Flicking my ingrowing hair

The urge

My penchant for making small talk leading to interesting conversations and possible friendships is one I enjoy very much, but it does not always work out like that. There are times I have spoken out of turn creating avoidable embarrassment or out of certain curiosity or enthusiasm, put my foot right in it, I might well sink into the quagmire of mortification.

Nature itself can be cruel in the joke she plays on us. I saw a man the other day who seemed to have patterns of intriguing amusement shaped at the back of his head as if a barber had created designs that looked like two big eyes sitting on the edges of a maple leaf-looking representation.

The purge

In my amusement, I said to him, those look like eyes, to which he responded, alopecia. All I could say was, “Forgive me.”, even as I upbraided myself for being too forward and probably not observant enough. Then who would have thought the loss of hair would come in such uniformity as to look like it was designed rather than a natural thing?

Then hair has its many stories between those who want it to grow in some places they do not need it to appear and those who cannot grow it for the want of trying, out of loss or what nature intended.

The scourge

The many jokes made of how your hair is cut or shaped, the malevolence of the Pọmbé haircut that took an inch off all the sides, it seemed you have a rag placed on your head, or when it was all taken off and I was called Jagoo at school. Why my dad allowed that to happen still escapes me.

Now, that I have male pattern baldness, another side of ribbing comes into play. Yes, this time, I was supposedly flicking my ingrowing hair. Revenge is a dish best served cold; I am waiting the table of that cool customer.

The low cost of a locust fib

A new locust menu

The bizarre is something you cannot begin to understand, it is like a tale you heard on the grapevine. Peeping at me through a phone screen was a head ahead of its game in fantabulous stories that astound beyond the reach of sitting at the feet of a vizier raconteur regaling us with tales in the Arabian Nights.

The baldie suffering in the African sun, weeding and tending his plants was overwhelmed by a swarm of locusts that had no appetite and thankfully so for his crops, they had acquired a taste for hair and those with non-black highlights too.

They stripped his scalp of every strand that he looked like he had just left a side-street Thai massage parlour that offers Brazilian waxes of places nether and places obvious.

That is his story, and this is for the record.

The fellowship of eyebrows

Eyebrows in the spotlight

My beau is always ready to run a clipper through his hair long before it has grown, however, anytime his scalp is shorn something else comes to prominence, his eyebrows. Quite a few names come to mind when I think of eyebrows. Alistair Darling whose coiffed highlights are boldly contrasted to his darkened eyebrows.

Then we have the megalomaniac, Robert Maxwell whose storied life is one of notoriety and ignominy that appears to have congenitally afflicted his daughter Ghislaine who languishes under the US justice system for her association with Jeffrey Epstein, the alleged sex abuser and trafficker. He boasted a distinct set of brushers.

All the face lights up

However, it is Denis Healey that takes the prize with decorative relish that would put an owl to shame. They arc upwards like horns; they cannot be unseen.

Now, Brian would not appear to be in the league of the Fellows of the Exaggerated Eyebrow Confraternity, but in the videos we exchange in the mornings, his choreographic prowess is demonstrated in his dancing eyebrows, as his fully expressive face exudes a light of happiness and the joy of smiles from the jawline including the eyes. Always a beauty to watch and for which I might again be told off to await punishment just for writing about this.

Hair between us

Chins in array

In our morning chat, I said it was time for me to shave my facial hair as any growth beyond 5 days becomes an irritation, partly itchy and partly sore, it is quite uncomfortable for me as he thinks it looks distinguished on me.

Now, at last count he thought there were 7 whiskers billowing on his chin, his desire for a beard and sideburns sometimes does drive me to distraction but he does not need it at all. To dissuade him I have suggested hair grafts that would not survive offering the detail of outside of our conversation, yet he persists.

Scalps on display

Whether a blessing or some accident of nature, he grows a noticeable moustache and then nothing below the line of the two ends of his upper lip. On our heads, there is a different story, he has a full carpet of hair with distinctive highlights of artistic quality, I have male pattern baldness that behoves I shave it all off to keep my dignity.

Hair is probably a veritable test of contentment, if you can’t have the hair you want, love the hair you’ve got, the hair you don’t have, buy what you need or take it all off. I think the hair he has is beautiful, but that alone is an argument strumming the strands of frustration. He is going to scream when he reads this blog.

Hairy lends to hairless ends

Late growth spurt

My beau, just like the Jack Sprat of the nursery rhyme fame could not grow a beard, yet I like his wife just needed to leave it there, and so it grew wilder every day for 10 weeks. Grizzled and wizen, the highlights gained the kind of prominence of men of a certain age.

As I had written before, I dared to believe I would have no beard, I was in my late twenties when it began to show and having not shadowed my dad in grooming, I had no idea what to do with it apart from remembering he used Magic Fragrant Shaving Powder as a chemical depilatory and Old Spice as an aftershave.

