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Abused tresses force hair-nista to face the mirror

To keep healthy hair, hair-nistas need to reveal their hair history to their new stylists. It's better to have the conversation upfront instead of forcing your hair to scream for help.

Ready for her first appointment with Marie, Toni sat in the salon chair with anticipation and a little trepidation. Her hair had been through the abuse ringer and there was no longer any way to hide it.

Marie stood behind Toni looking over her new client's worn out, frayed and badly damaged tresses. "So," Marie said, "you would like to get a full weave today?"

"Yes, that's what I want," Toni said. "I would like to give my hair a break."

"Is there anything I should know about your hair history," Marie inquired.

"Not really," Toni responded quickly with her eyes glued to the floor. "Nothing special. Ummm. I need to use the ladies room."

Marie pointed toward the back of the salon. Toni quickly excused herself. Looking in the bathroom mirror, Toni's frayed hair screamed.

"Hold up," yelled a wiry hair strand in the front. "You mean you're not going to tell this new stylist that you've flat-ironed us everyday for the last month?"

Toni's mouth dropped. Her eyes bulged. She looked around the tiny bathroom. "I thought I was alone in here?"

"Girl, with us, you're never alone!" A split-end piped up. "Your hair needs to have a word with you."

Toni picked over her sad strands.

"Hey, quit squeezing me," her front bangs yelled. "I'm libel to catch fire I'm so dry."

Toni slowly released the bangs. She stared into the mirror in utter shock realizing that her hair was speaking.

"Shouldn't you explain to this new stylist that you had one of your friends put that no-name no-lye relaxer on us last month," a hair along the nape of her hair questioned.

"And how another professional just rescued us from your blonde ambition," a strand from the crown further probed. "Some of us didn't make it. That's why we're a little thin up here."

A long strand from the back cried, "Why don't you deep condition us anymore?"

"You're about to ask us to live with new hair and you don't even take care of us," shouted the bangs, which emerged as the main head-of-hair representative.

"I'm sorry," Toni stammered.

"You should be," her whole head of hair retorted.

Toni felt she was being put on trial for her past healthy hair transgressions. "I plead guilty to all of your charges, but why do I need to admit this to the hairstylist?"

"So she won't kill the rest of us," the bangs explained.

"All right, I will try to explain why you all really need a rest when I go back out there," Toni said. "I do love y'all. I just don't know how to express it."

"Could have fooled us," a stubborn gray hair muttered.

Toni took a last look at her locks, then left bathroom. She returned to the stylist's station gathering her courage.

"Shall we begin?" Marie asks mindful of the time it will take to complete her weave service.

"Yes, but I realized that there is probably a little more that I should tell you about my hair," Toni admitted. "I have really been abusing it over the last year with color, relaxers and heat. I need a style that I can manage without further damaging my hair."

"Girl, I could see your hair holding up the white flag when you walked through the door," Marie said, smiling.  "I just wanted to give you a chance to feel comfortable to share your hair journey," she added.

For an instant, her hair, although limp and brittle, beamed with joy. "There is hope," a strand whispered.

Has this ever happened to you, or do you have a different salon drama to tell? Share your story with us...

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