Hair rules! : the Ultimate Hair-Care Guide for Women with Kinky, Curly, or Wavy Hair

106 Pages·2007·3.58 MB·English

by  Dickey

Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Foreword
Introduction
Chapter 1 - Hairitage
Your “Hairitage,” or a Little History of Nonstraight Hair
Your Texture, Your Type
Hair Myths
Choosing a Good Stylist
Reform and Rehabilitation (R&R)
Questions & Answers
Chapter 2 - Beauty Supply
So Many Products, So Little Time . . .
Are You a Product Junkie?
What’s in a Name?
Know Thyself
Shampoos
Conditioners
Essential Oils
The Finishing Touches
Questions & Answers
Chapter 3 - It’s Your Thing! Do What You Want to Do!
Your God-given Glory
Basic Training
Shampooing
Conditioning
Have It Your Curly, Kinky Way!
Knowledge Is Power
Questions & Answers
Chapter 4 - Some Like It Wet
Your Grandmother Knows Something You Don’t
Blow-Drying: Armed and Dangerous
Girls Under the Hood
Questions & Answers
Chapter 5 - Relax It!
Should I or Shouldn’t I?
C’mon, Ladies, Let’s Relax!
Thermal Reconditioning
Texturizing
Chemical Straightening
Handle with Loving Care
Questions & Answers
Chapter 6 - Color It!
What Did You Do to Look So New?
Highlighting
From Temporary to Permanent
Shampooing and Conditioning
Questions & Answers
Chapter 7 - “Unbeweavable”
To Weave or Not to Weave?
You’d Better Shop Around
Care and Maintenance
Bonding
Questions & Answers
Chapter 8 - The Doctor Can See You Now
Meet Dr. Jeanine Downie
Dermatology
Best Practices: What You as a Dermatologist Would Advise Any Woman
Diseases and Conditions of the Scalp and Hair
Acknowledgments
The Sweet “Hairafter”
The Hair Rules! Hair Care and Styling System
Copyright Page
This book is dedicated to my grandparents
Mac and Daisy Dickey
Foreword
Tomiko Fraser
My hair. My hair has been a topic of conversation for as long as I can remember.
It started with my entry into this world and the inevitable question on all black
folks’ minds when a black girl is born: “Does she have good hair?” Sitting in
front of my mother’s stove as a young girl while she straightened my hair (and
I’d better not move or else I’d get the burn of my life). Going on long bus trips
as a teenager to a faraway beauty salon—I still don’t know why we had to travel
so far—to have my hair relaxed. I would leave the salon smelling of hair
products and feeling the breeze finally reach my freshly relaxed scalp. (Don’t act
like you don’t know what I’m talking about.) My hair has always been, first and
foremost, an undertaking.
Fast-forward to my new career as a model. I had arrived! I just knew that I
would be in good hands because the people whom I worked with were
professionals. Right? I quickly learned that just because someone had a portfolio
full of famous women whose hair they’d got their hands on didn’t mean that all
was safe and sound. If I began to tell you all of the horror stories about how my
hair was fried, twisted, pulled, colored, weaved, wigged, and so on, your head
would spin. Needless to say, it wasn’t always cute. I longed for the day when I
could look in the mirror and be happy with what had been done to my poor little
head. I even got to the point where I would bring all my own tools to ensure a
satisfactory job. I carried wigs, hairpieces, products, combs, brushes, curling
irons, straightening combs . . . the list goes on. I have made many a hairstylist
green with envy because of my collection of materials. (They didn’t understand
that a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.)
So, it should come as no surprise to you that my hair was a constant source of
stress for me. I just didn’t believe that the so-called professionals or I would ever
get it right. That constant worrying finally led to what is affectionately called a
“stress spot” on the top of my head. (Basically, ladies, I had a bald spot.) I
attribute it to a combination of worry and plain old wear and tear. My poor little
head had had enough. It wasn’t playing by my rules anymore. It had developed a
mind of its own. There was nothing I could do. I tried letting my natural hair
grow in, only to have it break off again once I relaxed it. I wore a weave for a
few years, hoping that the hair would regrow, to no avail. I even sported an old
man’s comb-over for a short period of time. It was sad. Really sad. (It’s okay to
laugh because I sure do. Now.)
Enter Mr. Dickey. Dickey was, throughout all my hair drama, the sole voice
of reason. “Girl, you know you need to wear your hair natural” was his mantra.
He’d been a world-renowned hairstylist for many years, so I guess he felt like he
knew something. But he was dealing with my hair. I knew what worked for me.
Right? How was he going to tell someone in my position, with my level of
visibility, to wear a natural? Didn’t he know that I had worked long and hard to
establish my look? When clients asked for Tomiko, they knew they were getting
“the black girl next door.” I couldn’t jeopardize that with a big ole ’fro! What
was he thinking? The nerve!
So, he did as I asked and relaxed, straightened, or weaved my hair. Well,
wouldn’t you know it? My stress spot grew even larger. And this time with a
vengeance! I remember sitting on the bathroom floor of a bed-and-breakfast,
where I was spending the weekend a few years ago, with my hair coming out in
my hands!! That’s it! Time out! This had gotten ridiculous!
Guess where I was that Monday morning? In Dickey’s chair getting all of my
relaxed hair cut off. “Off,” I said. I cried like a baby. And he wasn’t all gentle
and sweet. He cut my hair off like it had just slapped him in the face. He was
finally getting his way. I couldn’t bear to look in the mirror. Who was this
person? And why was she bald-headed? I didn’t want to look at her anymore.
So, I quickly left the salon with my head hanging low.