The former didn’t work for me, I still came out in razor bumps and the latter was best left to that generation. After many experiments, I settled on the Gillette Fusion5 Razor that I have been using for over a decade. This became necessary when I began to show signs of male pattern baldness and decided it was best to shave both my head and face at the same time.

I can’t remember when 

Glee and plea

I rarely ever had more than a week’s growth before a shave because once that hair grew to a certain length, it became irritating. Now, my beau has this vision of a bearded and hirsute man, a younger Teddy Pendergrass figure, I could never imagine myself becoming, but I humoured him through the slight incapacity of illness to recovery, his excitement leaving quite bewildered.

Now, I had suggested ways in which he could acquire a beard, the stray threads under his chin never numbering more than 6 and that would have followed a hormonal surge of testosterone. Maybe he could graft it from elsewhere. Plastic surgeons can come up with interesting ideas if you want it bad enough.

Falling away to sticking there

When I underwent chemotherapy a decade ago, my consultant assured me that it was unlikely I would lose my hair, that was true, he, however, did not inform me that I would lose my fertility. Though in a life and death situation, you are probably thinking of surviving than procreating.

Then one morning, the moustache falling over my upper lip and stick up my nostrils was too much of a bother, the fine comb I used to groom the sideburns and beard seemed to up and leave for Bulawayo and I was left with no other option before my face became a Medusa of dreadlocks.

I produced a furball, not as a cat might, but good enough to roll up and put in the post with instructions to apply super glue and stick the ball as is directly on his chin. His wishes coming true out my selfless sacrifice of follicular hari-kari. Together, we would have switched faces.

Furball

For posterity sake, there is an evolution of hair, from when I can no more remember to what makes me feel a bit comfortable.

The Before

The Aftermath

Looking like I do, happily

[]

Of weight and form

For a man my age, I am pretty much comfortable in my own skin, in my identity and generally in the way I express myself. Yet, I do suffer from middle-aged angst about my body, I obsess about my weight even though my doctors would prefer I maintain the weight I have considering I lost 25% of my body weight when I had cancer 10 years ago.

I probably would be happier with myself if I lost a few kilograms. That, along with middle-aged spread that can plague you if you are not committed to an exercise and fitness regime. A gym membership languishes with monthly extractions from my account, the gym in my apartment block has not seen a visit in aeons and the swimming pool that gives my the yearning to learn to swim, leaves me with the best of intentions, good intentions, but intentions do not keep you fit.

FaceApp on WhatsApp

Then with the fantasy of desire and probably the means to acquire, I was visited with a remodelling of my face, a full beard that is attractive to someone but a complete irritation to me. Five days after shaving, every pore of the nascent beard growth is itching stimulus receptacle asking a tug, a pull or a scratch, it is only assuaged with a shave, a good clean close shave with 2 days for my skin to heal.

What I could be in the imagination of FaceApp and none look the least attractive to me.

It drives me to distraction; I would rather I had no beard as I did not even start growing one that responded to shaving until I was in my 30s.

There is much else I could change, male pattern baldness with a dusty brown Caucasian wig as bangs. I know of no other male in my immediate family that has this condition, but when I saw that I was losing the hair, I did not agonise about it, I took it all off especially after watching a film of people with a snake oil remedy for hair growth inject people with hair loss issues with a serum that grew their hair at unbelievable speeds, until it became clear that they were being used as hosts for aggressive follicular snakes. [Body Bags – Wikipedia]

All the makeup MAC can make

Maybe there are things I would have liked to change, my teeth, the front two which I lost in a childhood wheelbarrow game and the stories that follow. It is somewhat unsightly, but I am not that self-conscious about these things, I have faced more life-threatening situations than the absence of a complete set of fitted mandibles and maxilla. I could tamper with my nose and fiddle with my ears, but I would no more be who I am after all that.

Blog - Childhood: Defanged by Misadventure

Then I think of the girl with her boyfriend in the video of TLC’s Unpretty, he was not happy with her as a person, he wanted her to have bigger boobs and persuaded her enough to feel so inadequate that she contemplated cosmetic surgery until it dawned on her that she was just good as she was.

I don’t feel unpretty

The battles we fight in our heads where people who are naturally beautiful get to the point of thinking something is so wrong with their looks that after rounds of plastic surgery, they become grotesque caricatures of their former selves and bizarrely contented with the butchery of their bodies.

I pray I never have to suffer that level of psychological discontent leading to the physiological hacking away of my natural features. I have lost a few teeth, had a crown or two inserted, but for everything else, I am blessed with much more than I have ever been grateful for. No, I don’t feel unpretty, I love my body, I could do much more to be fitter.

Paris: Boulevard de l'Unpretty - Revisited.

