Issue No. 594
Living
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11 - 17 July 2002 Issue No. 594 Living |
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| Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 | Recommend this page | ||
The sleek and the curly
"The woman's crown is her hair" says the popular Arabic saying. They should have added (preferably) long, and (most definitely) straight. And yet, most of the women I know have what in the West -- land of the straight-haired -- would exotically be defined as "Caribbean" or "African" hair -- namely, plain curly verging on frizz.
And so we spend long hours and exorbitant sums trying to hide the truth of our wiry locks. An average of two hours is spent at the hairdressers' once every four or five days while hair is fastened into heavy rollers -- made with metal coil so that sitting under the hair dryer becomes a head-blastingly hot experience where your scalp invariably gets singed. Then you move on to either the blow-dryer where your scalp is treated to a session of tug and pull, again employing hot air, or perhaps the curling (sorry, straightening) iron. And sometimes even both. You walk out emptying your purse at both the cash register and the pockets of everyone who has so much as looked at your hair in the past couple of hours. And although this is not the point, I must confess I can never get the knack of the money-in-the-pocket bit. The women invariably have their pocket situated over their breasts which makes stuffing bills in them rather awkward and the men expect you to stick the money down their pants! Whatever.
The point is, once it is all over, you have gorgeous -- straight -- hair. For a few days. The problem is you cannot sweat -- which rules out exercise or long walks with the dog among other pleasurable pursuits. You cannot swim -- unless you make sure to tie your hair up high and sprain you neck keeping your head above water. You cannot stick your head under the shower on a particularly hot day. And you cannot sleep without fretting that you are going to squash your hair the wrong way and suffer the consequences in the morning.
Then there are the horrors of the beach. How the humidity will devastate any effort put into the unruly strands. Can you stay away from the water, seriously? Is your hair long enough to keep it ensnared within the latest fashion accessory? Is there enough gel at your local pharmacy to tide you over the weekend? Those older and wiser will tell you: never cut your hair before summer because all the elements are against you and at some point you may have to tie the whole mess up.
You think we are foolish, perhaps superficial? Women who have nothing better to do with their time? You should check out the reception our curls inspire. The first time a man I had been dating for close to a year saw the truth bouncing about my head he exclaimed in a shocked, yet desperate "But... But you have curly hair! I mean it is not straight!"
At the time I was young and soft and reconciled to the hairdresser. But recently I have decided to escape the closet and walk into society holding a full head of (very) curly hair up high. Day after day I get the same reaction on the streets: "Oh, who put their finger in the electric socket this morning!" Very funny. And my other all-time favourite: "What did you do? Put your head in the blender?" At the office, the guys reflect the same humour as in the streets and veiled colleagues come up to me and quietly, fervently, ask me -- not to veil -- but go do my hair. Many of my sources do not know what to make of me and only a few weeks ago a cab driver asked me indignantly why I was walking around looking like an Israeli!
I look to my curly-headed friends and colleagues and I see modern, accomplished women. We have broken with tradition on so many counts -- we live independent, free lives within the limits that we have set for ourselves. And then our hair gives us away. We uphold our professions, our education, our lifestyle choices but cannot defend our curly locks. In the end, society binds us within its conventions, within its petty inhibitions and the false vanity it has ingrained in us. And at the end of the day we are invariably pushed in the direction of the hot iron.
Recently Bahgory -- Al-Ahram Weekly's renowned artist and caricaturist -- sketched two portraits of me unbeknownst to myself. One was of the sleek, straightened-out me; the other was the curly, unruly self. I looked at the first and saw myself posing. I looked at the second and saw me. In my curls I am not as glamorous -- but hell, I look pretty gorgeous anyway!
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