hair & biracial/multicultural identity

I get a TON of questions about my hair. People want to touch it, play with it, comb it, attempt to fix it up, and smell it (yes, I can't believe it either). In elementary school I was teased for having "good" hair by my black/African-American/African "friends". It hadn't occurred to me yet, but--I didn't quite pass as a black girl back then anyhow. My classmates and teachers simply thought I was Filipino by my "mannerisms", "speech, and "appearance". 

ang buhok ko. my hair. (naturally curly)
Photo by: Gerson Abesamis

In middle and high school, my hair troubles worsened. I didn't know how to fix my own hair, and neither did my mom. In middle school and half of high school, I wore my hair in a very messy, high bun every single day. In middle school and high school, psychologically it FEELS like EVERYONE is watching you and cares about your hairstyles, and what brand of clothing you wear. So you can imagine how devastated I was when THE middle school bullies and the "popular" girls pointed out my bland unchanging hair. Plain and simple, I just didn't know how to style my hair--it was a monster to comb, and a hair-tie containing the frizzy monster at all times from the light of day seemed quite appropriate.

 THEN my mom and I heard of relaxing. (And this was before I saw Chris Rock's "Good Hair".) When I had my hair relaxed, my hair was long, super straight, silky and even shinier than my mom's hair. But alas, the active ingredients of alkali and ammonium thioglycolate KILLED my hair. It was 3 weeks of beautiful Princess Jasmine hair and 3 years of damage to grow out. 

Recently I went VIP to Rihanna's Diamonds World Tour, and I looked absolutely fabulous (of course!) with my hair looking extra beautiful from the extra attention I gave it for this special occasion. As I was belting "Where have you been" with Riri, I felt my hair being tugged and pulled on from behind me. I turned around real quick to find two middle-aged white women pulling at my hair. PAUSE. Now, before you judge me, this is while I'm learning about things like "cultural capital", "white privilege" and increasing my cultural competence in grad school--and I present this story for the purpose of rewinding, pausing, reflecting and understanding. Maybe this has happened to you, or a friend or you've done this too. (I've wanted to touch a ton of people's hair--sometimes I did with or without permission--but never to a complete stranger.) They were clearly high, and as they are touching my hair, they say to me, "OMG! Your hair is so cool! We had to touch it! Is it real? Can we touch it?" 

Is it real? This question still offends me even though I've been asked this question a thousand times and then some. 

Because I was having the time of my life, I wasn't offended... until the next day as I took my morning shower where I tend to do a lot of my more in-depth mundane contemplation. 

Why didn't I say to them in anger "Is your hair real? And...No, you may not touch my hair. I am not a pet!" 

ang buhok ko. my hair. (straightened via flat iron)
Photo by: Gerson Abesamis

I LOVE my hair. I love it. And if you're black/African or mixed with black/African, here's an empowering song that my sorority sister once shared with me that is perfect for females (and all who identify as female) of all ages: 

As I was saying, I love being mixed and I love my hair. It is a mix of my mother's fine, silky and sometimes medium-coarse Filipino hair and my tight, rounded curls come from my African-American/Native-American paternal  family. 


So what do I use on my mixed hair? 

My hair style in the picture to the right is a little tiny excessive dose of Suave Keratin Infusion, (or Paul Mitchell's Smoothing Super Skinny Serum) a generous handful of Herbal Essences Totally Twisted Curl Boosting Mousse and a 10-min date with my hair dryer, using my fingers as a diffuser...