lions and platters and hair
a collaboration + PANSY preorders!
Hark, it’s Leo season!
I fail to know much at all about zodiac signs, or astrology, or Leos, as the stereotype suggests. Instead, I spend far too much time claiming I’m the least Leo of them all… a perhaps unironically Leo-esque pastime.
But alas, ten plus years of a minor (major) mane-obsession and I must confess, I am she. Truly, is there anything more lion than a love of thine fro?
Let us travel back, way back, to the beginning of this obsession, shall we?
I am in my early 20s.
My hair is big and long. I begin taking testosterone, like medicine. I go on it and off it like somebody on Zyrtec with seasonal allergies. I embrace the flexibility of my aesthetic. It works for me.
Years pass. I shave my head. As I try and grow it back, I spot the murmurs of male-patterened baldness. I am not male. I find this jarring. I keep it short.
Later, I try again to grow it big and long like before. My strands laugh at me as they fall to the floor. I miss flexibility—no more chameleon.
I stop T for a while this time. Many months. Almost years.
Slowly, slowly, my hair returns.
It’s 2024.
My mane has reached a point of pride again. Thin spots, bald spot, spots that speak to my searching for peace, linger.
I find a braider, a Black gay man whose skillful designs are absolutely divine. I care to adorn my hair again. Celebrate this new era.
I arrive for my appointment and I show him a photo. “I’m thinking something like this but I’m open. Just something cute that stays for a minute.”
"I got you!” he says as he hands me a Corona.
We joke with his sister and her partner, who take turns under a dryer as they set freshly retwisted locs.
Then he pauses.
“Is this a stress spot for you?” he asks.
No. It’s a remnant of male-patterned baldness in the middle of my head. Of all my thinning areas, I worry this spot may never grow in full.
“Nah, I been on and off T,” I say. “I think it’s growing back. Slowly.”
He nods. Unplaits what he’s started as he shares some remedies with me:
Aloe vera on the scalp directly from the plant.
Moisture daily.
Drink water.
I feel him braiding a different pattern now. How easily he adapts. Somehow our conversation trails playfully off into his last hookup with some man he met on the apps.
“This n____ tryna meet me at this gay bar, you been?” He asks.
We laugh about the bar and this man and other men as he parts my hair into something new. It is a different pattern than my reference. Something that suits me as I am now.
He keeps braiding.
I feel safe in this salon chair. I’m reminded of my grandma’s living room, where cousin Ashely used to cornrow me into Lil Bow Wow’s twin. I remember what it feels like to be transformed, as if I’ve ever stopped transforming.
I return to this room where I am elastic. And my hair will continue to thin and my body continue to age but even then, I’ll be flexible. I will adapt like my braider, an artist. A great collaborator with time.
I sip on my Corona and we kiki, and he tells me he is done. He hands me a mirror and I smile to myself because I am a Leo and this is my mane. Why else would I want to cry over some braids?
Pansy: A Black American Memoir updates:
You can now preorder PANSY (paperback, ebook, and hardcover)!
I’m working on an audiobook version! Very excited to share that hopefully on the pub date (Oct. 22nd). Or a ‘lil bit thereafter 🤭. Stay tuned.
E-book ARCs are still available. HMU at jaz@jazjoyner.com if you’re interested.
Finally, be sure to follow me on Goodreads for PANSY updates and reviews.
p.s.: WHAT IS IT, THE BRAIDS?
See y’all in September.
Jasper
❤️❤️❤️