White Girl Hair Envy: Dissecting the Disorder

I remember being a young girl and loving blond hair. Not just loving it, being obsessed with it. Despite having a Black Barbie, my favorite one—the one who drove the Pink Corvette, was head of the dream house, got the guy and all the prettiest outfits—was my blonde Barbie. Her name was Jennifer and she embodied everything I wanted to be—everything society told me I should be. In my young mind, the grass would not only be greener on the other side as a White girl, the air would be cleaner, the people nicer, the cars fancier and the houses grander. Life would be perfect.

Yes, Lisa Turtle was a babe, but what young girl
didn't want to be Kelly Kapowski?

It’s no coincidence that many Black girls exposed to Western society grow up having “White girl hair envy.” While the 90s was a great period of diversity (oh hey, Power Rangers), the most desirable characters and the main protagonists of our favorite shows were pretty White girls. Their hair would swing every time they turned their heads, they could twist it around their fingers for days and boys could run their hands through it without getting snagged. The commercials depicted (and still do) beautiful White women as the final product: what you should look like if you use the proper shampoos, eat the right foods, drive the right cars and shop at the right places.

As a young girl, I couldn’t fathom what these images were subconsciously doing to my ripening psyche. I couldn’t have reconciled that the reason I was Team Monica instead of Team Brandy was because Monica looked closer to the White standard that I had been brainwashed to put on a pedestal. Growing up, I thought my hair was the absolute worst. My mom would put my hair in these stiff African braids that I was too embarrassed to show at school and so it was with agonizing elation that I accepted my first relaxer. Even getting braids was a thrill for me as I got to swing my head when I walked so that my hair would sway from side to side like a White girl’s.

Me with my baby curls.

But if you would have told me then that I’d finally come to embrace my natural hair texture, Jennifer and I would have laughed in your face. This acceptance is sadly very recent. Just a couple of months ago I learned to accept—nay, love—my hair the way it looks even after I’ve sweated out the effects of the flatiron. Because now, I’m not alone when I walk out of my house and face the world with my mini-fro. I see other girls proudly sporting their natural hairstyles, so much so that Black hairstyles have even become a trend among the White community.

“Traditionally women would think of braids as a kind of thoughtless hairstyle,” hairstylist Ted Gibson was quoted saying in a recent piece by the New York Times. “Now they’ve crossed over to the fashion space.”

Last week, the Times ran a piece about braids and the recent spike in the popularity of this hairstyle among all women. While braids have been popular in the Black community for centuries, the article (written by a Black woman) attributed the recent mainstreaming of braids to its appearance on the runways of hit designers like Alexander Wang and Viktor & Rolfe. It also recognized the “history” of braids as being synonymous with a “bohemian flair,” citing examples like Bo Derek and Willie Nelson. What they failed to acknowledge, however, was that the history of braids dates back centuries, the earliest occurrence being in Africa, according to Refinery29.

Me with my protective-hairstyle braids
…and post-workout sweat.

This isn’t to say that White people are appropriating our hairstyles, but that we, too, have hair that other races like to emulate. While we spend so much time, money and effort into getting our hair bone straight, plenty of White, Hispanic and Asian girls (and guys) have spent the same amount of effort trying to get their hair curly and voluminous via methods like perms.

“I think there’s more of an acceptance [of natural hair] outside of Black America than there is within Black America,” says educator Kierra Bussey. Having recently cut off almost all of her hair, Bussey’s new hairstyle has been embraced more from her White counterparts than even members of the Black community. After a lifetime of searing hot combs and scorching relaxers trying to achieve a more European look, she recently decided enough was enough and chopped it all off.

 “I come from the perspective of my mother being biracial and having straighter hair than me,” says Bussey. “When it got wet, it didn’t kink up like mine, and when it dried, it didn’t turn into a fro like mine. If I want my hair straight like hers, it more than likely means I have to damage it.”

Although her mother never wanted her to get relaxers, she’d take her to get hair straightened frequently, not knowing herself how to care for her daughter’s hair texture. After years of putting herself through the torture many of us Black girls know all too well, she decided she wanted to know what it was like to be comfortable in her own skin and describes the process of embracing her natural hair as an emotional one (in a positive way).

Beautiful photo courtesy of the regal
Kierra Bussey.

