Written April 2021
Learning to love—and accept—my natural hair
Black hair as politic
For Black folks, hair has always been more than just hair. Since slavery, white people have told us that our hair is inferior, unruly, nappy, unprofessional, ugly, and countless other pejoratives. To fit into this white supremacist society, Black folks have gone to dangerous lengths to make their hair silky and straight, dousing their kinks and curls with scalp-burning chemical treatments. Thanks to Madam CJ Walker and her groundbreaking “Walker system,” it became much easier and safer for Black people to straighten their hair by the early 1900s. Her vast range of homemade products even helped Black women to feel more confident in and love their hair—but still, they wouldn’t dare step out of the house with a natural look.
At the height of the Civil Rights and Black Power movements, however, many Black folks began to rebel against these white supremacist beauty standards. Black celebrities and activists, from Diana Ross to Angela Davis to The Jackson 5, sported huge Afros, unapologetically proud of their Black hair, culture, and heritage. This simple hairstyle was often seen as a radical and controversial political statement, and faced a significant amount of backlash, even from other Black folks. Yet it paved the way for other types of natural hairstyles to become more widely accepted and celebrated, both in the Black community and in mainstream American society.
Yet we cannot deny—Black hair is hardly any less political now than it was 50 years ago. Black folks are still being denied jobs, kicked out of schools, and excluded from spaces and opportunities for wearing braids, locs, twist outs, and other natural styles. Just three years ago, Andrew Johnson, a Black high school student, was forced to choose between cutting off his locs or forfeiting a wrestling match. (He chose the former.) To this day, only eight states have explicitly outlawed discrimination against natural hairstyles predominately worn by Black people.
No braids on birthdays?
So it should come as no surprise that debates over Black hair are always happening within the Black community, especially on Black Twitter. Last week, I came across a viral Tweet made by a young Black woman, who claimed that she unfollowed another (presumingly Black) woman because she suggested she get her hair braided for her birthday. The long string of laughing emojis made it clear that she thought braids were not suitable for the occasion.
And she wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Up in the replies I saw a good amount of Black women agreeing that braids were not “classy,” “grown,” or “sexy” enough for a special occasion. The young woman continued to double down on her statement in the replies too, even calling braids “middle school vibes”! The anti-Blackness and self-hate was just oozing out of these Tweets.
Reading the replies hurt my heart. Braids are incredibly beautiful and versatile, and as elegant as any wig or weave. They were created with great pride and care by our African ancestors, and are a staple part of Black culture across the diaspora. Claiming that they are not appropriate for special occasions echoes the white supremacist beliefs Black folks have been indoctrinated with for centuries—and have been trying to unlearn in recent decades.
Of course, there is absolutely nothing wrong with liking to wear your bundles or lace front! They too can be beautiful and elegant, and are important to Black culture. Like braids, they also serve as a protective and manageable hair style, keeping our hair safe from flat irons and chemical treatments. There are plenty of Black women who wear wigs and weaves who love their natural hair, and sport natural hairstyles whenever they want to. And as discussed earlier, natural hairstyles are still taboo in many professional and academic spaces; it’s completely clear why some Black women prefer to wear a wig or weave, or straighten their hair, on a regular basis.
Thankfully, there were plenty of people who replied to the viral Tweet who strongly disagreed with the young woman. Some Black women in the replies even shared pictures of them rocking gorgeous braids on their birthdays! The woman seemed unfazed by the folks calling out her anti-Blackness; from what I can tell, she never apologized or took back her statement. Still, I hope they at least made her question why she views straight hair as “sexier” or “classier” than braids. Is this not a talking point straight out of the white supremacist playbook?
At the same time, I could not judge her. Like far too many Black girls and women, I also have struggled with ingrained anti-Blackness and self-hate throughout my life. For years, I was uncomfortable with the very hair that grew out of my own head.
