Hair Like a Prayer

by Grace Sofia

There is something religious about doing my hair. I was taught that my curls were something to be tamed, and for a very long time, that’s exactly what I did. I brushed and slicked back with gel, I blow-dried and flat-ironed it. There isn’t a YouTube video titled “How to Permanently Straighten Your Hair” that I haven’t seen. The hours I gave up figuring out how to get rid of my curls, how to thin my hair, how to be anything but the crazy curly head girl.

Yet, here I am today, with curls wild and big and defined. Now, I wash with a detox shampoo every other week and a curl moisture shampoo in between. I scrub away the generational trauma and racism I carried through the week, plus all my attempts to fight against it. I massage my head, getting rid of any and all stress of the week. Along with it goes the anxiety I carry from every conversation or confrontation. I detangle my hair with a brazilian curl leave in, letting the cold water run down my body and transform me from someone who burned off the pain to relieving the ache. I watch the ringlets form under the running water, rinsing half of the product out, and with it goes the last of my pain.

When I do get out of the shower, my hair is the first thing I take care of. I apply a mask and steam it with a handheld steamer. This is when hot water sprays onto my scalp and in between my curls, soaking them further. The mask deep conditions, while the steam seals the product in. I’m no longer the girl I was before, a woman reborn. I am now someone whose hair looks as loved as I am.

Once I’m dressed, only a few minutes after, I style my hair. Apply a primer/heat protectant, leave in, and section. The rest is a little tedious, applying water through a spray bottle and a curl cream, and a styling gel before passing a defining brush in through it a few times. Or at least until I am happy with the curl.

Setting it is the most important part. It gives it the hold for the next few days, and gives me the definition without sacrificing the volume. This is sacred, it’s essential to the routine, or I’ve basically just wasted my time. So, I take as much of it as I need to ensure the hold gel and hair spray are perfectly applied. The only way to survive a week is to have a curl routine I love.

Diffusing is the actual prayer aspect of it all. It’s repeated motions, poses, and movements with my hands. It’s important to hover over the roots, ensuring they dry first, and then go down to cup the ends. This also takes the longest, while washing and styling is about half the time, drying takes up the rest.

Standing in the mirror, my curls look almost too perfect. So, I break the gel cast with a fruity-smelling oil. I shake out my hair at the root, clap at my ends. There, just like that, I look as free as I hope to be.

The whole thing is a ritual. The effort it takes to do it all, the time I put into the routine, it’s my devotion to myself. Hair used to mean hours at the salon, between my Tía and my Mom, getting my hair pulled and my scalp roughly scratched. It used to mean hours under a burning hot blow dryer until my curls were fried straight.