“I think we’ve become so attached to our physical appearance,” says Bussey. “Imagining ourselves outside of that realm frightens us. It’s important to remember that straight hair is not oppressed hair, it’s just your preference. But not loving your natural hair is what bothers me.”

I got rid of my Barbies a long time ago, but the caste system I created in that world still haunted me for a long time to come and, to be honest, it still creeps up on me occasionally. Just the other day, I spent 10 hours in the salon trying to figure out how to style my new natural hair and all I could think was, man, if I were a White girl, I’d just be in and out. But my hairdresser refused to let me carry on those thoughts. She reminded me that our hair incites just as much envy from others as anyone else’s. We have just as much to be proud of as any other race. Woven into our hair are history, culture, struggle, beauty and perseverance. Think about that the next time someone tries to convince you that the grass is greener on the other side.

Blood, Sweat,…Flats

I've always wondered how women manage to stroll around New York City with skyscraper-like heels like it's nothing. I don't regularly take cabs nor do I have the luxury of being driven around in a town car so, in my NYC experience, there's a lot of walking involved. Plenty of commuters (specifically those commuting to and from work) slip out of the heels and into something more practical until they've reached their destination, but I guess what the truth comes down to is this: some women are just pushing way past the pain.

Well, on tonight's episode of Bravo's new hit reality television show Blood, Sweat and Heels, former video model Melyssa Ford admitted she's one of those women. But as her boss brazenly told her, if you really wanna get stuff accomplished, stop trying to look cute and get some flats, girl. So I'm assuming (rather, hoping) that the women strutting around in heels have already paid their dues in flats.

Demetria (center, left) was our featured speaker
back in 2011 (I'm on the far right in bright yellow!).

Okay, I'm jumping into this a little fast. Let's start from the beginning. BSH premiered last week on Bravo to the highest first-time ratings in the network's reality-focused history. It features six women balancing success and their personal lives in the Concrete Jungle. Admittedly, the only two I know are Melyssa Ford and Demetria Lucas. Demetria, of course, is a journalist, blogger and author whom, a few years back, my organization hired to speak at our event when I was still at Temple.

We all knew her as an editor of Essence magazine and as the "Black Carrie Bradshaw" (a title bestowed upon her by the very own Washington Post) so we were excited that such a prominent figure in the media industry was even giving our little start-up the time of day. Demetria and I met again a week ago (she remembered!) when she threw a premiere viewing party in Brooklyn. I had made it from MD -> Philly -> NYC following her formula and she was as fabulous and pleasant as ever. We hugged, she gave me some advice and we even high-fived about being honest

Reunited a little over 2 years later at
the premiere party of BSH in BK.

journalists who don't hold back and don't apologize for our audacity.

If it hadn't been for the fact that Demetria was on the show, it honestly would've probably slipped under my radar. After all, when you premiere three new shows a week, it becomes a bit much and the quality starts to lack, Bravo. I still have mixed reactions to it but, so far, I can't say I'm disappointed. One of the things that stuck out to me was how real the girls are. When there are reality shows in existence called Rich Kids of Beverly Hills, you start to get the feeling that these shows are here only to remind you that you're a bum and other people eat meals that cost more than your rent.

It was nice to see on tonight's episode that nobody was putting on airs about the lifestyle they live. Melyssa Ford, especially, has been a pleasant surprise. She's a very likable woman and is clearly not one to stir the pot. She also has the potential to be making a lot of money on her name but is instead choosing to turn over a new leaf and do it the hard way. After a break-up with a high-rolling rapper, she's honest that she's in a tight situation with money and is learning to live within her newly-defined means. As a writer trying to make it in the proverbial Big Apple, I completely identify with living #thestruggle and I'm glad it's finally being addressed realistically.

BSH is on Sundays at 9pm ET on Bravo.

Geneva Thomas opened up about hustling in the media business only to make peanuts (tell it, honey!) and she also admitted that money is also tight for her. Two of the women on the show (Brie Bythewood and Daisy Lewellyn) come from wealthy backgrounds already but, all in all, these women are not housewives.  They're a modern representation of todays' women and living embodiments that success comes primarily through connections, a lot of elbow grease and opportunities. I'm sure, just like all reality shows, there will be fresh weaves, new sets of teeth, and grandiloquent homes for all the women involved as the seasons continue. But for now, they are definitely putting their heels--or should I say, flats--to the pavement and making it work.

