"Portrait of the Artist as a Middle-Aged Hoochie"

Okay, so when the young, eager, slightly star-struck young Atlanta stylist offered to give me a new 'do after shampooing and re-twisting my locs, I readily agreed. We'd struck up a pleasant conversation, and when she found out I worked in Kenya, I opened a window on one of her deepest aspirations: to be a traveling nurse for Doctors Without Borders.

By the time I let her transform my noggin, I was almost considering it another of my mentoring/humanitarian efforts. At the moment, her job is twisting and styling African American hair, and I'm sure she takes a great deal of pride in doing it. Perhaps giving her the opportunity to display her expertise in this field, with a woman who's sort of doing the kind of work she wants to do someday, would give her dream a boost.

As she scooped and scraped and tugged on my locs, I gently reminded her that my hairline has seriously receded, the result of nearly 15 years of wearing braids. The pulling and stress of synthetic extensions ravaged my natural edges, and so every style I've worn since abandoning braids has had to camouflage my "six-head" (a wider expanse than the average forehead). She assured me that with her creation, my semi-bald hairline wouldn't be noticeable.

I wish I could say that when I look at this picture, I totally focus on how cool the snaky, twisted strands look. If this was the back of anyone else's head, I WOULD be complimenting the regal artistry of her locs. But since it's my head, all I truly notice is that my hairline starts almost behind my ear, and it makes me kind of sad.

So maybe I still have a lot of issues about my hair. But I'm pretty clear on one thing...

"This is a hoochie hairstyle. And I ain't no hoochie."

Wait, just hear me out. Let's look at this thing from several different angles......