One time I was out with Nana and
we were eating at a restaurant.
She was just like taking in everyone
around us, everyone dining.
She turns to me and goes, "Not
everyone has mirrors."
That's Nana.
Hi, my name is Danielle.
I am a standup comedian, actor
and writer.
My family is from the Dominican
Republic. My Nana came
to the US and she
sent for my mom and my
uncle. They grew up in Jamaica,
Queens.
They moved to Los Angeles and I was
born, and that's how I became the
only Dominican girl in Los Angeles.
I know I'm not, but it just felt
that way growing up.
The only Dominican people I really
knew were my family.
A lot of people were just very
confused about what it means to be
Afro-Latina.
I didn't have that word even growing
up, so it was a little isolating.
My Nana is my grandmother, Nana,
is a matriarch through and through.
Her name is Altagracia, that means,
"the highest grace."
She will let you know. Anyone who's encountered
a nana knows that if you're going to
go toe to toe with one, you're not
going to win. My Nana grew up
in a time and place where
Western ideals were
the highest ideals, and those ideas
about beauty and presentation
affected her. It extended to my hair
in western cultures, straight
hair.
Pelo liso, that's what we call it
the Dominican Republic.
It's just like fine, silken and
smooth, not natural and
curly, like how my hair actually
comes out of my head.
Growing up, my Nana with my mom,
was hardcore.
So we take the hair, we wrap
it in the big rolls, stick
you under a dryer for an hour and a
half, and once you're out of the
dryer, we straighten it.
Before all of that, you're putting
lye in your hair.
I don't know what lye is, but it's a
chemical not found in nature.
You put it on your hair and it
straightens it. The lye hurts,
that's when you know it's working.
My mom growing up with my Nana,
she was just over it.
By the time she graduated high
school, she left, she's like, "I'm
going to be an artist.
I'm going to study ceramics." And my
mom's hair was pretty long.
She goes into the salon and she's
like, "Get rid of it." And then she
was free. She enjoyed it.
She loved it.
One of my favorite photos of my mom
is like her in the studio at
a pottery wheel.
And she has like this like gorgeous
afro, just like a beautiful crown of
hair.
Nana got a taste of my mom's new
hairstyle when she came home from
the holidays and she didn't like it,
she wasn't happy.
This is the curse of being a
nana. You cannot help yourself.
"What did you do with your hair?
This is what happens.
You go to this art school
and those hippies.
This is not how I raised you.
You had beautiful, long, gorgeous
hair." But my mom was happy.
She was carving out a space for her
own and claiming her independence as
a woman. So Nana had lost the
battle with my mom. My mom's living
life, they come to California, and
then they have me.
And my Nana, she
is starting the hair cycle
all over again.
She's trying to straighten it.
She's trying to blow dry it.
She's trying to find lye.
I feel like at this point it's been
discontinued.
My mom, she
puts her foot down and she's like,
"No, I'm going to let my daughter
have her hair the way she wants her
hair. She wants to put it in little
BOLOs. Let's put it in little BOLOs.
Let's put it in scrunchies and like
fun braids
because she's a kid." So
my Nana lived really close to
my elementary school, and
she would pick me up a lot of
days and I would go over to her
house and she starts asking me about
my hair. I felt like I was being
interrogated at a police
station.
"You sure you like it?
I feel like we could do a little
better," and I'm like, "I like my
hair, my hair is fine.
It's cute." She's like, "Is it
really cute?
I think it could be cuter." I
truly believe that Nana was just
like circling around a beauty
salon until I cracked,
because finally, I was like,
"I mean, yeah, I don't know.
Maybe we could cut it or do
something different." Bingo.
My Nana is delighted.
She's like, "Yes, we'll get your
haircut. I know just the place."
Immediately, we are at the
hair salon and I,
to this day, still do not know what
she told this woman.
"Look, she needs a haircut.
Her mother, God bless her, but she
doesn't know what she's doing with
her hair. This is my granddaughter.
She's a reflection of me.
OK, so can we straighten it?
You know, get a relaxer, and do you
have, lye?
I would like lye if you have lye,"
and the stylist is like, "Sure,
I heard what she said, but I'm going
to do whatever I want." When I
looked in the mirror, all my
hair was gone.
Apparently, this woman also
didn't know about the pelo liso,
because she couldn't do it,
she couldn't handle it.
And I just start crying.
I'm in a beauty salon, I'm six
years old.
I am distraught.
My hair was gone.
Nana looked at me and kind of
shrugged her shoulders like, "Well,
this isn't what I wanted, but
it's what's done.
So you can have a little ice cream
back at the house."
And then my mom comes to pick me up,
and she is just like, "What
happened!? When I drop my daughter
off at school this morning,
she had a full head of hair and now
it's gone.
I feel like something very traumatic
has happened." I tell
her that Nana made me get my hair
cut.
She feels bad.
"I'm so sorry, Nana did that to you,
let me tell
you what Nana used to do to me."
That is when I learned that
the cycle stops with me.
Decades later, I'm a grown woman.
My mother is a grown adult
woman, and
now my mom is really
kind of like taking risks
with her hair. She's like dyeing it
with Henna. It's looking a little
wild, but it's my mom's choice.
It's my mom's hair, and my
Nana cannot help herself.
My mom gets an envelope in
the mail.
Inside is a check for
$100 and a post-it
note on it that says, "Para tu
pelo," for your hair.
She took the $100, she went, got a
full-body massage.
You build up an armor.
It's like a Teflon resistance to
Nana's and the comments,
and then it becomes a game.
We have a fun back and forth.
My Nana came to this country with
nothing, and she worked in an
industry where she wasn't
respected and she had to climb
her way to the top of it.
And now I get to be a comedian.
Literally, I get to tell jokes for a
living. I'm just thankful that
I can see my Nana and
see the love in how she shows it
through her obsession with
my hair. I fully embrace my hair.
I can wear it curly.
I can wear it straight.
I can have fun with it.
But ultimately it's mine
and I get to do what I want with
it.
Still rolling, standby.
"And then she was free, she enjoyed
it. She loved it.".
"And then my mom comes to pick me up
and she is just like,
'Not everyone has mirrors.'"
Yes,
let's get the raised eyebrow more
from the top.
Camera set.
Love your expressions, Danielle.
And action!
"My curls were too much for her,
and I just start crying."
And cut!
That's a cut. I feel good!