[]

Talking hair is not cheap

Hair is politics, or should I say political. It is also commercial, it is big business. Yet, it is quite personal, the choice of expression with or without hair is interesting and sometimes just left to the observation.

Then, you come to the real issue, the one of hair for black women. I was walking down the road on Boulevard de Strasbourg, just after the Saint Laurent Catholic Church on the left, before the street changes to Boulevard de Sebastopol and I observed something I had not seen before.

There were men stood in front of shops accosting women and doing everything to persuade them to come into the shops, black women that is, and these shops had dangling from every window and hook as you peered in from the shop windows and the doors, hair of every dark shade, ready to be used as augmentation of natural hair.

How long has this been going on?

Now, I have seen architectural works of the hair that I cannot fathom how much skill and time it has taken to put those creations on the heads of the wearers and they do not come cheap by any stretch of the imagination.

I have written of this section of Paris before, both sides of the street teeming like an African ghetto that even I feel too much of an outsider to be able to relate. Literally, every shop sells hair and cosmetics, and as they are all selling the same things, you do wonder about what makes each shop unique as competition is brisk, if not cutthroat, you probably need men to literally muscle in the customer off the street.

Blog: Paris: Boulevard de l'Unpretty

Travelled the world and the seven hairs

The hair, however, is a different story, having travelled off the shorn heads of poor people from the hinterland of Brazil and India, the hair has become the travelled dream of people who probably would never see miles beyond their locality for a lifetime.

The profits from these lengths of follicular fancy would hardly get to them. That is absorbed somewhere in the value chain by people who have probably become billionaires in the purveyance of this fleeting enhancement to beauty.

I would not know if there is a fair-trade hair construct that ensures a bit more of the profits of this arbitrage goes back to the source communities of the hair. That is another element of the opacity of capitalism.

Where’s the shampoo?

I guess for me, the only hair product I use is a razor and shaving gel if that counts as hair products. I shave my head just while I shave my beard, or whatever those itchy bristles are. It was funny and cheeky when my friend as he was using the shower ventured then declined. He then said he could not ask me for something I basically could not have. Shampoo!

That is another story. The trade in hair is about to get nasty and it is in the pulling of customers rather than of their hair.

Like TLC does say, “You can buy your hair if it won’t grow.”

Paris: Boulevard de l'Unpretty

An observation

Walking up Boulevard de Strasbourg towards Gare de l’Est Station, I could not help but notice amongst the bijou restaurants and cafes along with the decrepit but expensive hotels that would hardly elicit a 2-star rating on any self-respecting booking site, the ethnic homogeneity of people and shops.

Whilst I would not venture the suggestion of African town as a corollary to Chinatown, most of the shops had something to do with hair, cosmetics and some fashion.

The barbers and there were a few, and much as I should resist the temptation to get into the Afro hair wars, an observation of this sort must not be left unattended to.

Changing the African

Now, the shops had all manner of paints and colours, makeup to make scary clowns of otherwise beautiful and comely people. The matter of hair extensions is another thing, not one lady of African ancestry appears to sport natural hair.

No braids, no plaits, rather, we all happen to have hair like Caucasians will have their hair, relaxed, long and falling over the shoulders, most black and at times melanin-deficient brown. It is not like I should have much to say about hair, from the moment I noticed male-pattern baldness, I have shaved my head rather than exercise myself over the loss of hair.

The unpretty angst

This is inexpensive for me, considering I shave it just when I have my regular shaves and the occasional scrapes that take fillets of skin off my scalp that the pain gives that unusual opportunity to shed a tear or two.

Beyond hair, the skin is toned and despite that tendency to scarring some have resorted to cosmetic surgery with varying results, and that is not to say of those who have paid the ultimate price enhancing their boobs, buttocks or looks. When are we going to feel secure and comfortable in our own skins?

It goes without saying that we have bought into a mindset that creates a fashion industry exploiting the predominant view that naturally, we are somewhat unpretty. Yet, we must all choose the look that makes us most confident about ourselves, even if it is not natural, that is one of the amazing things about the resourcefulness of our humanity. However, the greatest beauty will always be on the inside.

TLC – Take it away!

Blog: Paris: Boulevard de l'Unpretty - Revisited.

Childhood: Memories of Natural Hair Care

Note to reader

After a Twitter exchange where I commented on the plaiting of natural African-American hair, I was invited to write about the childhood memories I shared, memories from about 40 years ago where somehow I might have confused names and descriptions of the styles.

I penned a piece for the Natural Ever After site where the full blog with pictures appears, and you are free to post your comments there too.

The main article at Natural Ever After - Childhood Memories of Natural Hair Care

I know what Afro is

Walking down a street in Antwerp, I was happened upon a large shop front sign – Afro Hair Centre – the shop window was pasted with pictures of beautiful African American ladies but I was at pains to notice any that anything remotely natural for hair.

