What Is The Reason For Hair Fall
As a Black woman who loves beauty, I have complex and profound feelings about my hair. Our curls are like the texture of life, each strand bearing the marks of our culture and identity. But in recent years, with the increasing number of strands tangled in my comb and the scattered strands on my pillow, I've gradually realized that hair loss is quietly changing my life.
Genetics are an unavoidable factor. My grandmother always said her hair started to lose volume after she turned 30, and my mother's hair also thinned after menopause. They often choose natural and easy-to-use human hair half wigs in wear and go wigs series. At a family gathering last year, my cousin lifted the wig from her forehead and smiled helplessly, "It seems none of us can escape this gene for hair loss." It was then that I realized that my aunts and cousins were all quietly battling hair loss.
Excessive styling is another "invisible killer." To maintain a professional image at work, I used to go to the salon once a week for a cornrow perm. Tight braids pulled at my scalp, and every time I unbraided them, I'd see clumps of hair falling out. Once, my stylist used a high-temperature flat iron to straighten my hair, and my scalp stung. That night, when I washed my hair, the drain was completely clogged with shed hair. It wasn't until I looked in the mirror one day and saw that my hair at the temples had thinned so much that I could see my scalp that I finally stopped all chemical styling.
The impact of stress is far more direct than you might imagine. During the company's layoffs last year, I suffered from insomnia for three consecutive months. When I combed my hair in the mornings, the hair on my comb was so thick it formed a ball. One day, after working late into the morning, I looked in the bathroom mirror and suddenly realized that there was a noticeable gap at the crown of my hair. It was then that I finally understood how mental stress can leave its mark on my body in such a tangible way.
My misguided haircare habits have also cost me a price. Blindly believing that frequent washing would keep my hair bouncy, I used a strong, sulfate-laden shampoo daily, leaving my already dry hair as brittle as dead grass. I later learned that Black people's hair produces less natural oil, and over-washing can damage the scalp's protective barrier and accelerate hair loss. Now, I use gentle, silicone-free shampoo and conditioner and only wash my hair twice a week, and my hair volume has gradually stabilized.
My neighborhood hairdresser, Auntie Martha, often says, "Our hair is like the African thorn bush: it looks tough, but its roots are actually very fragile." This reminds me of my childhood, when my mother would comb my hair with a comb, always saying, "Gentle, more gently." Those gentle reminders, hidden within my hair, were a reminder to treat it with kindness. Now, as I look in the mirror at my hair slowly regaining its full volume, I finally understand that hair loss isn't just a sign from the body, but also a warning from our lifestyle—only by treating it with gentleness can we allow the texture of life to continue to flourish.
Genetics are an unavoidable factor. My grandmother always said her hair started to lose volume after she turned 30, and my mother's hair also thinned after menopause. They often choose natural and easy-to-use human hair half wigs in wear and go wigs series. At a family gathering last year, my cousin lifted the wig from her forehead and smiled helplessly, "It seems none of us can escape this gene for hair loss." It was then that I realized that my aunts and cousins were all quietly battling hair loss.
Excessive styling is another "invisible killer." To maintain a professional image at work, I used to go to the salon once a week for a cornrow perm. Tight braids pulled at my scalp, and every time I unbraided them, I'd see clumps of hair falling out. Once, my stylist used a high-temperature flat iron to straighten my hair, and my scalp stung. That night, when I washed my hair, the drain was completely clogged with shed hair. It wasn't until I looked in the mirror one day and saw that my hair at the temples had thinned so much that I could see my scalp that I finally stopped all chemical styling.
The impact of stress is far more direct than you might imagine. During the company's layoffs last year, I suffered from insomnia for three consecutive months. When I combed my hair in the mornings, the hair on my comb was so thick it formed a ball. One day, after working late into the morning, I looked in the bathroom mirror and suddenly realized that there was a noticeable gap at the crown of my hair. It was then that I finally understood how mental stress can leave its mark on my body in such a tangible way.
My misguided haircare habits have also cost me a price. Blindly believing that frequent washing would keep my hair bouncy, I used a strong, sulfate-laden shampoo daily, leaving my already dry hair as brittle as dead grass. I later learned that Black people's hair produces less natural oil, and over-washing can damage the scalp's protective barrier and accelerate hair loss. Now, I use gentle, silicone-free shampoo and conditioner and only wash my hair twice a week, and my hair volume has gradually stabilized.
My neighborhood hairdresser, Auntie Martha, often says, "Our hair is like the African thorn bush: it looks tough, but its roots are actually very fragile." This reminds me of my childhood, when my mother would comb my hair with a comb, always saying, "Gentle, more gently." Those gentle reminders, hidden within my hair, were a reminder to treat it with kindness. Now, as I look in the mirror at my hair slowly regaining its full volume, I finally understand that hair loss isn't just a sign from the body, but also a warning from our lifestyle—only by treating it with gentleness can we allow the texture of life to continue to flourish.
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