oppresses them in so many different ways, but also because some of them hold up to 5 pounds of added weight on their neck and shoulders every single day. As if they weren’t already carrying enough. Mad props my sistas. 

2)     When I had braids, people thought I was way cooler/more interesting than I actually am.

3) When I had braids, I learned that they  are so clutch when I wanted to work out. No fuss, no muss. I was ready to go in under 10 minutes every day. Perk!

4) When I had braids, I learned that the amount of people from my home town who don’t know the difference between braids and dreads is kind of bizarre to me. Haha I know people mean well, but maybe that just goes to show how little representation there is in our media/my specific community. #Braidsarentdreads

5)  When I had braids, I learned how annoying it is when strangers touch your hair. If you are a friend of mine reading this, if you touched my braided hair, rest assured I was not offended. I probably laughed and leaned my head closer to you. But I have never had so many random boys and girls at bars and on the street touch my head without asking than I have in the past few months. 
No big deal right?
 Well imagine walking down the street and some random dude beside you just ran his fingers through your hair. Wouldn't that be creepy? Wouldn't it feel weird to ask them to not touch something attached to your head (cause DUH) and then have them look surprised or offended because they were just trying to "give you a compliment."  Please don't make my existence more awkward than it already is. 

6) When I had braids I learned how complex and difficult it is to be a part of an oppressed community with visible light skinned privilege. And that in comparison to my friends who are minorities, I really don't have it that bad. I don't know how to effectively communicate this. 

I discovered (based on verbal confirmation) that some people thought my braids looked cool because my skin is light. It was an interesting contrast.  
At the same that I had box braids, a few of my girlfriends who are black had them as well. And while I got irritating compliments about my exotic attraction, I fear the following: 
Without projecting my own fears/thoughts onto other people, I feared that my black sisters were once again made to feel that the features that have existed on them naturally throughout history, appear more beautiful or desirable when presented on a light body. I would like to be excluded from that narrative, as I identify with the blackness within me.

 But my light skin is obvious. Being so fair while being biracial cannot possibly go unnoticed. It is no wonder that so many random people asked me while I had braids if I "just got back from vacation." (The fucking worst comment). 

7) When I had braids, I learned how crucial it was to celebrate myself. I started off the night crying, reverting back to the 5 year old I used to be. Or the 14 year old I used to be, when blonde girls in my class would tell me I should try straightening my hair, "like THEIRSSSS." I got nervous when I would chat with people on dating apps, wondering if I would be ostracized from their interest pool simply because of my braids and tanned skin. I have never felt more ashamed admitting that to all of you. But feeling like I might not be someones "type" based on my appearance is something that I have thought about in great detail. In looking for pictures for this blog, I scrolled through hundreds of pictures that I had taken in high school. And I couldn't find a single one with me rocking my natural hair. That is a sad truth. 

Finally, when I had braids I realized how beautiful I am. I realized how beautiful my heritage is. 
 I thought about what my grandmothers life was like. Rocking her braids, and her wigs and moving from Trinidad to Canada and trying to make sense of a new life. I thought about what it was like for my dad, walking through the streets of Toronto in the 70s with his group of friends, slaying with his afro and linen pants. I thought about my mom, trying desperately hard to tame three baby halfros and learning to kick beauty constructions in the face for the sake of her daughters. 
I thought about the women of colour before me and how much they have witnessed and experienced in their lives. 

And I thought about the generation of women of colour to come, and what it would happen for them if we rock our curls and braids and afros proudly in the present. 
Perhaps they can exist in a world where their beauty is recognized, honoured and celebrated. 

xo Meags