The pictures regaled me with relaxed curls of fanciful design and the amazing reality of globalisation where rural Indian and Brazilian women had travelled the world by reason of their long hair cut to serve an industry of hair extensions – I have felt like I have entered a haunted house each time disembodied lots of hair formed the merchandise of any outfit.

Many evolutions of hair design

It reminded me of when as a young boy hair was natural and the embodiment of amazing beauty, long before combing irons were heated on kerosene stoves and the hair laden with Vaseline was singed to straighten it for a new kind of look.

My aunt after secondary school became a hairdresser and with that came relaxers and all sorts of chemicals and sprays that the African woman punished her hair with to give it an unnaturally synthetic look, but that had become the new look.

Cornrows a plenty

As big brother when we lived in Jos, I had two sisters much younger than I and every fortnight I knew my play time will be usurped for a new kind of duty.

My mother sat on a chair with my sisters on a footstool just between her legs had their hair washed, combed, parted and designed for braided cornrows or plaits.

The cornrows had names, Shuku (bunched up in the middle), Ipako elede (A pig’s nape – with the ends to the nape of the neck), koroba (bucket, designed as a whirl from edges to the centre), kolese (Without legs – with the ends to the front just above the forehead) amongst other designs that did not particularly have names but provided artistic licence, in some cases the cornrows ended up in plaits, it was left to what was fancied at that time.

Threading the clumps

In the case of plaits, my job was to string the black thread from finger to big toe probably about 20 times and then cut the loop at one end to produce lengths of thread.

3 lengths of thread were then knotted at one end, the hair was parted into sectors and then manageable polygonal shapes, each section of hair was then plaited with thread from the base until the hair ends, the threads were then knotted to prevent the threads and hair from coming loose.

Sometimes each plait was left alone kinked into an L-shape a third way up the length, in other cases they were joined up in wigwam fashion or linked together with one popular design being called Eko Bridge – this was named after the new bridges linking the Lagos mainland to Lagos Island over the lagoon. Onile gogoro suggested a tall house, the plaits were bent to different sides of the head to give a different look, the options limitless depending on taste and aesthetics.

Changes to hair fashion

The plaits could also be coiled on a pencil to look like twirls, this was all natural and beautiful. After a while cotton threads were abandoned for synthetic tubular threads called colloquially called rubber but those plaits were fire hazards even if for a while they were fashionable.

As we moved into the 80s, plaits became unfashionable and most what you would find in rural settings as relaxers became the stock in trade of hairdressers, much as it seemed to make hair more manageable the cost of maintenance was high and where unprofessional services were used lots of women suffered 1^st, 2^nd or even 3^rd degree burns to their scalp.

The relaxers themselves have the most revolving and pungent odours, in some cases people were prone to emesis but after this foray into the unnatural and synthetic, some ladies are returning to appreciating the beauty of low-cuts or naturally braided or plaited hair without extensions or chemicals, and I think that is a good thing.

Thought Picnic: An Ode to the Armpit Smoothener

Wax that chesty walk

I once suggested that those with a swagger of arrogance that involved pushing out their chests should have their chests waxed. My thinking being nothing will force that ribcage of the gibbon back to its intended structure faster than a good strip ripping the hairs violently off that chest – it should also make the man cry – serves him right.

It reminds of me of a classmate of mine in secondary school who from the first form walked around with an exuded chesty posture as if to make himself bigger than he really was, by the time we got to the fifth form, that chest had become the best part of what I would regretfully call a deformity, I do wonder if someone had to take a hammer to to the ribcage to set it back in place.

Death from the armpits shorn

In any case, I have never been waxed and I do not intend to suffer the indignity of beauty acquired through unbearable pain. However, depilatories are useful especially after someone saw me using a pair of scissors on the hairs of my armpit and came up with the weirdest superstitions I have ever heard ever – I risk the loss of a child if I trim my armpit hairs.

The correlation was completely beyond me apart from the fact that I could using my least adroit hand have the scissors do me some serious mischief in the cavity of my armpit and that would be more pain than I am willing to endure.

I then resorted to shaving, but shaving sticks do not adapt to the contours of the armpit and you are half a contortionist trying to pull the skin to allow for a flat surface to shave off the hair – it is hard work – honestly.

Creams and screams

So, depilatories it was, with the cautionary tale of timing and coarseness of hair between races and the particular about oneself. This is because, if you do not get it right, in removing all the hair, the standard advice is not to use the depilatory again for at least 36 hours.

I had also learnt to use latex gloves when applying the cream because years ago, having used my fingers, I forgot to wash off the cream properly and suffered severe burns which manifested on my first day of holiday – I could handle very little and was really uncomfortable.