In love with the flat iron
My first time ever getting my hair straightened was in late elementary school, when I was in either fourth or fifth grade. Before that, I usually wore my hair in cute little braids or twists, often adorned with colorful beads or barrettes. I also loved rocking puffs, a ponytail, or a neat bun. But for my aunt’s wedding—a special occasion—my girl cousins and I all got to go to the salon and get our hair done up, and I was absolutely thrilled.
I remember being in awe. I had never seen my hair straight before, and had no idea it was so long, nearly to the middle of my back. It also made me feel a little more like I fit in. Because all of my older girl cousins (and even some younger ones) had their hair relaxed or straightened, I had begun to feel a bit childish with my natural hair and Justice outfits. I was almost in middle school—practically grown!
On several occasions after the wedding, I begged my mom to let me get a relaxer, which was pretty much the norm in the 2000s. I am thankful to this day that she flat out refused, pointing to the damage getting a perm did to her hair. Instead, she started to take me to get my hair pressed at a Black woman’s house every month or so. I have no idea how my mom knew her and sadly no longer remember her name, but she was very sweet and gentle with me (and always had the Hallmark channel on!).
But what really changed my life was my first flat iron. My mom bought it for me when I was around 13 years old. In retrospect, it was terrible; it was by the Wet2Straight brand, and definitely not made with Black hair in mind. But you couldn’t tell middle school me that—I was just excited to be able to straighten my hair by myself, any time I wanted to.
I quickly learned that I could not just straighten my hair wet, like the flat iron name said. Not only did I need to blow dry it with a comb attachment, but also use plenty of oily heat protectant. By eighth grade, I was spending three to four hours in my bathroom every Friday or Saturday night, washing my hair, blow drying and straightening it, and then vacuuming up the hair all over the bathroom afterwards.
Today, I believe and know that straightening my hair is not bad at all. In fact, I would wear my hair straight every once in a while now if I had someone who could do it for me, just to switch things up! But what was extremely problematic about my teenage years is that I wanted my hair to be straight all. of. the. time.
Keeping my hair sleek and straight was not easy to keep up at all. I had dance class almost every weekday, meaning I was always sweating my hair out. I would touch up my hair with my flat iron throughout the week, even though I knew it was not healthy. The summer was even worse—my hair would puff up as soon as it hit the sweltering, humid air. I also was a member of a summer swim team, and quickly learned that wearing a swim cap (or two) would not keep my hair from getting wet, completely ruining my straightened hair. Even if just a little part of my hair got wet, I needed to wash my whole head to make sure the chlorine got out.
Now I am thankful for those summer days, because it forced me to finally give my hair a break. I gave up on trying to straighten my hair during the summer, and mostly wore my natural hair down, in a ponytail, or up in a bun. (I have gotten box braids before, but that wasn’t until I was 17, when I traveled to Europe for a People to People summer trip.)
Looking back, I realize no one ever insulted or made fun of my natural hair during the times I had no choice but to wear it. In fact, my mom always showed her love for my natural hair, and did not like that I straightened it so much. (To give me some independence as a teenager, however, she allowed me to wear my hair and make-up how I wanted, as long as it was age appropriate.) My other family members and plenty of friends also complimented my hair, and encouraged me to try out more natural styles. But their words went into one ear and out of the other: I still felt like I looked better with my hair straight.
I largely blame the European beauty standards that were all around me for my self-hatred. Though the natural hair movement technically got off the ground in the 90s, I was surrounded by Black girls and women with straight hair in the 2000s and early 2010’s. Most of the female members of my family did not wear natural hair styles back then. A lot of the girls I went to school with wore their hair straight too, or in braids with extensions. I ultimately remember seeing very few Black girls wearing their natural hair in real life or in the media; if they were, it was usually a biracial girl. (Think, Madison Pettis in The Game Plan.) At times I was even jealous of “mixed people” hair, because I too wanted my curls to be looser and longer and down my back—like my hair was when it was straight.
