Love hearing stories about the hot comb! I remember every time I would tell me my mom she burned me she would hit me with, “girl that’s just the steam from the comb.” 😒😒🙄 lol
This is written so thoughtfully; a beautiful representation of a Black girl’s experience, a universal token of becoming a black woman. Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Thank you.
Oh, gosh, I was thinking about this the other other day. Hot combs, Ultra Sheen, Red Door perfume, and pink foam rollers—the Saturday night, Sunday morning routine at my aunt's house every weekend of my childhood. It brings up mixed emotions.
Oh my, the memories this brings to consciousness. My sisters and I only got our hair straightened for Sunday church service and other special occasions until we learned to do it ourselves. I was probably 8 when I wore my hair straightened—but braided—everyday. My older sister had learned the skill and often did it or one of my grand aunts. I think I started straitening it myself around age 10. I got better at it as time passed. No burn marks, but lots of time “holding still and holding ear down.”
Oh, the hot comb. This brought back so many memories, and as I began to read, I laughed and cried tears of great memories from holding my ear to holding the pressing comb. What stuck with me was how some did not even have heat damage. 🥰
Love hearing stories about the hot comb! I remember every time I would tell me my mom she burned me she would hit me with, “girl that’s just the steam from the comb.” 😒😒🙄 lol
That steam causing scabs!
Real! The scalp was just all hurt!
😂😂
LMAO was this our first experiences with gaslighting? I'm convinced it wasn't the steam at all
Lmao HELLO?!
i hated the hot comb so much I’d be scared😅
Very understandable ! Lol
I could see, hear, smell, and feel every word of this essay. Thank you for such a beautiful piece. 🙏🏾✨️
Love this. Thank you. Such good writing.
Thank you!
Thank you!
This is written so thoughtfully; a beautiful representation of a Black girl’s experience, a universal token of becoming a black woman. Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Thank you.
Thank you so much.
During the first cold snap of the season, a Black male teacher turned on the classroom thermostat.
A girl, her cornrows gathered into a side ponytail, wrinkled her nose and said, “What’s that smell? It smells like burnt hair.”
I laughed out loud—familiar with that scent, and smiled
with her sensory precision.
The brotha smiled and said, “Yes, it do!”
And it did.
We each shared a collective moment, held and sparked by a sixth grader’s truth and memory.
My own twist-out danced its freedom song 🌻
Oh, gosh, I was thinking about this the other other day. Hot combs, Ultra Sheen, Red Door perfume, and pink foam rollers—the Saturday night, Sunday morning routine at my aunt's house every weekend of my childhood. It brings up mixed emotions.
Mannnnnn, the amount of times I times I smiled and nodded my head to this one
Beautiful work. The memories rose from the screen like the same smoke curling off those marcels you mentioned.
Oh my, the memories this brings to consciousness. My sisters and I only got our hair straightened for Sunday church service and other special occasions until we learned to do it ourselves. I was probably 8 when I wore my hair straightened—but braided—everyday. My older sister had learned the skill and often did it or one of my grand aunts. I think I started straitening it myself around age 10. I got better at it as time passed. No burn marks, but lots of time “holding still and holding ear down.”
I remember seeing the Vaseline smeared around the forehead and neck to stop the burn and The smell of burnt hair was all thru the house🙌❤️🔥
The smells and visuals never leave you!
Memories of my granny telling me my hair “held heat” I love being black
You just described my childhood. My mother handled my hair with that same loving care. 🤎🤎🤎🤎
This felt so good to read like I was remembering days with my grandma!
just got my yearly silk press today, thank you for this!
Oh, the hot comb. This brought back so many memories, and as I began to read, I laughed and cried tears of great memories from holding my ear to holding the pressing comb. What stuck with me was how some did not even have heat damage. 🥰
What a reminder of the hair experience. I remember those hotcomb sessions with my Mom and the sizzle/smoke that filled the kitchen.