Three-Minute Shower Challenge CONCLUSION

I completely forgot that I had documented my three-minute shower challenge here and turned my experiences into an article for Grid Magazine, Philly's sustainable living publication. Here is the link to the original article on Grid's site, in case you can't see it below. I highly recommend checking out the publication itself, too. Enjoy!

Dispatch: Money Down the Drain - How I learned to say goodbye to half-hour showers.

FRIDAY, JULY 1, 2011 AT 3:23PM

Story by Maryline Dossou | Illustration by Kirsten Harper

I distinctly recall my sister pulling back the shower curtain and telling me that my dad was seconds from exploding. I was in elementary school and had developed a habit of falling asleep in the shower every morning—staying in there for easily half an hour. I used to stay up all night knowing I could get some extra sleep in the shower. I’ve never been a morning person, so I switched to taking nighttime showers. That worked until I got to college.

My best friend (and roommate) would blast music while in the shower, and I always found that to be weird. One day, while innocently recording her singing in the shower, I was intrigued by how much fun she seemed to be having and decided to try it out for myself. I created a shower playlist and went to town. What began as harmless fun soon turned into a wasteful, careless, time-consuming habit.

I’d stay in until my skin got so pruned, it was almost numb. There was nothing like washing off days of classes, work, gym, activities and internships with an R&R party for one.

Right around Earth Day this year I heard that the online magazine Her Campus (to which I contribute, hercampus.com) was partnering with the Body Shop to encourage girls to take daily three-minute showers for two weeks and blog about it. As if the world had caught on to my dirty secret, I was also bombarded with shower facts from green advocates around campus—like that for every minute the shower runs, we waste, on average, one gallon of water. It seemed as good a time as any to change my habits, so I started my own two-week, three-minute shower challenge.

It was awful. I felt like a lifelong smoker who had quit cold turkey. How am I going to shave? How could I possibly be clean? Will my life retain any meaning? Questions swam through my mind. I timed my showers using three-minute songs, counting the days until I could return to my beloved routine.

One week in, curled in the fetal position in bed, I tried to find meaning in this torture. Was I doing this to learn a lesson, or simply to say I’d completed a “green” challenge? The latter seemed like a poor reason.
Then I started to see the light. I learned not to waste time just standing around under the spray, and how to shave in the sink. I also realized (and I’m very embarrassed to admit this) that not only did I spend a long time in the shower; I kept it running for a long time before I even got in. Often, I would be on the phone for an hour at a time with the shower on blast. Then I’d get in for 25 minutes.

Today, I’ve turned it around, but it’s still a daily struggle—I’m a recovering shower-holic, after all. But I’ve managed to cut my shower time down to about 10 to 12 minutes, and I’m pretty happy with the progress that I’ve made. It probably all seems pretty dramatic, but, sadly, the issue of water waste was never really addressed in my world until I got to college. My schools didn’t consider it a priority and my parents were unaware of the damage I was causing because, as renters, they didn’t have to worry about the water bill. Many people don’t concern themselves and their children with these issues because it doesn’t affect them directly. Luckily, it’s never too late to recognize our faults and gradually work through them. Who knows? Maybe—maybe—one day I can upgrade to taking under-two-minute Navy showers.

Maryline A. Dossou is a senior in Temple University’s Journalism department. Read her work for Her Campus at hercampus.com/maryline-dossou.

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tagged Dispatch, Maryline Dossou, conservation, water

Dying Young and I'm Playing Hard

"I'm not old. I still have my legs, my force, and my spirit by God's grace. And I use them everyday. So I'll never be old."

That's what my dad just said to me on the phone. He turned 53 today. He said as long as you live

He's actually pretty hot.

young, you'll never be old. And those who have fully functioning bodies and minds but are too lazy to use them are the old ones. I've always admired that about my father. We've had a difficult relationship and differences that run deeper than I can even scratch the surface of in a blog post (or care to, at that), but he's always possessed certain qualities that I find refreshing.

