Hair, Fashionable, And A Fireball Of Energy Essay

On January 3, 2009 around 11:00 PM the phone rang with what I thought was exciting news about my newly born sister, Tristyn ,but quickly turned to horror. I could heard the fright in my dad's shaken voice as he told me Tristyn had to go into immediate heart surgery because she needed a stent to open up the blood flow to her heart. Being eight at the time the only thing I could think about was how she might not make it. My dad said to me “look after your sisters, and tell them nothing about the surgery”, which terrified me more than before. I knew I needed to be brave and take charge of the situations for my sisters. Bravery is something I learned for a situation I never knew would happen.

There has been a notable amount of conversation on the internet on the rebirth of the natural hair movement. Cherise Luter (2014) states that despite afros and the natural hair movement not being a new concept (i.e. the Black Power Movement), it has gone under what she calls a “refreshing change”. Furthermore, what used to be “I’m black and I’m proud”, has been replaced with “I’m me and I’m proud” (Luter 2016). So, what is the natural hair movement? It is defined as a movement where black women decide to not conform to the social norms of chemically altering their hair and wearing it in its natural, kinky, or curled state (Joignot 2015). The movement could also be considered as an outlet for black women to display their racial and cultural pride or to articulate their “political position (Brown 2014:297). However, simply the terminology “movement” is something that should be shocking to many. There is a great amount of historical context behind the continuous influence Eurocentric beauty ideals have had on black women for centuries. According to Nadia Brown (2014), Black natural hair throughout history has proven to be recognized as “either unintended or intended personal and political statements” (298). the beauty standard in Western society which praises European hair textures, has influenced many black women to be critical of other black women who choose to chemically straighten their hair, accusing them of being subservient to the dominant and pervasive racist

From working several jobs at a time to make sure I had everything I needed, she became the reason why I was raised the way I raised. The lesson that “ I should treat everyone like the most important person in the world because I will never know when I might need them” was engraved in my head was owned by my mother. Sometimes she would tell me that she had holes in her socks and I knew it was due to most of her money going towards my private school tuition in order for me to be able to have the best education I could get. My mother is my background, my identity, interest, and talent. She is truly the one that has set me up for success, regardless of how fatigued or overworked she is. She is the person who truly defines who I am and who I have become to this

Chris Rock’s documentary, Good Hair, investigates the notion of what good hair is. Dominant society views good hair as straight or essentially caucasian hair. This is not only problematic to the self-esteem and confidence of black women, but it can also cause black women to appropriate Asian culture. Black women unfortunately take advantage of Asian culture in search of what society believes is good hair. Many black women wear weaves in order to align to what society believes is good hair. However, when they buy this hair, they do not realize what Asians go through. Likewise, Asians who give up their hair do not know where or who this hair will be going to. Thus, this desire for good hair further perpetuates the lack of understanding that black

She lost her parents at a young age, so her grandparents struggled to take care of her and her brothers. Soon after her sixtieth birthday, my mom married my father, and they both welcomed me two years later. I was born in September 1999; unfortunately, five months after my birth, my father died in the hands of a stranger from a gunshot to the head. Although both my grandmother and mother were devastated by his passing, they both decided to once again fight for our future and raise me.

I am Aliyah Shaleese Crawley. I’m just a small town girl. I was born in Fayetteville on September 18, 2001 and was raised in Lake Waccamaw with my mom, dad, and older sister, Amanda. As a baby, I was always bouncing on my bed, looking over the rail. I was constantly smiling with a red rash under my nose from allergies.When I upgraded out of my pen, I was happy playing with my blocks on the regular making houses with them for my dolls play with and sometimes, I'd go organize the tupperware cabinet. I'd sit in front of it, to surprise my mom, even putting a child lock on it so she couldn't get in it.

Hair in the 1910s became more fitted to the head and it started to be cut shorter. The hair was also seen in a bun. Pin seen were long and held the larger hats in place. The pins would have flowers made from ivory, enamel, leather and jet on them and other gems were also seen. Pins were made from metals such as steal and gold. Over the sharp end of the pin, a cap would be put on to provide protection when they were in the hair. World War 1 led to women being viewed differently and in 1918 women were able to vote.

