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Personal Narrative: Accepting My Hair

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It was when my hair started smoking that I began rethinking my decisions. Freeing my hair from the straightener, I realized it wasn’t even straight. Just an ugly sort of half curl. I sighed, and turned up the heat. I was going to have to deal with the smell of burning hair this morning. It was a frustrating ritual, waking up two hours early each morning to “fix” my hair, knowing by lunch, all my work would be ruined. But it had to be done; in order to be pretty, and liked, and feel worth something, I needed to be like other girls. Accepting my hair has been difficult for me. It’s always the first thing people notice; they look at me, and all they see is hair. Big, blonde, curly, and a bit of a mess, hair is my identifier. Standing out was…show more content…
My mom knew I would be an actress from all my talking and singing, a signature song being “I Love Trash” from Sesame Street. Nothing held my hair down those days, not even the hairbands my parents tried so hard with. Being a kid was the same way, I was confident in myself and happy just to be. I didn’t notice anything wrong or aberrant in myself, and assumed no one would. Elementary school was different. No one had curls like mine. I hated being different from the other girls, hated not having little styles like they did. This was the first time I noticed differences between me and other kids, and they kept increasing. Everyone else played soccer at recess, I read Harry Potter. Other girls had big, beautiful houses, I didn’t. My friends went on vacations, I went to theater camp. Although I liked other kids, feeling so different made friendships difficult. My hair was only the outward manifestation of what I knew: there was something wrong with me. In The Princess Diaries, the audience sees the "before" Mia, with curly hair and glasses. She was supposed to be ugly and unkempt. Someone who didn't know how to look right. She looked like me. It felt like the whole world told me to change. In middle school, I discovered straightening irons. For the first time since being a kid, I liked the girl in my mirror. Everyone loved the new hair, and changing myself seemed to make people like me
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