A Taxonomy of Black Hairstyles
by Sarah L.
Between graduating from college and last year, I went through seven apartments and three jobs, and spent so much time failing to become a Real Adult that actual happiness started to feel quaint and retrograde, a concept best left to children and the upper middle class. This spring though, something finally shifted, and not just for me. One of my best friends wrote and produced a play in New York. Another landed the kind of job that will let her buy a house and furnishings not from IKEA. I moved into an apartment across the street from a restaurant devoted entirely to pie. More and more, the intense periods of self-loathing that come with attempting to be a creative anything have become shot through with moments of the kind of contentment I’d forgotten was real.
Because I believe that life going well is a sign that it’s time to destroy everything, in August I’ll be going back to school for a master’s degree that will make me more unemployable than I already am. More importantly, though, I’ve decided to cut my hair. I’ve had dreadlocks for the past eight years because black hair is a bitch to style and I’m lazy, but I’m now going to pay someone to dematt and straighten them, a process that’s going to take two days and cost more money than I have. I’m confident that the results will be worth it, because science has shown that decisions made mid-quarter-life crisis work out well one hundred percent of the time.
The problem is that the last time I had hair that required attention, I was in high school. Other than that Zooey Deschanel cut I keep seeing everywhere, I don’t know what the cool kids are doing these days, and the Zooey, while cute, doesn’t work for those of us whose hair won’t bang. Internet research didn’t lead to much, so I’ve come up with some alternatives.
The Vanessa
This is what my hair (and maybe yours, too) looks like without anything on it. While this is perfect for winning singing contests at the mall and talking to Rudy about what a fuck-up Denise is, sometimes a girl wants to dress it up a little. For example:
The Tyra
Also known as the Beyoncé. The problem with this one is it costs a million dollars and takes five hours and all sorts of medieval-style torturous instruments — hot combs, blow dryers, curling irons, etc. — to create, plus it only lasts until the second you encounter any form of humidity. Still, for a day or two, you get to feel like the sexiest thing on the planet, which is important to remember after your hair springs back to its natural state ( i.e., The Vanessa) and that one guy in your office is all “You looked so pretty the other day! What happened?” and you want to punch him in the face but can’t.
The Hillary
I still don’t know if this was a wig, a weave, or just a permanent that took itself too seriously, but I do know what it comes with: a glamorous career as a weather forecaster, a pool house residency, and the very latest in couture hats. The Hillary exudes poise and professional ambition. Side effects may include an addiction to day-glo quilted jackets and the compulsion to read Seventeen until you are twenty-four.
The Moesha
The only other black girl in my grade rocked this for a while in middle school while I was busy experimenting with the Tyra. She’s in medical school now, and she’s married. I write for some blogs.
The Whitley
Jasmine Guy had Dwayne Wayne wrapped around her little finger, thanks, I’m sure, to the wavelike coif that crested atop her enormous forehead. If The Rachel and The Whitley got in a fight, The Rachel would wind up tied up in an alley somewhere with its kidneys in a bathtub full of ice water.
The Laura Winslow
Her hairdo means business, just like this shiny red English military blazer and stripy mock turtleneck, which, now that I think about it, doesn’t she look like a young Condoleezza Rice? Perfect for those of you set on a career as a university provost and/or sidekick to a destroyer of nations.
If worse comes to worst you might take a cue from modern royalty:
The Prince
Goes perfectly with your own teensy moustache and fake mole. Good for those evenings when you just want to don your circus-themed pirate blouse and spend the night emitting pure sex via your cheekbones.
As for me, chances are this whole de-dreadlocking situation will be a disaster and I’ll wind up looking like a porcupine. In that case, I might go for cornrows with fake hair sewn in, e.g.:
The Dionne
Carefree, convenient, perfect for wearing headbands dyed to match your polo. It’s imperative that you pick your weave wisely, however. Those who choose to rock the Dionne do not wear polyester hair, OK? Unlike some people we know, like Shawana.
Sarah L. has written for This Recording and The Millions and has work forthcoming on the LA Weekly Style Council blog. She lives in Los Angeles. Every once in a while, she writes about that here.