The other discovery I made was until recently, I used branded depilatories that had to work on the hair for 5 to 7 minutes before it could be scraped off. Though I don’t use a scraper, I prefer to use a wet sponge in the shower, it is easier on my skin and I can readily wash it all off before I suffer any burns.

A third and a half

So, imagine my surprise when the shop had run out the branded product and I was left to choose the shop’s brand which was going for a third of the price and was effective in half the time. In most cases, the maximum time was 3 minutes whilst it was still quite easy on my skin.

I wonder if there is something to deal with nose hair, not that I am turning into a mammoth but I have seen many a homo-sapiens-mammoth with hairs sprouting out of their noses and ears like some other-world pre-evolution creature – I have to say my prayers, the words are spoken already.

ASGA - Advanced Shaving Gel Acronyms

They sprouted late

I could write a long story about shaving though I never really saw the need to shave until I was well past 25; I almost thought I would never have the need to shave.

Then the wayward desert sprouts of hair began to multiply and before I knew it, a beard was forming whilst I could still sport a flat-top crew-cut with a slightly pointed head.

The regimes of shaving started with clippers and all sorts of shavers, each with improved technologies until Philips introduced a wet shaving machine that allowed you to introduce the shaving gel as you passed the shaver around your face.

On top, there was the advent of male-pattern baldness, I decided inspired by snake-oil remedies for preventing hair-loss to take it all off and so my shaving became the complete removal of facial and scalp hair.

Losing hair battles

After a while I got fed up of using electric and battery-powered shavers especially when I had to deal with in-growing hair causing bumps. I even tried using depilatories which had their side effects of discomfort and then memories of my father using Magic shaving powder had me shopping for those in African shops though I was never one for Old Spice.

One evening in a hotel in Germany I had a 3-blade Gillette shaving razor and did my scalp and head in one go, that began my use of the razors and my preference for shaving gel over shaving foam.

That was the Gillette Mach 3 Turbo that I used according to instructions on the packet, one the strip faded, I replaced the razor, but after a few years of using that brand, one evening whilst preparing for dinner on holiday I took a clean 2 square centimetres off my scalp – it hurt like I had never felt pain before – the search for a better razor commenced after that.

Better than a scimitar

Gillette Mach 3 Power was simply the same razor, at least from my layman’s perspective acting like a shaving vibrator; sure, I did scoff at the idea because they were expensive, trendy but honestly quite silly.

So, one day I walked into a drug store and saw the Gillette Fusion, a 5-blade razor, that seemed like the ultimate razor, in fact, any more blades would have made it a follicular combine harvester but you cannot put it past these people and for the humongous cost, I eventually realised the razors were good for probably a 100% more shaves than the usage indicators suggested.

Having sorted out the razors, there was also the story of shaving gels, I easily settle for the Gillette brand shaving gels but those had more varieties than colours of rainbow offering every sort of comfort for the skin and labelled for the razor in order to bump up the prize – we really have been had on these matters.

I usually favoured gels with Aloe Vera and Vitamin E, I noticed on my holidays to Gran Canaria that Aloe Vera was literally a weed, it grew everywhere like grass in the strangest places and for all its natural properties for the skin and as a drink the real thing has an almost sickening smell when cut and it is one smell that sticks to your olfactory receptors for hours just as onions leave a marker on your hands for hours after peeling and cutting them.

King of Shaves

But long before I became a razor fan with the need for shaving gels, I was told of products from the King of Shaves that could deal with bumps and other skin irritation as a result of shaving. I started with the After Shave and the Moisturiser but never the shaving gel. In fact, I did start using King of Shaves when I was still living in the UK and because the products were not available in the Netherlands, I had to find alternatives.

Sometime ago, on one of my London sojourns, I saw a variety of King of Shaves products, got the usual ones and thought I will try the shaving gel. I never really got to use it until a few days ago and really it was yesterday that I bothered to read all the stuff on the tube.

What got me were the acronyms as I peered through the running shower to read the spiel – SSE v5.0, ALS², mDDS, MME & PSP. I was ready to risk the unusual expletive because looking at the acronyms one would have thought I was talking of software, probably some scientific process and something so complex that it would require the mathematical genius of a savant to unravel.

Really, King of Shaves, Azor, Advanced Shaving Gel, does take it to another level of marketing that is almost crass. I a hardly impressed with marketing sophistry, in fact, if I had read this before purchase, I most likely would have put it down for it pretentiousness but for the fact that I like other King of Shaves products.

Here goes

The one I have does not seem to be in stock anymore, though it seems Remington has it, but it is necessary to see what all those acronyms refer to.

