I’m Tall N Curly.
So I’m tall.
And I’m curly.
And very curly.
I’ve tried to be small. Didn’t work.
I’ve tried to have straight hair. Didn’t last.
So I thought : “Hey ! Let’s try something new ! Let’s try to be myself !”
And that is : tall, and curly.
Some people think it’s nice to be tall. Some people think it’s nice to be curly. Some people would rather die than being one or the other. In my case, I simply have no choice, so I try to enjoy myself as much as possible. But some days… oh some days…
I have created this blog for these days when, if there was a vaccine against inches or curls, I would run to get an injection.
And for some other stuff too ;)
My story as a Tall N Curly person
I’ve received a few messages asking me if I keep my hair natural or not, if I have relaxed my hair before, and if I’m against relaxing.
I also got a comment on my Pinterest profile that made me realize some people might think that because I draw all these comics about being tall and curly, I hate being one or the other, or both.
Therefore I’ve decided to add some details in my about section so that everyone can understand my approach concerning my blog and comics, and here it is.
The comment on Pinterest said that I should enjoy my hair because kinks are in. In other words : that I should stop complaining about it. I must admit I didn’t really see the connection between kinks being in or not and the fact that curly/kinky hair is very difficult to manage and sometimes complicated to deal with.
I’ve been natural for over 10 years now (Did something stupid in 2008 but that doesn’t count). Before that, I’ve relaxed my hair for about 10 years. And before that, my hair was kept natural. The problem is, as I’m multiracial, my mother being white just never could figure out what to do with my hair and couldn’t teach me a single thing about it.
Things were okay until I was 9 because my hair was very long and I always wore one or two big braids. But one day my mom decided to cut it very short because she found it too difficult to wash, comb and style. A little girl screaming for two hours when you’re trying to detangle her hair can get really nerve-racking – I guess.
So I went from this :
To this :
Please notice the smile in the before pic, and the “WTF” look on my face in the second one. Ooooh was I happy.
And so from there on kids started to make fun of me because I looked like a poodle, a sheep, a boy, the Jacksons 5… name it.
I grew up thinking I had the worst hair in the world and didn’t know what to do with it besides buns or ponytails. But that was until I discovered blow-drying. Then I spent a few years straightening my hair every week, fighting against the rain, the snow, the wind… you know what I’m saying. But that was until I discovered relaxers. Then the real trouble began.
I didn’t know how relaxers worked, so I went to this afro hair salon. I’ll never know wether the hairdresser didn’t like me or if she had missed a class in hairdressing school, but she relaxed my hair from the roots to the ends everytime I went there, which means every two months for 2 years.
My hair is veeeery thick and strong and I think it’s the only reason I’m not bald today.
Anyhow, one day I eventually said that to a girlfriend – didn’t think of mentioning it before, I didn’t even know there was a problem. I only knew my hair looked like sh*t, was dry as the Sahara, and almost cut my cheeks at night because it was so hard. The only thing that mattered to me by then was that it was straight and manageable.
Anyway, my friend looked at me with big eyes and told me it was a miracle I still had hair. So I stopped going to the hair salon and started relaxing my roots myself.
I remember hating my hair at that time, but as I said, it was manageable. At least.
I used to look at straight haired girls, envying their hair. I wanted their hair, I used to think they were the lucky ones. Like if I was born missing a leg or something. I simply couldn’t see my hair like a strength, a quality, something nice that made me special. I only felt handicapped. I tried to convince myself that straightening my hair made me part of the straight haired girls gang, glamorous and all, when I actually looked more like an old and worn out broom.
I think I would have relaxed my hair all my life if, when going to college, I hadn’t found myself tired of focusing on my hair instead of on my studies.
I remember one day looking at myself in the mirror, my roots being 2 inches long. You know when you have this adorable palm tree look, with the hair going up a little bit before falling back down like polluted waterfalls. It was time to relax.
But it was winter, it was cold outside and snowing, and I just didn’t feel like going out of the house. I had homework to do – homework that I loved because it was drawing homework – so suddenly I thought “Oh screw it. Damn hair. Do whatever you want.” And so it started to grow. (…)