Maxine: My Mane Girl.
Box braids take down.
Hours of Hurting
Looks down at the pile
It is finished.
Where's my wig.
Two Thursdays ago, I took down my box braided bob. I always wanted to try the Stony look. You know, Jada Pickett Smith in Set it Off. Finally, summer 2017, my hair was finally short enough to get them. But before it was short enough, it had be long enough.
This past year, I have struggled with what to do with my hair after a bad case of sisterlocks. My sister locks were improperly installed by an approved trainee, which left me with 2 options: take them down, or cut them off.
Rather than struggling and tussling with needle thin locks, I made the conscious decision to cut them off.
In 10 minutes, my crown was gone. Or at least so I thought.
When I was in college, I went natural. When I went natural, I decided that I would give my hair a name that is
Maxine. My best girl. She gets me.
Not to be confused with congresswoman Maxine Waters or feisty attorney Maxine Shaw of Living Single.
I'm talking about my mane girl, Maxine.
A mane named Maxine.
We've had each other since 1990 and we've been growing and glowing ever since.
We've taken some risks with length, color and additions, and it's paid off every time.
From fallouts and bald spots from stress, to mishaps and misfortunes, Maxine has been faithful. She's been good to me because I've been good to her.
What I know for sure is that our hair requires maintenance, patience and most of all love. Loving your hair regardless of length or texture is important.
It frustrates me when women, particularly black women, compare hair.
She has good hair.
Her hair is nappy.
She must be mixed.
Love what you have. Get in the mirror, look at yourself and learn to love what you see.
Sis, I pray, that regardless of your texture, porosity, density, length, color, or curl pattern, that you would love your hair.
And then give your mane a name. Embrace her for who she is.