I'm A Mixed Race Model Who Has Finally Learned To Love My Natural Hair

It was my first communion, and I wanted to look special. I’d never been to a hair salon, but after much begging, my mom took me to one in our small Canadian hippie town. I didn’t really know what I wanted. I was just happy to be there. The stylist kept feeling my hair, not saying much. She washed it and started brushing. My mom always brushed my hair with conditioner, and I didn’t know why, but I knew that whatever this lady was doing hurt. Then she pulled out every device in the place. It seemed like seven different machines went through my hair. Two hours later, we were finished. I wasn’t an image-conscious child, but I knew my hair looked bad. It was straight but puffy, a mix of punk rocker and Private Dancer–era Tina Turner. My mom had a baffled look when she saw the results but quickly wiped it away and said I looked “fab!” I didn’t believe her — and I didn’t go to another hair salon for over a decade.....