On January 29, 2001 at around four o’clock in the afternoon, a beautiful little girl named Leslie Arreaga was born. It was the first time I was able to hold and see a baby so up close. When I saw her for the first time I didn’t know what to say. All I told my parents was “ I love her and she is perfect.” My parents laugh at me because I was only four years old when she was born. I just couldn’t believe that I was finally an older sister. I remember that every time a person would come in and try to hold her I would give them a look saying “ If you hurt her, I will hurt you.” Leslie was the most precious little baby I had ever seen in my little four year life. She was so chubby, with big brown eyes and a little heart shaped mouth. The day my

The essay Hair written by Maria Alderich, is an analysis of women during the 1950’s need to conform, rebel, or fit in to societies social standards and the inner conflict it caused in women’s identity. The essay is Alderich’s firsthand account of the females in her immediate family and how they use their hair styles to define themselves and represent their self-identity.

Although Renaissance pictures show people naked they did wear clothes. First, men clothing was very different. Unlike men’s usual attire now men had very interesting taste. Men wore tights and socks that were typically described a s colorful because they were striped and colored most of the time. The men also wore shirts that were simple and typically one color. There coats on the other hand were something else. The coats were tight fitted and colorful. The coats were called Doublet. Depending on the time of decade they wore hats, because hats were in fashion and then were out. Hairstyles were very important in the Renaissance. The style of hair often changed. Sometimes it was short hair with a beard that could go in a ponytail. It could also

Hair is an interesting word because we often (in modern times) compliment each other’s hairstyle; we cut, color, and style our hair to our liking to demonstrate the type of person we are. The word “hair” is what caught my attention in the short story by Zitkala-Sa. Zitkala-Sa states, “And now my long hair was shingled like a coward’s!” (45). The reason I chose to close read the word hair is because we often take hair for granted, and in this case, hair is an identity.

When I look at her eyebrows, I see how similar we are. The way her eyes looks reminds me of the sweet coffee she always for me. Many people say my mom is young for her age. At one point, they thought her and I were siblings. There are many things that makes her significant to me. Immigrating to the U.S. from Ecuador was a sacrifice she took to raise us. I see how hard working and strong my mom is. After a long hard day at cleaning peoples house, I see how tired she is. The bags in her eyes can carry many pounds. Although she is stressed out and tired, she is always there for me. When I need help on a homework assignment, she comes and helps me even after a long day. When I was little and needed help on a project, she would study my textbook

There are many interesting things about my mom. She told me that she’s happy that people can be themselves. She told me that the person who has had the most influence on her in her life was her mom (my mimi) because she wasn’t bias. My mom

To this day, I can still remember standing at the end of my driveway watching my mother arrive home from the bus stop. This day was different; she was not coming home empty handed. In fact, she had stopped at a yard sale on the way home and bought a prize for me, a doll named Suzy. This memory, from the age of two, embraces the story of my mother and my entire childhood. In Indianapolis, Indiana in September 1980, I was born to a single mother. Throughout her life, she worked for the phone company in downtown Indianapolis. Even though she raised us through hardships and despair, she always took the time to love my brother and me outwardly. Until second grade, I have no recollection of my father visiting more than three occasions. At last, in fourth grade we began to spend weekends at his house and with his family. Sadly, when I was eleven we learned that my father had cancer. One week before Christmas, after a school music program, I read his obituary in the paper and told my mother he had passed away. From that moment, our family forever changed, specifically my relationship with my mother.

After flipping off the switch to my cheap, red Revlon hair dryer, I took one glance in the mirror and noticed my hair looked exactly as expected: terrible. My dark brown curls were separated, flattened, and all the volume had been suctioned out. My once-voluptuous locks were now dry and brittle noodles. I have never had great experiences with hair dryers. Honestly, how could I? I have fine, curly hair that frizzes at the very touch of my fingers. Some days it looks like a rat’s nest, other days it looks like five rat’s nests all got into a fight over whose nest could look the dirtiest. So let me explain to you the extent of a mess in which I deal with on the daily.