How It All Started
I had reached a point in my life where I was simply tired of going to the barber every week. Apart from the cost, the whole routine was beginning to feel like one more recurring appointment I could happily live without.
At the time, my hairstyle was somewhere between a mohawk and a low fade, with just enough hair on the top and sides for me to begin my loc journey.
Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on whether you ask me or my sister—she has gifted hands when it comes to anything involving hair. She was practically the neighbourhood hairdresser, so naturally, I decided it was finally time to cash in on one of the great perks of having talented siblings: free labour disguised as family bonding.
I found an example of the parting system I wanted, showed it to her and she whipped me up.
I chose square parts because I loved their geometric beauty and the versatility they offered. There was something about seeing those clean little sections sitting perfectly beside each other that made the entire style feel deliberate, even during the awkward starter stage.
And so my loc journey officially began.
I had absolutely no idea what I was about to put those poor starter locs—or my sister—through.
Let’s Just Say the Journey Was Not So Smooth
Starter locs require patience. Apparently, they also require knowing when not to attack your scalp like you have discovered buried treasure underneath it. During one washing session, I got a little too enthusiastic and scrubbed away as though I were digging for gold. At the time, everything felt wonderfully clean.
Then I stepped out of the shower. I looked into the mirror and was greeted by something that looked considerably more like a messy afro than the starter locs I had entered the bathroom with.
I was horrified.
Weeks of careful sectioning and twisting had apparently surrendered during one overly passionate shampoo session. Luckily, my sister has those gifted hands I mentioned earlier, so she managed to save the day. Looking back, I am beginning to suspect that my loc journey may have been considerably harder on her than it was on me.
There were loose locs to repair, roots to maintain and probably several moments when she questioned whether fulfilling her sisterly obligations as a loving big sister was really worth all this.
I, meanwhile, simply continued existing with a head full of locs and the confidence of someone who knew his emergency hair department lived nearby.
But All’s Well That Ends Well
Despite the rough beginning, the locs eventually decided they were staying. At around three months, they began to bud and became increasingly resistant to my questionable handling. Like a stubborn tree finally taking root, they stopped threatening to unravel every time I touched them.
Eventually, I could even sleep without a head wrap—one that, at some point, somehow found its way underneath the bed. Don’t ask me how. By then, the locs had become stable enough that waking up no longer felt like opening a mystery box.
My morning hair routine became beautifully simple:
Get up.
Shake them.
Spray them with some natural oils.
Continue with life.
That was it.
No more frequent and costly trips to the barber.
My sister was still handling my retightening too, which meant I was essentially living scot-free in the world of hair maintenance. Then bachelor life eventually did what bachelor life does, and I had to become a little more self-sufficient.
I learned how to retighten my locs myself, which sounded like a wonderful money-saving idea until I remembered that I apparently had a million locs growing from my head. Doing them individually was painfully time-consuming.
Eventually, I found a great salon that uses the same needle retightening method my sister started me out with, and now I only need to go roughly every two and a half months. Still considerably cheaper than my old barber routine.
I also bought my own clippers and learned to handle my edge-ups and beard grooming myself, which reduced my dependence on the barber even further.
What began as an attempt to save myself from weekly haircuts eventually became something much more permanent. My locs became part of my look, my routine and, in many ways, part of my identity.
And despite the unraveling, the long retightening sessions and the stress I undoubtedly inflicted upon my poor sister, I would absolutely do it again.
And just in case you were wondering whether all that patience paid off…
Want to Explore the Full Loc Journey?
See My Full Loc Journey, Care & Maintenance Series
This story is part of my complete loc series, where I share what I learned from starting locs, the mistakes I made along the way, how my routine changed as they matured and the products that eventually made maintenance much easier.
Would You Start the Loc Journey?
Starter locs can test your patience before they reward it. If you were starting today, would you trust the process through the awkward stages?