He looks at life with such a youthful, if at times naive, alacrity. Everything is an adventure waiting to be had, new territory waiting to be explored and new experiences waiting to be memories. He lives life hard, with passion. He's more active and engaged than most men I've met half his age and can probably even still drink them under the table. He laughs hard, parties hard and spends every dime he makes trying to ensure that he never lives a dull moment.

In that sense, he's the complete opposite of my mother. She plays by the rules, never daring to go where she's told not to go. She keeps to herself and only ever does what she has to do, as opposed to what she wants to do. And yet, for a split second, sometime decades ago, they saw something in each other that perhaps they wanted to see in themselves. In my father, my mother probably saw a spontaneity she secretly longed to have. And in her, he saw an impressive and awe-inspiring level of self-mastery.

And they came together and bore a Libra; a balance.  A perfect coalescence of yin and yang. I like to think I'm the perfect balance of their opposing personalities, but I'm not. Not yet. I've struggled all my life with the two extremes. On the one hand, being too unhinged and unpredictable like father and on the other, too reclusive and inhibited like my mother. I've learned to tone down the wild side of myself but still struggle to ignite a fire in the tamer side.

"No one ever excused his way to success."

But my father is right. I've been out running and seen people three times my age pass me. I've heard people old enough to be my parents make exciting plans for the weekend while mine consisted of doing laundry and catching up on reality television. Life is for those who realize how much it's worth living. it only asks one thing from us and that is effort. We can sit around all day expecting our goals to be miraculously met, but that's not how life works. We have to get up and earn it. We have to take the initiative and stop putting things off. We have to go out and engage in the world, or as Chbosky would say, "participate." That's the only way to ever truly avoid getting old.

Oh, and happy birthday daddy...ya old fart.

The Crisis: What Do I Stand For?

Wow, time's a bitch. It felt like just yesterday I posted here, yet it's telling me I haven't written a blog post since December 2011.

It also feels like just yesterday I moved into my dorm room freshman year of college. I remember how nervous I was, how I couldn't believe I had made it to university. A good one at that, on a partial academic scholarship. See, I'm the first in my family to accomplish this, so it means a lot. It wasn't written in the stars for someone like me, but somehow it was.

And on the first night, after my family left from helping me get nestled in, I sat outside my dorm on a bench. I sat there at 3am alone, listening to the Beatles and looking up at the sky, taking in every single element around me. The cool August night air, the drunken chatter of eager incoming freshman, and the bustle of Broad Street mixing magically with the music in my headphones.

That was the first and last time I got to savor it. I had no idea how quickly the next few years would pass by. All I knew was how badly I needed to experience this: college. A sort of halfway house between living under my mother's suffocating thumb and the big, bad real world that eventually awaited me.

What I didn't know was how real that world would be. You think you've got the timeline of your life all figured out and then you realize one day that it's never been yours to determine. Sure, you can be the master of your fate, but only to a certain degree. Someone else has mapped out your life for you and you have no choice but to take the blows as it comes. Your part is to figure out how to react to the blows. I just graduated college. Three months ago. Cum Laude. With a job lined up. I was on top of the world, right?

Not exactly. I had never been more miserable or cried more in my life. This was it. I was supposed to be ecstatic. Everything was supposed to be different; I would move to New York City and become the woman I've always wanted to be. All my hard work would pay off. Everything would fall into place. Everyone seemed to agree: my family, friends, colleagues and professors. With all I've accomplished, they said, there was no way I wouldn't have my dream job and be living large. Well, I'm jobless on my sister's couch, still freelancing and still looking for a full-time job.

But I'm okay with that.

Let me go back and explain. I was offered a spot in a prestigious teaching program in New York City and took it, feeling lucky just to have been given the opportunity. I thought I would teach, freelance on the side, leave the program eventually and begin working full-time at a magazine in New York. See, ever since I was a kid, when I first stepped foot in this country, I dreamed of New York City, but never made it past Silver Spring, Maryland until I got halfway there at Temple.

But the teaching program proved to be more effort than I was willing to give it and, after many heart-to-hearts and tears and anxiety, contemplation and meditation, I quit before the first day. It was nearly mid-June and I had just joined the job hunt. The more time passed, the more anxious I became to find a job. There was no way I was going back to living under my mother's aforementioned suffocating thumb.

