When I was 11, my hair kinda died on me. If it wasn’t stuck on my scalp, I would’ve buried it beside my the grave of my 3rd grade diary (ain’t shitting with yah!) but you see, I had to live with it.
It had been puffy and brittle and dried ever since and quite honestly, it’s one of my biggest frustrations in life. I mean, who wants to have walis tambo for hair? Over the years, I’ve come to realize that no matter how fug you may be, hell, even if you have an eye above your bellybutton, if you have great hair, guys wouldn’t mind getting into your pants.
Also, just so you know, none of those hair products you see on TV work. NONE. At least, for me. So in my quest to have better hair, I’ve concentrated on the style, not so much the quality anymore because each strand of this goddam mane looks like it came from the pubis area.