Dreadlocks

I started this post about a week ago, so I'm sorry the times don't line up. I'm finishing it now. Enjoy!
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As I mentioned two posts ago, I was getting dreadlocks. And I got them. Two days ago.

And I LOVE them.


Here's the story in pretty much its entirety:

Once upon a time on a warm, but somewhat rainy late summer afternoon, in the building of Priebe, we looked in a pamphlet for a picture of Betsy With Dreads. We found said picture and I said in passing, I've always kind of wanted dreads. I didn't really think about it. It was something I had thought about last summer but pretty quickly decided against when someone told me I wasn't allowed to wash my hair for at least two weeks before I got them.

When I said my in-passing comment, Betsy looked up with a twinkle in her eye and said, I could do them for you! Which planted a seed that grew into a tree within about 5 minutes of talking about it. This was something I really wanted to do. And the two weeks of no showering beforehand was a myth. I texted my mom asking her, "Would you still love me if I got dreadlocks?" She replied, "Yes, but I would not enjoy your hair." Knowing my mother would not hate me, despite her utter distaste for dreadlocks, there was nothing stopping me.

The next month (or two?) was slow going, with boring, sad, normal hair as I anxiously prepared and as Betsy and I talked and later corresponded via facebook about what I needed to buy and what I needed to do to get ready.

Finally, the day arrived. The night before I had emailed Betsy asking if she wanted me to wash my hair right before she came so that it was wet. I got up the next morning, went to church (without showering), and came back to find that she had replied, no, wash them in the morning, so that they're clean but dry when I get there at noon. Well shoot, because morning was almost over. Nevertheless I got in the shower and washed my hair for the LAST TIME as normal, organized strands.

Betsy arrived at my university (the day after I moved in and the day before classes began, a.k.a. two days ago) after a many-hour drive from nearby state, almost two hours late (she realized an hour down the road that she forgot the special dreadlock combs and had to turn around and get them). My hair was clean but dry, hanging loosely to the sides which I hate, I much prefer having my hair up. We forgot a "before" picture, but whatever.

Here was the process; the order of events that commenced:

1) I sat on the floor with Betsy sitting on a couch right behind me. That's all I had to do pretty much the entire time.

2) All my hair was put into an unknown number of tiny ponytails. [Update: the number of ponytails, and hence, dreadlocks, is 65.]

3) Choose a ponytail. Sprinkle on "Lock Peppa" which looks like cocaine and smells like spearmint and eventually burns your throat like death when you breathe it for hours. Take the scary dreadlock comb and back-comb (tease) the snot out of the ponytail until it is a little hot-dog-shaped poofball. This is a dreadlock. "Crochet" it with a crochet hook to get loose ends in, and then roll it in your hands like play-dough.

4) Repeat #3 until all the tiny ponytails are now poofball dreads.

5) Take a fingerfull of wax and roll each dreadlock in it, once again like playdough.

6) Take pictures. Get called "Sideshow Bob". Get strange looks.

Initial final product:

Now I maintain my dreadlocks by crocheting them, waxing them (which I am a slacker about), rolling them, blah blah blah etc.

I have now had my dreads for approximately 10 days. I have washed them... once. But they look and feel (minus the itchiness) amazing, and I hope they last a long time.

On a more personal note, having dreadlocks has given me a boost of confidence that I didn't quite expect. Because they're abnormal in this suburban university culture, everyone notices them, and the more outspoken people usually say something about them, or ask me questions, or even touch them. It's like I'm suddenly more interesting because I have weird hair, which is something I wasn't last year: interesting. So even though the majority of my family disapproves, I love knowing that in people's eyes, no matter what they associate dreads with, I am automatically different; unique at first glance. Perhaps I get "judged" a little, but in general people now see me as someone worth getting to know. Before I was another face in the crowd, now I am, "Wow, who's that girl with the crazy hair? She might have something to say for herself." Maybe this is an exaggeration, but surely it's an improvement on my previous anonymity. This was definitely a good life-choice.

If any of you have questions about my dreads, please feel free to comment and I will answer them!

Thanks again to my awesome friend Betsy for all her time and effort in doing this for me. I love you!


God bless.


~~~
UPDATE:
I've had my dreads for about 2 and a half, almost 3 months now. They get washed twice a week and maintained daily. I still get compliments on them, but my roommate and a few of my other friends have said they can't remember without dreads. I myself look at pictures of myself before this whole thing and think I look so weird with normal here.
They've come a long way in these early stages. Although this isn't the best picture of me, you can see how much skinnier they are here.

I'm really nervous for Thanksgiving because my grandfather HIGHLY disapproves of my hair, and I don't really want to be around when he sees it for the first time, but I kind of have to be there. Oh well.

On the brighter side, I am still loving the dreads. One thing that's kind of an odd unexpected perk is... and please, no one condemn me for saying it this way, but I feel like I'm more accepted by black people. Before I was just a white girl, now I am a white girl with dreads which automatically makes me more a part of black American culture, since obviously a lot more black people have dreads than white people (at least where I live). So it's nice to have a whole lot of extra people actually smile and say hi to me (whether I know them or not), whereas before I was just a stranger in the crowd. Most people notice my hair, but it's black people who really like that about me, and give me a better chance to be my friend. I get more stranger-compliments from black people than from white people, and a lot of those compliments are also accompanied by some variation of, "How do you get your hair to do that since it's not nappy?" I'm probably the whitest chick around, but now somehow I "fit in" better in even more social groups.

I love the way my dreads smell (especially when they're wet--weirdest smell ever), I love taking care of them, I love when strangers ask to touch them, and most of all I love having something unique about me. Yay dreadlocks!