Curly Cues: 18 Months into the Transition to Natural Hair
After a frustrating year and a half, Jihan Thompson is finally rocking a fully natural look.
Photo: Allie Holloway
Read parts one, two, three and four of Jihan's hair adventure.
Since I ditched my chemical straightener and started growing out my natural hair almost 18 months ago, I've had a love-hate relationship with the process—minus the love. There were so many days when I questioned why I ever started this journey, days when I cringed at the way my hair looked, days when I was close to saying to hell with it all.
Thank God I didn't. Because now, finally, I feel mostly wonder and appreciation. With the last of my relaxed hair snipped off, I'm no longer dealing with two textures. When I emerge from the shampoo station at the salon, I'm stunned by the ringlets that spring up. My stylist holds up a mirror so I can get a glimpse of the bounty in back. Look at these curls! We're both shocked. I'm 100 percent natural, and I love it. I feel a twinge of sadness that I've been hiding this hair—my real hair—for nearly two decades. After a recent blow-out, I noticed that it's thicker and bouncier than I've ever seen it—and just as straight as if it were chemically processed. It's healthier and stronger, too.
To be fair, when I got my first relaxer, as a tween, it was the look of the moment. At the time, natural styles weren't popular or celebrated, and I wanted silky, straight hair like all my friends. I took my style cues from the world around me, and that world was, sadly, sending a clear message: the straighter, the better. My mother, who had sported an Afro throughout her 20s, didn't push me toward relaxers, but I'm sure she was relieved to relinquish the daily battle with my thick, coarse strands, which almost always ended with me in tears.
Relaxers were the gateway to more versatile, simple styling; little did I know that I could have gotten the same looks without all the chemicals. That's not to say there weren't other upsides to the relaxer. When my hair was chemically straightened, it stayed straighter longer—meaning less upkeep. These days, a single unfortunate run-in with humidity will cause my hair to turn into a pouf ball. But while that can be maddening, I'm still in awe of the tiny curls that emerge as a result of the moisture.
As I've grown used to all this new hair, I've toggled between blow-outs and twist-outs (a style that requires putting my hair into tiny twists while wet, then, once dry, untwisting to reveal a curlier look). When my stylist does a twist-out, I take note of every step, every product, in the hope of being able to re-create it on my own. My first attempt was a disaster. The curls weren't defined (apparently, my twists weren't tight enough), so the final look was more Afro-y than curly. But I wasn't discouraged. At least I'd tried, which is a victory in its own right.
The thing that's intimidated me the most throughout this process is the realization that I simply must learn how to do my own hair. I'd sooner book an appointment with a stylist than try (and fail) to do it myself. But that's no longer an option. My twist-outs last only a few days now, which means I have to figure out my own in-between looks—which products work, which styles I like. While I've finally reached the end of the chemical-relaxer road, a new journey is only just beginning. No more quick fixes, no more escaping my natural texture.
My kinks and curls feel foreign as my hands work through them, but this is what I signed up for: embracing the hair on my head just as it is. It's going to take a lot of practice, and even more patience, but I'm finally on my way.
Spring Awakening
After relying on her stylist to manage her now fully natural hair, Jihan gives the twist-out a try in her own bathroom (above). She begins by twirling her wet hair into tight curlicues. Once dry, she untwists them to reveal a crop of beautiful curls.
Jihan Thompson is a writer, editor and cofounder of Swivel Beauty, an app that helps women of color find stylists and salons.
Since I ditched my chemical straightener and started growing out my natural hair almost 18 months ago, I've had a love-hate relationship with the process—minus the love. There were so many days when I questioned why I ever started this journey, days when I cringed at the way my hair looked, days when I was close to saying to hell with it all.
Thank God I didn't. Because now, finally, I feel mostly wonder and appreciation. With the last of my relaxed hair snipped off, I'm no longer dealing with two textures. When I emerge from the shampoo station at the salon, I'm stunned by the ringlets that spring up. My stylist holds up a mirror so I can get a glimpse of the bounty in back. Look at these curls! We're both shocked. I'm 100 percent natural, and I love it. I feel a twinge of sadness that I've been hiding this hair—my real hair—for nearly two decades. After a recent blow-out, I noticed that it's thicker and bouncier than I've ever seen it—and just as straight as if it were chemically processed. It's healthier and stronger, too.
To be fair, when I got my first relaxer, as a tween, it was the look of the moment. At the time, natural styles weren't popular or celebrated, and I wanted silky, straight hair like all my friends. I took my style cues from the world around me, and that world was, sadly, sending a clear message: the straighter, the better. My mother, who had sported an Afro throughout her 20s, didn't push me toward relaxers, but I'm sure she was relieved to relinquish the daily battle with my thick, coarse strands, which almost always ended with me in tears.
Relaxers were the gateway to more versatile, simple styling; little did I know that I could have gotten the same looks without all the chemicals. That's not to say there weren't other upsides to the relaxer. When my hair was chemically straightened, it stayed straighter longer—meaning less upkeep. These days, a single unfortunate run-in with humidity will cause my hair to turn into a pouf ball. But while that can be maddening, I'm still in awe of the tiny curls that emerge as a result of the moisture.
As I've grown used to all this new hair, I've toggled between blow-outs and twist-outs (a style that requires putting my hair into tiny twists while wet, then, once dry, untwisting to reveal a curlier look). When my stylist does a twist-out, I take note of every step, every product, in the hope of being able to re-create it on my own. My first attempt was a disaster. The curls weren't defined (apparently, my twists weren't tight enough), so the final look was more Afro-y than curly. But I wasn't discouraged. At least I'd tried, which is a victory in its own right.
The thing that's intimidated me the most throughout this process is the realization that I simply must learn how to do my own hair. I'd sooner book an appointment with a stylist than try (and fail) to do it myself. But that's no longer an option. My twist-outs last only a few days now, which means I have to figure out my own in-between looks—which products work, which styles I like. While I've finally reached the end of the chemical-relaxer road, a new journey is only just beginning. No more quick fixes, no more escaping my natural texture.
My kinks and curls feel foreign as my hands work through them, but this is what I signed up for: embracing the hair on my head just as it is. It's going to take a lot of practice, and even more patience, but I'm finally on my way.
Spring Awakening
After relying on her stylist to manage her now fully natural hair, Jihan gives the twist-out a try in her own bathroom (above). She begins by twirling her wet hair into tight curlicues. Once dry, she untwists them to reveal a crop of beautiful curls.
Jihan Thompson is a writer, editor and cofounder of Swivel Beauty, an app that helps women of color find stylists and salons.
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