You remember her, don’t you? She was the smart one? The one who sat in the front of your 8th grade class and raised her hand insistently when the math teacher asked one of those perplexing questions that made the rest of the students go cross eyed with confusion. Or perhaps she was the quietly smart type. She played the flute in band, or served as editor of your school newspaper. She was maybe a little goofy looking in a cute sort of way. She was anything but popular and maybe went through an awkward four eyed/metal face stage. More oft than not, when you look back on this girl you barely noticed, whether it be due to her intimidating intellect, or the fact that she was just plain not cool, she had atop her megawatt brain, a mound of ultra curly locks.

The plight of the curly haired female in our society is something that could easily be dismissed by most. Dismissed by those of us who don’t ourselves wake each morning and reach for the Afro-Sheen Pomade to sooth our quasi-afro ringlets, that is. Whether you’ve recognized it or not, the stigma that was attached to the 8th grade smarty-pants who was anything but beautiful, has followed the curly haired woman into adulthood. We are smart, sensitive, and passionate. We are creative, artistic, and we are cute. You look at us like your kid sister, the girl next door, the gal who can always be trusted for good-natured advice. You consider us darling, adorable, precious, and perky. The words sexy and beautiful however, seem to be reserved for a different variety of silken blessed women.

The plight of the curly haired female in our society is based on what I deem the Ginger vs. Maryanne syndrome. With a silky straight cascade of red hair, Ginger was the vixen. She was the bad kitten and the girl all the guys wanted to jump into bed with. She was everything sexy aspired to be, and everything cute was not. Maryanne however, was a different sort of gal. She was sweet and perky. Maryanne was the girl all the boys envisioned they’d marry after they’d bagged Ginger. There’s no way Maryanne would ever be deemed dim or deceitful. She’d never be plagued the bad girl from Slutville or have to worry about being liked more for her beauty than her brains. She was your sister, best friend or confidant way before she was ever considered your lover.

Take other celebrities within our society and the same stigma abounds. In 1990, a new pop star named Mariah Carey took flight and was immediately heralded the new darling of the airwaves. Her album was filled with love ballads and sweet songs of tenderness. Her clothes reflected her persona. They were soft and attractive without a hint of anything that said “vixen” or “slut”. Fast forward five years or so and the diva machine has manufactured a very different version of the pop princess. With her straight sleek hair, and barely there painted on get-up, the new Mariah is all sex, in a borderline prostitute sort of way. It’s not that the clothes alone wouldn’t have made her look this way, it’s that to help further propagate the “look” the stylists changed her hair from sweet curls to sexy sleek. Her new image just wouldn’t have been right had it been topped off with cherub ringlets.

Genetically, curly hair is dominant to the silky variety, and it’s reported that 60% of the population actually has curly or wavy hair. When I walk down the street however, it’s rare that I see a curly haired wonder twin passing me by. Why is this? Denial, I say! Most with curly hair fight it. With serums, gels, tonics, chemicals and irons, we stretch, tug, comb and basically battle to calm our curls. The afro monster plagues the curly haired girl everyday, and most are willing to do anything they can to transform themselves out of the cutesy Suzie-Q roll and into something a little more, well, a little more grown-up.

I can think back upon countless films wherein the ugly, klutzy duckling is transformed into the popular and pretty girl and more oft than not this involves taking a straightening iron to her head full of curls. Is it only the media that categorizes us; that makes the straight haired girl the chased after and the curly haired girl the one the guys go to for advice on getting the one they really want?

Given the choice to be deemed beautiful or cute, I’d venture to guess that a good portion of the female population would choose the former. When men step into a room and are confronted with a curly haired and a straight haired girl, it’s Miss Curly who oft appears approachable, while the straight haired girl takes on the aloof role. Those without the curls somehow appear less out of reach, harder to sway, and a bit of a challenge to garner. Whether this is in fact the truth of the matter, it’s the perception that counts and in fact acts as the impetus to move us to action.

Men are creatures of physical needs, and more so, fulfillment through physical observation. They like flashy things, whether this is cars, toys, or women. Men want what other men have, what other men desire. They want the alpha female; the most sought after variety. The penultimate female is the type who exudes sex appeal because basically sex is what men thrive upon; it’s what drives them. In our society, sexy is straight, while curly is cute, and once that first man saw other men going after the perceived sexpot, they just had to have her too. From there the curly haired girls plight began. inlineAd(alRight);

I am a chameleon, or at least I become one when I spend the hours required to change the dynamic of my genetic makeup from curly to straight. When I confront the world in my straight haired role, I do in fact feel the difference. I have always been in awe of the fact that strangers felt comfortable approaching me in public arenas to ask a variable number of questions. Men too seem very open to feeding me pick-up lines, or using the soup aisle in a grocery store as their very own meat market with me as the prime rib or top sirloin cut. I once appeared to a male friend in my changed state only to be met with the comment that I somehow appeared arrogant in silky haired form. He’s going to kill me for using this example, but another male friend recently told me “You’re really cute anyway, but with the straight hair – WOW!”

So what does this all mean? Yes, it’s all quite superficial fluff. Does my having curly hair mean I’m smarter than average. I’d love to say yes, but I doubt it. Does it mean that I’m the shoulder people should feel safe crying upon, or the girl people should feel comfortable in running to for advice? I’m no more adept at solving problems than the straight haired beauty, I can promise you that. The funny thing is, it doesn’t really matter if I am in fact any or all of these things, because without even trying, I am labeled as such.

So my friend, the next time you see a curly haired cutie cross your path and you grasp for the words needed to really catch her attention, try calling her beautiful. I’ll bet that in the curly haired world of Miss Suzy-Q, the word beautiful in itself is an original and underused statement enough to capture her fancy.

As for me, well, I’ve learned to love the afro head with which I was bestowed. This doesn’t however mean that I’m not still prone to having occasional dreams that involve beating out the straight haired knockout for my own place on the beauty queen throne.