Why I Quit Caring About My Look on First Dates

When I did the big chop in 2011, I immediately lost all confidence in my looks. Excessive use of relaxers caused irreversible damage to my hair. My stylist told me, “Girl you might as well start over.” Simply put—cut it off. It took me months to warm up to the idea. Then I finally did it. I became a member of T.W.A. (tweenie weenie afro).

It’s slowly, but surely growing back to its original state.

Historically speaking, Black women have complexities with their hair. Let me rephrase that, historically speaking, society has found a way to make our hair a complex topic. This in turn, makes many of us uneasy about our natural look. Why the world becomes tense at the idea of kinks, the answer is beyond me. But I won’t go there.

Because I hated the length and its ever changing texture, not to mention I looked like a boy, I wore weaves to enhance my look. Doing so was my way of concealing my insecurities and hoping to diminish the many inquiries from my then coworkers. A former colleague frequently kept a tally of how often I got my hair done and how much she figured it cost. A man I worked in close quarters with once felt comfortable enough to tell me I lost my strength as a Black woman because I wore extensions.

Exclusive footage of my face when people say dumb shit to me.

Everyone else was making me feel so uncomfortable about my looks, so I became increasingly anxious to changed it up on every occasion.

I bought wigs.

Tried braids.

Wore a sew-in.

Not sure what happened this day.

Those are just examples of my hair evolution. Being stressed out about my career, dating and navigating the mess that came with my early 20’s did a number on both my weight and acne. The hair was just a cover up for my insecurities, especially when it came to the opposite sex. Between spending hundreds of dollars on makeup and hair, I was tapped out.

[Tweet “Being natural wasn’t the problem, wanting everyone else to accept my looks was the underlying issue.”]

Then it happened. The moment that would forever change my self-esteem.

First, I must give you some background. One chilly fall night in Charlotte, North Carolina, my sorority sister and I hit the town for a night of debauchery.

We finagled our way into this club that was “list only”.

Enjoyed free drinks compliments of strangers! (God takes care of babies and fools)

The party was LIT!

Then a handsome fellow took me by the hand and we danced.

We danced, and danced some more, engaging in drunken conversation, promising our good time would extend beyond the dance floor. After exchanging contact info, we parted ways. As I exited the bar, I saw him later passed out in the parking lot. I got in my car, thinking he would never remember me, so the moment was just that. A moment. Beyond his inability to hold his liquor, this guy really intrigued me. The following afternoon he sent me a text message apologizing for “getting so wasted”. I jokingly excused him, disregarding the fact that red flags were being thrown all over this play. (Ladies, never trust a 30-something who gets shit faced the first time you meet.) The text conversation eventually died, and I went on with my night. A good friend was celebrating her 25th birthday and here I was out on the town for night two. We had such an amazing time, and then he text again saying the magic words, “I want to see you.” Immediately, I stood up and told the girls how much I would have loved to continue the evening with them but testosterone was calling.

I walked to my car, hopped inside excited about my dinner date, then it hit me like a ton of bricks.

I did not have on my wig, the one from the night before when he and I had met.

Panic and despair ensued. Should I go home and put on the wig to recreate the look from just 24 hours before? Or would it be best to take a rain check? I didn’t want to appear flaky, cancelling 20 minutes after we made plans. If you ever get to a point where you feel as though you have to alter yourself physically and mentally in order to appease someone else, you have a major problem. Wigs were my crutch and I didn’t want him to see past my exterior. I was freaking out. In a strange plot twist, my makeup had dissolved because I had sweated so much from dancing. And much to my disdain, my make up bag was home on my sink sitting beside the wig. Damn. After wrestling with the idea of wearing my teeny afro out on a date in conjunction with a bare face, I mustered up the courage to say “screw it”.

[Tweet “I could no longer maintain the burden of trying to impress others with layers of lies. “]

 

Here is a photo from that night. I went on the date, accompanied by a 3rd wheel…my afro.

I sat in the car picking at my hair and trying to wipe away the mascara under my eyes. When I saw his car pull into the restaurant parking lot, my stomach began twisting into knots. I took a deep breath and stepped out of my car. The first thing he said was, “You look nice. I love your hair.”

Archive footage of my face when he said that.

We had dinner and I went home with a sense of self-value that it took me 25 years to attain. It didn’t come from his compliment, though. This rejuvenated outlook on life came from me recognizing my own courage to put an end to trying to follow foolish beauty standards. We continued to see each other. Some days I was barefaced with an afro, other days, I had flowing tresses. It didn’t matter how I looked when we were together, it was more about how I felt. I felt good about me. Plus, I had already paid for this hair and couldn’t let it go to waste. Four months later, he turned out to be a pure and utter jerk, but I am so thankful that he briefly passed through.

You know I’m not going to diss you on the Internet, ’cause my mama taught me better than that.

That brief courtship stretched from the end of 2013 to the beginning of 2014. I spent much of the new year on a hiatus from men, truly struggling to piece together what happened, but also assessing why I spent my life fighting for the wrong attention from the opposite sex.

[Tweet “If he can’t see beauty beyond what your face represents, he won’t appreciate your unaltered heart.”]

When trying to make a first impression, we put emphasis on our outward appearance, forgetting to groom the one quality that matters most…self-love. You must first be 1000% secure in your own features before you seek the acceptance of others.

After what seemed like a never ending hair crisis, disrespectful acne breakouts and weight issues, I began welcoming the love of self into the equation. How you feel about yourself trumps any other emotion. No more spending hours trying to find the perfect blend of eye shadow, watching tutorials on how to properly apply concealer, or wasting money on clothing to accentuates my curvy figure only to impress people who probably wouldn’t give me a second glance in the first place. When I step out for a first date, I go for presentable. I present the best representation of me as a person, not store bought items to override the true me. My heart and smile are the most beautiful things I can take on a date, and they didn’t cost me one cent. Dress up is fun, just for the right reasons. If a man wants to stay, he’ll stay and when he’s done, he’s done. Fleek eyebrows and plump lips won’t keep him.

[Tweet “You can catch a man with your looks, but a good one will stay for the beauty of your soul.”]

Nowadays, this is how I typically look when I step out.

But I do wear lipstick on first dates because my best friend says no one likes crusty lips.