Watching my friends and peers get full time jobs, although I'm happy for them, I do not envy them. Many of them have fallen victim to the trap: mundane jobs that could mean less to them, jobs they undertake to avoid the stigma of "unemployed" and to pay back the student loans that got them in their position in the first place.

College is over now. Our bubble is burst and we're left trying to figure out how to adjust to the alien sensations that are surrounding us. No longer will our best friends be just down the hall or down the street. Gone are the days of seemingly endless resources and helping hands right around the corner. We've spread out all over the country, all over the world, and some of us are in new scary places alone.

But I hope we all eventually find what makes us happy and refuse to settle for anything less. I hope we always remember what we stand for and the legacy we want to pass on to future generations. And I hope we never forget the remarkably gratifying outcomes that can arise from working hard and keeping your fingers crossed.

I realize that I'm doing the right thing for me. I could choose to work with some big Fortune 500 company and be slotted into some generic position, but I won't. I'm staying true to myself and going after places that I want to be at. I may be shooting for the stars and it may prolong my search, but to me, the stars have never seemed that far away, anyway. Just a hop, skip and a leap of faith.

3-Minute Shower Challenge: Day 14

     It's over. It's really over. But I'm left wondering: "What now?" Sometime before this journey began, it never occurred to me that this would be a lifestyle change. I never thought about what it would be like afterward.  But somewhere along the way, as I miserably counted down the days until the torture was over, a thought crept in my mind that I couldn't be doing this for nothing. I couldn't spend two of the most crucial weeks of my college career cutting out something that abnormally meant so much to me. Otherwise, I would have wasted my time and yours.

     So maybe what's next is finding a happy medium. Looking back, I'm appalled by how much water I've wasted over the years. But believe me when I say: it is physically and scientifically  impossible to take 3-minute showers for the rest of your life. Admirable, yes, but there's something morally corrupt about it in the end. So what I really want to do next is find a reasonable shower time. I'll have to do some digging to find a satisfactory answer, but I'm sure I can find someway to keep me happy and still be respectful to the environment. I'll keep you guys posted.

     So I ended this thing off with a bang. One of my favorite Disney movies growing up was Mulan. This movie meant a lot to me for several reasons. It was awesome to see a Disney movie moving beyond the norm and speaking to topics such as Asian culture and male impersonation. Also, it was the first time I realized my love for Asian men. Shang was a cartoon, yes, but that doesn't make him any less of a man. I was putty in his hands when he vowed to make men out of the gentlemen at the camp in the song "I'll Make a Man Out of You." Oh, you know you love it, too.

3-Minute Shower Challenge: Days 6-13

     Well, this is embarrassing. It's been quite some time since I have updated this, but to tell you the truth, I was exhausted and it seemed a bit redundant. So I go about my busy life and then take 3-minute showers at the end of the days. So what? I apologize for that. I guess I'll fill you in now.

     I'm in the middle of finals and so the past week has just been study, study, study. This 3-minute challenge has worked both for and against me. When you study up until 4 in the morning for an 8am final and you're a person who can't help but take long showers, you waste minutes of precious sleep time. In this case, I was in and out. It was almost miraculous to me that I was out of the shower by 4:08.

     The downside to this is that my shower used to be my sanctuary, like a pampering car wash. I'd run there at the most stressful of times and just unwind without a second thought. Now it's more like a quick trip to the gas station when you're in a rush. It's just hit me, though, that I only have to do this for one more day.

     This means that Monday will be a great day for me: I'll take my last final, turn in my last paper, and take a real shower. Sweet victory.

     Meanwhile, one of my songs over this week was Rock Mafia's "The Big Bang" aka the theme song for that "Mob Wives" show. It's actually been out a lot longer, but I just discovered it. Don't judge me, I had no intention of watching this show. But it's actually pretty entertaining. And, save the ties to Disney channel stars like Miley Cyrus, this song is actually pretty damn good.

3-Minute Shower Challenge Day 5: I Tweet Now

     I tweet now. Yes, that's right. I am officially on Twitter and it all started with a dirty word. My best friend, Kenny, tweets everything I say. So today, she said something gross about fellatio and I sought vengeance. The only problem was that I didn't have a Twitter. I threatened to start one but I've been saying that for months and had yet to do it. And I was bluffing again, of course. So she pretty much started it for me.