Whew chile the heat damage!
At 16 years old, I finally had a rude awakening. Not only was my curl pattern starting to change, but the roots of my hair were turning straight! I gradually realized that the heat damage to my hair had gone way too far—despite my obsession with straightening it, I did not want to actually lose my natural hair texture. I had seen how my cousin's hair turned a bizarre mix of curly and straight from it being flat ironed so much, and I did not want my hair to end up like that. (Don’t worry, my cousin’s hair is much healthier now!)
In late high school, I wore natural hair styles a lot more often. I still straightened my hair probably more than I should have—looking through old photos, you can see me with my hair straightened for dance recitals, competitions, birthdays, school photos, and even for church. But for the first time in a while, my hair was finally able to breathe and recover from the once beloved flat iron.
There is no exact moment where I actually began to love and appreciate my hair in its natural state. I think it was a combination of me finding the right products that defined my curls and made them pop, and seeing more and more Black girls and women—including my mom and several aunts—wearing their natural hair, largely thanks to the growth of the natural hair movement on social media. I gradually began to feel less like I was “supposed” to straighten my hair, and more like it was an option for whenever I felt like it. I realized there were plenty of ways to style my natural hair that made me feel just as pretty, or even prettier, as I did with straight hair. Plus, I did not have to worry about rain, humidity, or sweating my hair out!
Once I entered college, I did not even think about trying to straighten my hair on a regular basis. Even if I wanted to, I barely had the time or energy, with all of the classes, homework, activities, and social functions on my plate. I admit—I was still stuck in the mindset of wanting to wear my hair straight for special occasions! I flat ironed my hair for my 19th birthday, a few social events, and my two dance showcases during my first year. (Like before, my hair looked terrible after dancing and sweating for several hours, and I decided to wear my hair in a natural ponytail for the rest of my college showcases.)
From my second year and on, I can probably count on my hands the number of times I straightened my hair. What’s most important though is that I realized I should not feel like I need to straighten it for specific occasions—a natural hairstyle is just as “special”. For my 20th birthday I tried out a new natural hair style, suggested by a friend at the time, and absolutely fell in love with it. I wore the same style for my 22nd, and if I had had enough time to do it, I would have worn it again for my 24th.
It’s been nearly a decade since I’ve had that rude awakening in my old childhood bathroom, and my hair has visibly changed for the better. I can say my hair is the healthiest it’s been in years. When you look at pictures from when I first started college and compare them to how I look today, you can see just how much my curls have resurrected from the heat damage!
Thinking of the kids
I know my story is far from unique, but I acknowledge I come from a place of privilege. My defined, 3C-type curl pattern is largely considered desirable within the Black community. I certainly have not gone through the same struggles or discrimination as someone with kinkier, 4C-type hair, and I can never claim to. Just about all of the negative feelings I used to have towards my hair came from myself, inside of my head, and not directly from other people bullying or making fun of me. Texturism is incredibly widespread and harmful, and absolutely must be dismantled.
It is imperative we celebrate Black folks, especially Black women, wearing all types of hair styles, from bantu knots to lace fronts to Afros to locs to box braids to puffs to sew ins to twist outs to cornrows. That is the beauty of our hair and culture—we do not ever have to be confined to one style. And as more Black women become unapologetic about wearing the styles they love, I can only hope that the beauty standard will continue to shift, and we no longer will feel pressured to fit into a white supremacist society that was never meant for us to begin with.
My thoughts now lie with the future generations of Black girls, particularly the daughter (or daughters) I hope to have someday. I will do all that I can to ensure that they will not go through what I went through. That they will not feel like their hair always “needs” to be straight, or underneath a wig or a weave. That their hair will not get so heat damaged that their roots begin to turn straight. That they will love their natural hair from the very start, and will not be afraid to rock it at any time, any occasion. Our hair is beautiful—just the way it grows out of our heads.