"My housemate has a special phrase for some of my old photos: Ima's whiteface era hair seared straight down the middle with brassy blond highlights. Where I grew up, in a regional coastal town, the gold standard was sandy blond beach babe. My fuzzy, dark Polynesian hair and mispronounced name Sereima didn't fit the brief. Aged four, I gave myself a curly micro fringe with kitchen scissors, hoping to emulate a preschool friend's pin-straight bob."
"I inherited my mane from matriarchs my mum and aunties whose curls weave through their hyena laughs whenever they get together. They always told me people paid to have hair like ours in the 80s. Why would I burn that away? I took their cue on the curly girl method a popular care routine designed to enhance natural curls and was gifted curly hair products for my birthday."
"I can still feel the humiliating sting of a blond year-eight girl loudly proclaiming my natural hair tied back looked like a dog shit. Conversely, squeals of Oh my gaaawd you look so pretty, you look so much better when I had flat-ironed locks. It wasn't until my early 20s, after moving to the city, that I began to reject that Porpoise Spit mentality. Ima Caldwell blow dries her hair I live for the nod I share with strangers who have the same spirally hair'"
She grew up in a regional coastal town where sandy-blond hair was the ideal. Her fuzzy, dark Polynesian hair and mispronounced name did not fit local standards. At age four she cut a curly micro fringe and at eleven she bought an Instyler amid family complaints and humiliating schoolroom remarks. Moving to the city in her early twenties prompted a rejection of those beauty norms. She drew strength from her mother and aunties, adopted the Curly Girl method, received products and brushes, and discovered dormant ringlets. She now wets and scrunches with mousse and gel, then air-dries or diffuses to define and preserve curls.
Read at www.theguardian.com
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