King of Shaves Azor® Advanced Shaving Gel utilises SSE,™ v5.0 of our unique Skin Surface Enhancing technology, to deliver our best shave ever with ALS² (Advanced Lubrication System) and mDDS™ (micro Dual Delivery System) that helps protect, moisturize and lubricate your skin throughout the shave giving superlative razor performance and glide. Your face will be left amazingly smooth, supple and moisturized.This unique black gel with MME (Micro-Magnetically Enhanced) particles help the gel ‘stick’ to the blade throughout the shave.For best results use as part of the King of Shaves PSP™ (Prime, Shave, Protect) regime. PRIME: Shave during / after warm bath or shower and wash your face with King of Shaves Face Wash or Scrub. SHAVE: Squeeze a generous amount of Azor Gel onto hand and massage into wet beard. Shave carefully in direction of hair growth taking special care around the sensitive neck area. Rinse the blade frequently. PROTECT: After shaving, thoroughly rinse off, pat dry and protect skin with King of Shaves Moisturizer or Balm.

After which, you can be sure that you have not only had a close shave but you’ve been truly shaved. Phew!

No combs to dress the hair on fire

A snapshot of celebrity

It would be remiss of me not to offer an opinion if not a form of social commentary on the cult of celebrity and the prisoners of that wave of image embellishment or rather pretentious charity.

The news article [1] offers a bit of detail but the 50 seconds of video that accompanies speaks a world about what it shows and it is a microcosm of a glittering and almost tantalising spectacle one that is as attractive as it is debilitating and dangerous.

Mr Sean Combs [2], known as many variations from Puff Daddy to P. Diddy that polite society is better served by referring to his birth name and refuse to be carried away with the razzmatazz is a very successful man and he was in New York to promote the launch of his new album, Last Train To Paris.

Having hired the pent house suite of a posh hotel as hip-hop hedonism allows, the renowned of that genre and ilk had gathered there for a smoke-filled party with an American actor/comedian Kevin Hart [3] apparently compering.

At the hot tub

In the video, Kevin Hart sets the scene; they are nowhere more respectable than at the hot tub fishing as it were for what might be left to your imagination, but there is a “model” sat in a bubble and rose petal filled bath surrounded by lit candles.

We are made to understand that party is female-friendly, I suppose that means there are scantily clad ladies all around that place titillating the men and getting their adrenaline and testosterone levels running high with the scent of wanton debauchery or smell of sex probably created by one of Mr. Combs’ piss-water perfumes.

Kevin Hart might even jump into the bath tub probably to have a wash, surely, as a married father of two children, it is unlikely that it is his wife that would be scrubbing his back at the London as he liberally introduces other "niggers", a word fashionable amongst that clique but abominable to other races.

All hair on fire

I will leave the issue of the objectification of women, the lack of respect for their person, their use for the elevation of the animal instinct towards the Neanderthal man and their function as pheromone secretion catalysts on hedonist gatherings to others to address.

However, as we ogled the lady in the bath whose poise shifted to some rather more provocative pose, her hair, probably conditioned with non-flame retardant chemical caught fire, it took a while for her to notice what was happening and the guests might have been too absorbed in ambience to have the presence of mind to react appropriately.

Then suddenly, the flame caught on and she ducked into the water to quench the flames but the seconds that show that event left me more than just concerned. It did not appear that anyone went to her aid and when Kevin Hart realised what was going on, he was more particular about that event not being caught on camera than attending to the unfortunate lady. They all found it funny, they really did.

Forget chivalry

I can only wonder who that lady was, how she got that job, how burnt she got, what care and comfort she received and where she is now.

Keith Hart’s reaction left much to be desired, but then if we ever expected and chivalry in such a setting, we must have forgotten that ostentation does not necessarily breed class and having a huge profile like this with all the apparently stage-managed publicity and photo opportunities does not reveal the real sense of compassion or humanity the principals might have.

Smudging the image

In this very short episode, Mr Combs could not understand why fire-fighters were called, which would have been the right thing to do including getting a first-aid crew on site with the possibility of having the lady taken to hospital for observation and possible treatment.

Mr Combs was having a launch party and such a distraction could not be allowed to get in the way of a night of revelry, the music played on, everything was under control but the inability to prevent the release of this video and the lady is probably history.

We, the cultists of celebrity

That is the world of today’s celebrity, it is about image and the management of it, presenting a pretentious façade to the world of being rich and successful with foundations helping the unfortunate wherever they might be but not when met with the immediacy of helping a damsel in distress.

These are our role models, our motivational speakers, our figures of emulation and the people we aspire to become; people who shirk responsibility, lack character, denigrate women, men without integrity but money talks and as long as everyone is having a nice time, the lady was at best an annoyance, woe betide her, she was for the record the collateral damage of keeping that image pristine.

The video reveals the underbelly of the odious and the reprehensible and just about the worst of that sub-culture, the majority might however not be persuaded to refuse to patronise such people and their stock in trade because we are prisoners of the cult of celebrity, slaves to the pretentious icon and already impervious to basic human values. I lament.

