#thats all my fucking degree has taught me hello

[depresseddepot]

uh oh!!!! starting to feel unqualified for the opportunities I have been given!!!!

[notsoaveragjoe]

#2 Bad Hair and Purple Tie-Dye Sweaters

Hello, Cruel World. Welcome to another late night from the mind of Joe. I feel as though I should start with an apology for not making my second post more than a week after my first. Then again, I promised you nothing. (MUHAHAHA) 

But seriously, it is my goal to try to get into a regular schedule posting on here in order to experience the freedom to write just for the love of it. As a musicology student currently working on the beginnings of a large research project looking on toward a graduate degree, I have done and plan to do a heck ton more academic writing. Just looking at the last semester alone I wrote hundreds (with an s) of pages of lit reviews, document-based research projects, conference papers, and much more. For the last three months I have not written much more than “2 Chicken & waffles-1 no sugar, Hot brown, + kids omelet” on my server pad in scribbled and illegible shorthand. Actually, who am I kidding, I know the menu well enough at my serving job back home that I haven’t written an order down in years. (Go check them out here. Great food, wonderful staff).

I digress..

Setting the Stage: Currently sitting in a dimly lit corner of my apartment, sipping a cup of tea and whiskey-- a bold choice. In the process of trying to not hear the passionate clamor of my roommate and his main girl during “euphemisms”.

During my homeward commute this afternoon, I was in a mood and took a detour to the supermarket where I subsequently purchased the following items:

Hair Texturizer

Dental floss

Bananas (Thanks Gwen)

Purple Tie-Dye Sweater.

Who You Are, Mannequin Pussy

As a black person, my whole life has been plagued by a complex relationship with my hair. Though of a complicated racial background and identity, one definable feature and large conundrum in my personal identity has been figuring out the best way to ‘keep’ my hair, maintain it, and style it in a way that is authentically me. Whoever the hell that is. Regardless, my hair has been a struggle to understand for as long as I can remember understanding things. Over the last year, I have began the process of growing my hair out. Though I have never had long hair before (or big hair... I guess?) I figured that the best way for me to understand what I want is to go from a large chunk of something, and then wittle it away until I find the “sculpture within”, sort of like this. 

After about the first six months, I realized that I was constantly irritated the coarse texture of my hair as it became increasingly difficult to wash, comb out, and style on a day to day basis. I did know that I would not be happy with a fully relaxed hairstyle, but I hope that my hair would be more manageable with texturizer treatments to slightly loosen the curls. Applying the treatment every few months to the new growth, as recommended by numerous hairstylists, I had begin to develop a slightly softer, but still curly hair texture.  

Between moving twice and adjusting to a new city while doing lots of new and exciting things, I had not had the time nor the patience to do one of these treatments on my hair for quite some time. That was, until tonight. This evening, I began the process as I usually do: I apply the texturizer to the most course parts of my hear, near the roots, and begin to go on to less coarse points of new growth. Once I had finished applying the stuff, one corner of my head began to BURN like none other. Though I had experienced this pain before, it had never been to this extreme extent. As I quickly applied the neutralizer and rinsed my hair as thoroughly as humanely possible, moaning in discomfort to match my the euphemism going on across the hall. Though my skin is a little tender, I now realize that the air in this city had non only been drying out my face, but my scalp was also as dry as a chip and beginning to crack. Upon this realization, I began to long to speak to someone about my experience, but on a greater level, it reminded me about how difficult my struggle with my hair has been.

Growing up, the culture to which I was accustomed incorporated going to a barber shop across town from my home to get my hair cut by a man named Sid or his son-in-law Rodney. Though it was a cool place, the only thing I learned there was to always get my hair cut really short, oil it occasionally, and comb it every day. Nearly every black man in my community kept their hair like this, so I thought it was the norm. I had always been raised to believe that guys with afros were either novelties or punks, and any other hairstyle was either dirty or unnatural for a man to have. On the other hand, my mother and sister either had their hair relaxed, or it was in a complex braid style that took them entire weekends to get put in. In any case, it wasn’t something that I was taught. 

Now, this is not a knock on my parents, who did their best to raise me with many privileges that they did not have. With them both working full-time careers my whole life, I am not angry with them for not taking the time to teach me about hair when they spent so many countless hours teaching me to read, write, and appreciate music. Still, it is wild to me that in order for me to get questions answered about my hair, I have always turned toward online forums and hair magazines to educate myself. It is also more astounding to me the sheer volume of hair care products, advice, and advertisements that are marketed toward white people. Even though there are black people literally everywhere, it is sad to see the inaccurate representation of people of color in this medium, as well as insufficient selections of hair-care products in most beauty supply aisles. 

Vegabond, Beirut 

As I feel a chill from the ceiling fan, I draw my hands into my newest oversized sweater. Then I remember I need to type.

In addition to the scalp burning hair texturizer, I also purchased dental floss (for obvious reasons) and four bananas (for the potassium... of course). Practicality aside, I now believe that the real reason my wayfaring soul drew me into the store was this sweater in particular. 

You see, for years I have lived in a world of toxic masculinity where it had been frowned upon to like anything ‘girly’ or ‘feminine’. Much of the dark parts of my life had previously been blocked out of my memory. Since beginning therapy, I have slowly began to have repressed memories return to me at the strangest of times, like a certain group rudely interrupted my internet browsing the other day. Upon seeing this purple tie-dye sweater in the store, my initial thought was “Thats pretty, but not my style”. Though a ‘correct’ statement, I remember how a drag queen had read me a few weeks ago, calling me a ‘heteroconforming, midwestern, plain-jane’. I can’t lie, she got me there. The majority of my wardrobe consists of dark earth-tones, some varieties of the color blue, and the occasional floral shirt for when I want to be ‘extra’. Oh, and black. Lots.Of.Concert.Black.

This dominoed into a number of thoughts reminding me of a statement one of my friends made, “For someone who LOVES the color purple, you don’t seem to ever express that love very much”, in response to a discussion about a mutual friend who loves the color green and rarely has the color too far away. 

Hello, this is therapy talking. OTHER PEOPLE’S OPINIONS OF YOU SHOULD NOT VALIDATE/INVALIDATE YOUR SELF WORTH. We’ll work on that next week...

When wandering the store, all of these thoughts went swirling around my head, much like the storm brewing outside. Upon further internal inquiries, I circled back to the mens clothing aisle to surprisingly see it was on sale, since it is July after all. The only sizes available were larger than my petite Sm-M that I usually wear, but I managed to find a medium size that fits as comfortably as an oversized sweater. Im sitting in bed right now swimming, but not drowning in thousands of threads of purple and white cotton. As I have always thought of myself as best in earth tones, wearing the color makes me both feel bright an happier, but also makes me look more pleasant in the mirror than I have in the past. Instead of hiding from the stereotypes of gay men, I think this is a better gateway into a life of being content liking what I like without further reasoning past I Just Like It. This impulse buy was likely one of the best purchasing decisions Ive made in a long while.

Fuck Toxic Masculinity,

~Mojo