"Hair was so important that I really believed if I had the right hairstyle, my life would magically improve. I just wanted to look like my friends. I would put pillowcases on my head, or t-shirts, and prance around in front of the mirror imagining that it was my hair and that I was finally beautiful. I would make my mom leave in the relaxer on until it would burn because I knew the longer she left it on, the straighter my hair would become. I’d wind up with lesions on my scalp, trying to fit into this idea of what I thought was pretty. Then came the seventh grade and New Wave, when I dyed my hair to resemble Duran Duran and Depeche Mode. I got a bowl of hydrogen peroxide, stuck my bangs in the bowl, and sat out in the sun so I could get that perfect punk New Wave look everyone had. Unfortunately, it turned my hair Ronald McDonald red and stayed like that for years -and all because I wanted to fit in so badly. I was basically trying to become everything I wasn’t and in doing so, only became more insecure and less happy."
- Gabrielle Union, in her foreward of Hill Harper’s book Letters to a Young Sister (via tiaralilibet)