     I never cared to tweet before, but my Advanced Magazine Writing prof, Erica, suggested it was a great way to generate story ideas and create a network of people and ideas. The more I heard that, the more I was convinced that Twitter was not just a tool for young narcissists to brag about all the "cool" things they do and feel like people give a shit.

     So my song choice for this shower was Rihanna's "California King Bed." I'm not a huge fan, but I enjoy this song and the fact that her vocals have shown tremendous growth. I used to hear Kenny play this when Ri-Ri's album first came out and I kind of liked its swagger. It's 4:12 but I was washing my face for the first minute or so before I hopped in the shower. Also, I was talking to my fellow e-board members today and realized that my showers are obnoxiously long. I may be in a state of mental anguish but I'm kind of glad I'm doing this thing.

     Oh, one last thing: Larry Stains came to my class this morning, gave us copies of his taxes, shouted out my 3-minute shower challenge and newfound popularity (not really), and then shook my hand quite fervently. Oh, Larry.

10 Beauty Things That Guys Find Sexy

     As a woman, I know how it is to obsess over every damn detail of your body. From your hair down to your toes and every curve and jiggle in between. We're all on a constant mission to achieve the perfect body. The bad news: guys really don't care. They love the jiggle, the un-flattened hair, the chemical-free face, and even our embarrassing, oddball habits. If you don't believe it, the proof is in this list from MSN Lifestyle:

1. When you bare it all. Apparently, the average woman (certainly not I) spends about $200 a year on makeup. That's gross. But most men would rather see us bare and natural. Two guys are quoted verbalizing their disdain for lip gloss and all its sticky wonder. Other guys gush over how beautiful their girlfriends look first thing in the morning and when they've just gotten out of the shower. One guy even claims he was attracted to his girlfriend because she didn't wear makeup and therefore appeared as if she didn't care to be noticed. Think about that the next time you decide to torture yourself with that awful mess put on makeup.

2. Your belly. All those hours spent doing doing countless ab exercises in an attempt to flatten your belly, or "fit into your jeans by Friday" (as if) are wasted if you're doing them to impress your guy. Chances are, he loves your curves, the rotundness of your belly, and, yes....your love handles.

3. When you do that thing you do. Your funky little habits that others find unbearable, he may actually find adorable. Whether it's your terrible shower tunes, your love of celebrity culture (ahem), or your messiness. He may actually grow to love the quirky thing that makes you...well, you.

4. When you toss the hair dryer. And by hair dryer, that means flatiron, curling iron, and all other fancy hair products that take up too much of your time. He actually likes your hair curly the way it is. Now, I'm adding my own disclaimer for black girls: I give you....a free pass. Because the world will never understand what we go through and what our hair looks like sans treatment (and we don't intend for them to find out).

5. Your eyelashes. Strange, but it seems that the eyelashes may be the hallway that leads to the window to your soul. Men say they love women's eyelashes because it draws them into their eyes. Oh la la.

6. Your legs. Must I go on? Side note: I've been seeing too many women who bare their legs but neglect to shave. Please stop.

7. Your style! This one makes me particularly happy because I've always been ragged on about my style. You either love my wackiness and boldness or it makes you wanna vomit. But it's good to know that a guy will appreciate my desire to express myself through clothing, no matter how flamboyant. And your guy likes it, too. So you don't have to wear painful heels all the time or compete with Hollywood's leading "fashionistas". Just be yourself.

8. Your scent. Rawr. Men love it even more than we do! So next time while choosing a perfume or spray, pick a really nice scent that could possibly be your signature. He loves it when he can smell it on his sheets when you leave and how everytime he gets a whiff of it, he thinks of you.

9. When you ask for what you want. Men are not mind readers and they don't like to be treated as if they are. What is more frustrating than trying to figure out what someone wants when they refuse to tell you...and then they complain that they're not getting what they want! The best way to avoid this: be upfront and a little aggressive. If he's not doing the right things in bed, tell him what to do. He'll love it...and you will, too.

10. Your job. Not any job in particular, but yours. It may be that you work around kids, and he loves to see you around them because you're great with them. Or, that he loves to see you in your three-piece suit looking powerful and smart. Whatever it is, he loves to see you doing something you're passionate about and good at. It shows him you're intelligent, capable, and independent.

(Photo courtesy of Sue.)