The longer version of that event appears here [4], you can make up your mind about it, but I did not find it funny, at all.

Sources

[1] Diddy-Dirty Money's: Model's hair catches fire at album release party in LA | Mail Online

[2] Sean Combs - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

[3] Kevin Hart (actor) - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

[4] YouTube - Girl Hair Catches Fire on Diddy's Dirty Money Ustream Party + Reenactment

That hair on eBay

This news story is still developing and since I wrote this blog there has been additional information at the bottom under Developing News Story.

Unpalatable use of eBay

Sometimes the quest for filthy lucre is contemptible and appalling, nowhere is this helped more than on eBay where one's chattels and sometimes ill-gotten wares can be peddled for a nickel or two, even some would deign to offer stuff at outrageous prices.

So, reading that Britney Spears' shorn hair is now available on eBay plumbs the depths of absolute depravity in human beings, there is a possibility that what is offered is not certified as belonging to Britney Spears, however, does one then acquire DNA from the principal to prove this fact.

If then someone does really acquire these esteemed locks of troubled celebrity having being shorn off in what might have been the parlous mental state of the principal, would chemical analysis be conducted on the hair to ascertain additional lucre spinning tales to be relayed on unconscionable tabloids?

Beyond that, those who worship at the temple of celebrity might even be able to visit a shrine to view the reliquary of Britney's locks, the whole thing beggars the progress of the evolution of the human species to things less acceptable than the original forebears of the homo sapiens sapiens.

With bids now over the $1 million mark, who craves this trash-able stuff so much and how come they still walk our streets? From a moralist perspective, eBay should remove this thing from bidding - (Which seems to have to been done), however, for the sake of free enterprise, if there are people who so desire this stuff, well, so be it.

Vocations of trust

If indeed, these locks were really from Britney Spears, then it would appear either the hairdresser who might not have been satisfied with the temporal fame of appearing on television with the free advertising of her shop has upped the ante in things unspeakable.

It is also possible that some serf in the shop gathered the hair which was shorn in a corner of the shop and bagged it ready for marketing - unfortunately, sacking such an one would not necessarily be of use if the person stands to make a million dollars that would be frittered away on frivolous stuff long before the money has arrived.

Thankfully, this is not in place where shamans and their expertise in black arts hold sway over people such that I have heard that walking barefoot is dangerous enough as detractors might collect the imprints in the sand offering those as connections to foment catastrophe on the principal or gain superstitious advantage in some other sphere of life.

However, hair contains history and long hair contains even longer history, where you want that revealed to anyone is debatable except in aspects of forensic analysis.

One should be able to trust that visiting the hairdressers makes history of any shorn hair by having the whole lot anonymously mixed with other hairs and dumped in a secure bin where it gets destroyed, if not, then we are in deep trouble.

Developing News Story

This is a developing news story, it would appear it is the hair salon that put up the hair for sale first on eBay probably to prospect the possibilities of a price range for the hair and now on a separate site called BuyBritney’sHair.com.

To Esther Tognozzi - whose enterprising skills are commendable but her ethical mien is lower than a snake’s belly - would go the spoils as she laments the fact that fake offers of the same hair are even appearing on sites in the UK and further a-field.

It would be hard to say that she is bringing the profession of hair-dressing into disrepute, since when have we really considered hair-dressers people of worthy respect or of dependable reputations?

No hair to do

Have they got news for you?

Jostling for prominence this weekend is celebrity news which allows a nonentity whose mechanical crooning, play ground dance steps and wanton lifestyle has had grown-up music executives squander shareholder value in a marketing ploy that leaves many breathless.

There is no point exclaiming, Oops! I did it again, because celebrity and means do not necessarily equate to character, self-control or mental stability in handling issues that pertain to life.

In complete denial

So, Britney Spears checks in and out of Eric Clapton's Crossroads Centre midweek, probably after having the express denial treatment - the shock of being where you are not ready to be sorted out - the centre is known to help treat alcohol, drug or some other addictive disorder. Go figure.

Then goes to her hairdresser where she asks for a crew-cut and between the remonstrations of the hairdresser and hairdresser chatting to Britney's bodyguard, Britney gets the clippers and she is self-shorn (Basically, these celebrities must not be left to their devices, especially when making demands that leave one suspect of their mental state of mind.) - The glory of a woman is her hair and for a moment and longer, this girl is without glory.

A typical news story on Britney Spears, all shorn of hair in a tattoo parlour

Real life nightmare

We get to see this GI-Jane look when she ends up at a tattoo parlour having lips printed on her wrist.

