By: Mattie Holloway
On Learning to Love My Hair My mom sat me down in front of the TV every Sunday night with a towel draped around my neck — protecting my shoulders from my freshly washed curls. While we watched America’s Next Top Model for the next few hours, she would pick through my hair with a comb and a good amount of leave-in conditioner. I dreaded Sundays and the pain that came from detangling knots and sectioning; I even resented my mom a little bit for putting me through it. The weekly routine made me hate my hair. There was a disconnect between me and what sat on my head. It wasn’t until middle school that I was able to detangle my hair on my own. I picked out my own brush at the convenience store — it was dark green with Ariel from The Little Mermaid on the back. I spent an hour in the shower lathering my hair with conditioner and brushing through until my hair felt like my hair. It was one of the first times I ever felt independent. My hair, some-
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