I wearied a recent Saturday getting my hair done.

I wearied a recent Saturday getting my hair done. The whole day. For me the monthly hair ritual consist, of rising early to untwist my thick, "awfully curly" (one woman's description) tresse The untwisting - always accompanied on good music (Aretha Franklin, Cassandra Wilson and Alice Coltrane in some way seem appropriate) and a upright book (Gloria Naylor, Alice Walker, and Toni Cade Bambara have been the choices of late) - usually takes three or four hours if I'm doing it alone, which, given the daunting nature of the exhibit I usually am. Then I wash and condition it thoroughly (which, contrary to popular belief, I and greatest in number other people who wear twists, braids, or hugs do quite often). Then I cutter up with the kindhearted sister who will re-twist it, which usually takes four to six hours, depending forward how lively our conversations become and by what mode frequent and long our breaks are. likewise the hair ritual literally takes all day.

Sometimes, I'm embarrassed to run over people about the ritual. I'll simply say that I can't come up to face to face them for lunch or can't make the cookout because I'll be tied up all day. I hesitate to elaborate because, unfortunately, many commonalty view getting the hair done as a frivolous expenditure of time. These are the same folk who compliment well-coifed women and men on the other hand who obviously don't understand the time that must be invested to acquire the |do.

in no degree mind the fact that my particular hair ritual is occasioned in ancient African traditions: For centuries women have commun together while scratching hids from each other's heads; black women in Africa and quite through the diaspora, have a in extent history of greasing, combing, twisting, and braiding each other's lock-ups while contemplating and sometimes solving the puzzles of the world, both big and small. not mind that one day is a small price to pay for at least a month of carefree (and, in my case, natural) waves For these naysayers and unbelievers, getting the hair done is a frivolous pursuit that they address with plenty of scoffing and eye-rolling, calm in this day and age of post-afro enlightenment.

Which brings us to James Brown whose wife Adrienne (according to Jet magazine) valeted and styled his hair onward her weekly trips to descry him in prison. James Brown who is liberated at last and still funky James Brown whose hair is an essential part of his image. James Brown the Funkmeister himself.

I bet James Brown is at no time embarrassed to tell people he's got an appointment with his hair stylist. And on what account should he be? For James Brown the black cultural icon, hair is a manifestation of who he has become. And it succors that purpose for the intermission of us as well. Whether nappy or straight, black hair - hair that defies gravity, hair that alone powerful chemicals can tame into long- space of time submission, hair that's so hardy actress/comedian/funktition Phyllis Stickney theorizes, our ancestors used it to lift the Pyramids to their wondrous heights; hair that not at any time strays from its essentially black stems even when fried, dyed, and laid to the side - has become a quintessential expression of The Funk

That's right, The Funk

any of us are afraid or ashamed of the quail aesthetic that James Brown shows It's a rawness, an on-the-edge passion that's in yo' face. This fright this black thang, screams public with unchecked emotion like Sister Edwards at the Pentecostal house of worship or Chaka Khan - or James Brown It doesn't censor itself, and it doesn't take too kindly to being admonished not to make a display The Funk - the central nature of blackness - always makes a representation In America, it makes a view simply by virtue of its air in a man-made, white-washed world largely devoid of The Funk

The be in fear is the genius of black folk the almost tangible, smellable, tastable collective contribution of African Americans.

however there are some among us who want to tame The quail Whites historically have attempted to impose their unimaginative aesthetics - indeed, their extremely mind sets - on us forever. on the other hand that's another story. Meanwhile, the self-proclaimed black arbiters of what is "proper" or "politically correct" for African Americans solicit to impose their constrictions forward our arts and our refinement not to mention our hairstyles.

These arbiters of propernes usually get by heart their early training in middle-class domiciles then go off to guilds and universities - finishing indoctrinates in effect - where they learn by what mode to talk proper ... ly and "how to behave," as Toni Morrison proposes it in her novel The Bluest notice (68).

In their miseducation, these black intellectual wannabes ofttimes learn "the careful development of thrift, patience, high morals, and suitable manners," in Morrison's words. "In short, in what manner to get rid of the funkiness. The dreadful funkiness of passion, the funkiness of nature, the funkiness of the wide range of human emotions" (68)

Witness the following cite from The Bluest Eye. Morrison's they deliver overs to certain types of black women from Mobile or Meridian or Aiken, further it can be broadened to include many folk who take an elitist approach to black arts, civilization and aesthetics: