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The Day I Decided to Get Dreadlocks.

My journey.

By Anik MarchandPublished 3 years ago 7 min read
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Me.

From the moment I could grab things, I would grab my moms nylons and throw them on my head and pretend I had long braids. I would twist them and make little nylon buns on top of my head and, the worst part of all of this (haha!), is that my mom would encourage me. She would help put the buns up and tie them and let me prance around our house. From there, I would beg my parents to let me have long hair and stop giving me bowl cuts and put weird 90s butterfly clips in my hair.

I remember once time when my mom and I had just moved to toronto and she took me to a First Choice Hair salon (never go there) and I walked out of there with wet hair which was pulled back behind my ears and it was already starting to flip up…I looked like I belonged in the damn 60s. It look horrendous.

Finally, one summer, my mom had sent me to my dads in New Brunswick for summer vacations and, at a family reunion, I had met my step-cousins wife who was from Africa (I apologize, I forget the exact country) and she had these amazing braids in her hair. They were long, shinny, brown and blonde and…and….DAD CAN I GET SOME PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!!!!

I begged, and by begging, I mean you have never seen a kid beg as much as I begged my dad to get these braids. I just wanted long hair and THIS was my way of getting it. I begged. I begged. I begged and finnnnaaaallllyyyyy, my dad said, okay. I was the happiest 12 year old on earth in that moment.

Finally the day came when my dad dropped me off and I could finally get these braids. I sat here for hours and hours and hours and finally, my braids were done and they were magnificent! I kept them for the whole summer. I didn’t know how to care for them very well so they started to look pretty bad, pretty quickly but, I didn’t care. I loved every single braid.

Once the summer was over and I was back in Toronto my mom made me take them out for school. I went to this ridiculous catholic school which would not allow me to wear such things. Nonetheless, the desire to have long hair stayed however, that desire began to shift from long hair to long braids. I would see these beautiful African American women with the most spectacular hair and I thought, if I saved enough money maybe I could get them again.

As the years went on, my mom let me grow out my hair and stopped giving me horrendous haircuts and began experimenting with French braids…etc but it wasn’t the same. I still had this dream of getting long braids.

Then, when I was in high school, my dream changed. I wanted tattoos, stretched ears and…dreadlocks! I started stretching my earlobes when I was roughly 13 ( young, I know I know…) and the tattoos came as soon as I turned 18 but, I was a bit too nervous to venture down the road of something as permanent as dreadlocks. So, I just died it funny colours and called it a day.

The thought of dreadlocks, however, had never left my mind. I really wanted them before I died, they wer the number one thing on my life’s bucket list. I wanted them because they looked cool and edgy and I wouldn’t have to spend so much time on making my hair straight and perfect. Clearly, my education on dreadlocks was next to nothing and I had no clue how important this hairstyle was to other cultures. In hindsight, I was foolish for not understanding the meaning of dreadlocks and just wanting them for their «look ».

Fast forward to a few years ago, my interest in dreads was at its peak. I wanted them. I REALLY wanted them. Perhaps when I was younger I wasn’t mentally ready for that huge of a change in style, but now, I was ready, bring on the long beautiful locs. I had now educated myself on their meaning, their many origines and their history and felt like it was okay for me to get them, so I did. They took 26 hours to make and my head ached for days. They weren’t the best looking but, I had finally gotten my dreadlocks. The person who helped me make them, bless his heart, made them a bit too thick and they made me uncomfortable. They were a bit too in-your-face and the stares of others really made me question my decision. This is where the downhill slope to self doubt began. As a white girl, I knew people would look at me funny, stare at me and I also knew I would face some backlash and I was ready for it…until I wasn’t. One reddit comment in particular broke me, and after 9 months of having my dreads, I brushed them out. I was devastated…I thought to myself, « no, you can’t have dreads, these aren’t part of your culture, you’re appropriating this hairstyle, you’re being disrespectful to generations of African Americans that get ostracized just because of their hair, take the damn things out». So I did.

As soon as the last one was brushed out, I cried. I locked myself in my bathroom and cried. I was so angry at myself for having brushed them out. Part of me knew I had made the right choice by taking them out, but…another part of me felt like it died. I truly felt heartbroken, crushed, devastated. I wanted these locs for ever, since I was child and I had them!! But I let the negative part of the world infiltrate my confidence and now, I had short hair again and no dreadlocks. It honestly felt like I had lost a huge part of myself. It’s hard to explain, It felt like I had lost myself.

I took a year to ponder on why I really took them out but most importantly, during the year after I took them out, I thought about why I really wanted them. Did I really just want to look cool? Was I even ready for them in the first place? Why did this hairstyle mean so much to me? Why was I so attached to getting my hair knotted up in ropes? Was I really ready for the criticism of others?

After some soul searching, I found my answer. Locs meant so much to me because it was a way for my energy and spirit to pour out of me and flow through my tangles. It was a way to capture my soul at every knot and keep it on my person, to allow myself freedom from what society thinks beauty should be, to care and cherish for my hair not in a vain way, but in a way that one should care for their soul. Have you ever really stopped and thought about caring for your soul?

Dreadlocks taught me how to enjoy the journey they carry you through. Through the mess, through the lumps and bumps, through the good days and bad days. My dreadlocks have made me love myself not for what I look like but for what I’m capable of enduring, for the patience I hold within me, for the love one has for themselves and most importantly for the respect one has for themselves. My dreadlocks might gross you out, might make you stare until you break your neck, might make you ask me dumb questions like « do you wash your hair? » They might even make you tell me that I’m appropriating a hairstyle, that I’m being disrespectful, that I’ll never get a job, that it looks messy, that they look bad, that they are too long….and sure, some people might even laugh in my face but, I wouldn’t change my hair for all the money in the world. I love my locs, I respect my locs and I respect their history, their meaning to different cultures and I hope that somehow, this can make you see locs in a different light. Locs mean something to those who have them, it’s not just a hairstyle. They’re something to be loved and cherished and cared for. They make you vulnerable, like an extension of yourself for the world to see and judge yet build character and strength within you.

This was my dreadlock story.

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About the Creator

Anik Marchand

Anik Marchand moved from New Brunswick to Southern Ontario at a young age, lived some crazy moments in Montréal, and is now based in Madrid, Spain.

E-mail: [email protected]

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