It's 7 a.m. on my stoop, oat-milk matcha number one in hand (number two is already a plan), and my 24-inch body wave is catching the light coming down the block. Somebody's auntie walking past tells me my hair is laying. I say thank you, because it is.

But here's what she can't see, and what I care about more: the cornrows underneath. My real hair. The hair I've been growing since I big-chopped in a dorm bathroom at 22.

I've worn sew-ins for gallery openings and wigs for deadline weeks when wash day simply was not happening. I love them both. I've also learned the hard way that a unit can look flawless while the hair under it is quietly falling apart. "Protective" protects you from the weather and the daily flat iron. It does not protect you from neglect.

So pull up a chair. Pour yourself something green. These are my rules for keeping what's underneath thriving.

The week before: my non-negotiables

I treat install week like I'm prepping for a big night out: clean hair, a gentle braid-down, and a plan for what comes next.

  1. A trim first. Just a dusting. Split ends don't take a vacation just because they're tucked away; they keep traveling up the strand.
  2. Clarify, then drench. I wash out every last bit of buildup, then sit under my hooded dryer with a deep conditioner and a podcast. If my hair feels limp or mushy, protein treatment first, moisture second.
  3. A gentle stretch. Low heat with a heat protectant, or banding overnight if I'm being extra careful. Stretched hair braids smoother and tangles less.
  4. I speak up in the chair. Love my braider, but if I can't raise my eyebrows, it's too tight. Bumps, throbbing or a headache mean loosen it before I walk out the door, especially around the edges and nape.
  5. I skip the leave-out. I used to press my leave-out every single morning to blend it. My edges paid for that. Now it's a closure or frontal so all of my natural hair stays tucked away. The care underneath still matters.

Living in a sew-in

A sew-in is a 24/7 relationship. Your braids are under there through every subway ride, every humid August afternoon, every spin class. They need attention.

  • Scalp wash every one to two weeks. I fill an applicator bottle with shampoo diluted in water and work it right along the braid rows with my fingertips, never my nails. Rinse well, then the same with a diluted conditioner.
  • Dry it all the way. Seriously. This is the step everybody skips, and it's how you end up with mildew and a sour smell nobody wants. I sit under the hooded dryer until the braids are completely dry, no matter how long it takes.
  • Moisture between the tracks. A few times a week, I spritz a water-based leave-in right onto the braids.
  • Light hand with oil. A few drops of jojoba on an itchy spot is plenty. Heavy grease just collects lint and builds up.
  • Six to eight weeks, then she comes out. I don't care how good it still looks. Past that window, new growth starts matting at the roots and shed hair gets trapped in the braids, and takedown turns into a crime scene.
  • If you keep leave-out: heat protectant every time, lowest flat iron setting that works, and wrap it at night instead of re-pressing every morning.
Treat your natural hair like the main event, because it is.

Living in wigs

The beauty of a wig is that it comes off. Use that.

The base matters. I keep flat cornrows, loose at the hairline, and I redo them every two to three weeks when I'm wearing units daily. Leaving the same braids in for months under a wig is just a sew-in with extra steps.

Put something between you and the unit. A wig cap cuts the friction. Mesh or cotton when it's warm; a satin-lined cap or a velvet wig grip when I want extra cushion for my edges.

My glue rule. If I'm doing a glued lace look for an event, adhesive goes on skin only, never on my edges, and it comes off with a real adhesive remover. No peeling. Ever. Day to day, I'm glueless: adjustable straps, combs or a band.

Mind the band. An elastic band sitting tight on the same strip of hairline every day is a slow-motion edge thief. Loosen it, shift it, give it days off.

Let your scalp breathe. The wig comes off when I get home. It's 9 p.m., the unit's on the mannequin, my braids are out, the matcha has been swapped for chamomile, and my scalp says thank you. I still wash my own hair every one to two weeks.

Wash the wig, too. A unit you wear constantly is collecting oil, sweat and product, and all of that sits on your scalp. Mine gets washed about every 10 to 15 wears, sooner during workout-heavy weeks.

BEFORE YOU CALL IT A NIGHT

My nighttime ritual

My grandmother never let anyone in her house sleep on cotton with their hair out, and she was right. Cotton drinks moisture and creates friction. Five minutes before bed saves weeks of damage.

  • Sew-in nights: I wrap the hair, or put long and curly extensions in a loose low ponytail or two loose braids, then tie it all down with a silk scarf or bonnet.
  • Wig nights: Unit on the stand, a light spritz of moisture on my braids, satin bonnet on.
  • Every night: A silk pillowcase, for the nights the bonnet ends up somewhere across the room by 3 a.m.

Listen when your scalp talks

Your scalp is honest, even when the mirror is lying to you. I loosen or take down early, no matter what's on my calendar, if I notice:

  • Pain, throbbing or headaches that last more than a day or two after the install
  • Little bumps or pimples along my braid rows or hairline
  • Itching that won't quit, flaking, or a sour smell
  • Thinning, or short broken hairs, around my edges or nape

Thinning at the hairline can be an early sign of traction alopecia, hair loss from repeated pulling. Caught early, it's often reversible if you give the area real rest. If it isn't improving, book a dermatologist who knows textured hair. Don't wait on that one.

And between installs, I give my hair at least one to two weeks of freedom. Slow takedown, plenty of slip while detangling, a clarifying wash, a long deep condition, then a wash-and-go or a puff while I check in on my edges. It's my favorite part of the cycle, honestly. Me, my real hair, and a fresh matcha on the stoop.

The last word

I will always love a good unit. The versatility, the drama, the way a fresh install makes a Tuesday feel like an opening night. But the hair I'm most proud of is the hair nobody sees until takedown day.

Treat your natural hair like the main event, because it is. Prep it well, keep your scalp clean and your braids moisturized, keep glue and tension off your edges, and give yourself real breaks between looks. Do that, and every takedown becomes a little reveal of how far you've come.

Now if you'll excuse me, matcha number two is calling.