When Demi Moore and Sigourney Weaver sported the shorn look, it is about making films, when that becomes real-life, then one is worried that this girl who was once over-protected by even possibly her erstwhile seemingly inadequate husband and responsibility of motherhood is in need of some sort of protective custody - to save her from herself.

She is for now, not sporting a hair-do, rather, there is no hair to do. It leaves her fans displeased, to which one can say, get a better class of role model and person to fawn your fanaticism over.

I am all my hair - January 2007

Post Comment Addendum

After Nilla's comment wondering about the well-being of Britney Spears, I realise that I might have left out another perspective of this episode; the fact that when a lady takes a radical hair-style change, something serious is happening in her life. To have all hair shorn off indicates that Britney might be undergoing some serious circumstances, which I as a man, might not even begin to understand much less begin to sympathise. It is however a point to note, not that the tabloids would let up to give human interest an airing of sensationalism.

I am all my hair

Afro, but not the real thing

I could not help but notice when I walked down one street in Antwerp and saw an Afro Hair Centre where all the hairdos advertised were variations of relaxed hair and none of the natural African look.

Now, I do know a lot about what real African hair is, not only on women but also on men. Though, I must say, James Brown’s hair never really did say it loud.

As the big brother when I was younger, my mother did all the plaiting and cornrows of my sisters, but I was co-opted in what might now be systemic child-abuse to lay out the threads in 1-metre lengths of threes with a knot at one end which was used to plait the hair in designs like Eko-bridge and so on.

My aunt eventually became a hairdresser when curling tongs were electronic goods in the late 70s, but I remember using a stretching comb on my sister’s hair having just taken it off the kerosene stove, and stretching the hair which had been drenched in Vaseline – the things we do for beauty.

Relax, it stinks

Then all these pungent and foul-smelling products for relaxing the hair came on the market from the United States, many a scalp was scalded with chemicals when instructions were read reminiscent of the person who shakes his body after taking the medicine when he should have shook the bottle for ingesting it – the things we really do for beauty.

Then men got into this game, I can proudly say, I never saw the need to relax my hair, all that wet look with hair dripping of some spray-on moisturizer was a complete put off – many used the pongiest of the products, this came from Wella, then.

All curly hairstyles

However, when it comes to natural men’s hair, you have to see the signs advertising different styles in African barber’s shops, there is no way any of those styles can be created without putting a wooden model on your head, but they work at it.

It once took 90 minutes to cut my hair in a barber’s shop very much like Desmonds, too much talk in a dialect of English I can hardly understand – I really do not have that much time. Then boys having their hair done in cornrows, do men really spend that much time on their hair?

Once, my father allowed for all my hair to be shaved off, parents sometimes do not know how rotten kids at school can be, I was called Jagoo for days as the hair returned mercifully, this was one protest I made to my father that really stuck – Good man.

In secondary school, barbers got it into their heads that students should have their hair cut short and then around the sides and back one extra inch of the border was shaved off that it looks like wearing a black dish – Pombe, it was called – those people have no sense of style.

Back to hair gone

The seminal moment about hair came to me when I watched a film where some purveyors of hair were marketing a chemical that restored lost hair in days.

Quite a few people took up this offer, but soon, the hair grew uncontrollably long and then we learnt as the man visited his barber, each time he put the scissors to the hair, he got bitten, the hair was in fact little snakes.

The cure for male pattern baldness was, in fact, a concoction that allowed human beings to be used as hosts for the incubation of a snake-like organism.

Since, as a black man, I do not have luxury of a comb-over, a sign of fools gone stupid or in some cases, as some lose hair on the front they grow more hair into a ponytail. Jasper Carrott put paid to my respecting anyone with a ponytail when he joked about what you see if you lifted a real ponytail. That is a joke that would make me go red in the face with shock but it is also a smart one.

If it’s going, it’s gone

I decided, learning from that film, if I ever began to see signs of my hair receding or a bald patch appearing somewhere in the middle, I would not agonise over it; I would take it all off. Imagine, the Jagoo, I could not bear to be called is now the Jagoo I create every two days with my Gillette shaving gel and Gillette Mach3 Turbo razors.

Mach3? What speed? I took almost a square inch off my scalp trying to shave in record time; Turbo? Turbines? Who comes up with these poncy macho names? Now, they’ve put a vibrator in the thing and it is called Gillette Mach3 Power – No thanks! I can handle my razor quite competently.

They are probably really the best a man can get, I only grew anything like a beard at 25 and it was not till I got these razors did my skin settle after a shave.

Obviously, I have heard of hair transplants, but not if I am going to look like Dame Elton and Regaine had a friend of mine regaining more hair on his back that it had to be shaved off every week.

As for toupees, I’ll rather have a blonde wig or a pancake, I would look better.

Natural works for me, the only problem being, I have no hairs to pull out when I am utterly exasperated at work, I might have to pluck my moustache – Ouch! That hurts.