Don't Touch My Hair- Solange Knowles
I remember sitting on wooden bricks on a chilly morning before class started in middle school. A hispanic young girl, who happened to be a classmate of mine, jokingly touched my hair and said “You have ni**er hair!” Trying to be the cool, unbothered middle schooler, I acted like I didn’t hear her. I did not understand the deep-rooted, sickening historical context of that word at the time, but I was familiar enough to know that if I went home and told my parents, there would be a big problem.
I sat there embarrassed and cold, and eagerly waited for the teacher to open up the classroom door. I was one of the only black girls at my school. I had big curly hair and would always try to hide it by sticking it in a bun. All of my classmates would call it my “poof.” My mother is Black, French, and Mexican. My dad is Black. Together, they created a short brown-skinned girl, with the thickest, curly hair. Unfortunately, the disappointment that came with my hair did not begin this day.
My little sister, who is two years younger than me, got my mother’s loose curl genes. I envied her ability to blend in with others. I always felt different because of my hair. The feeling is similar to having something in your teeth and not being able to remove it when someone is speaking to you. I felt like I stuck out in every setting. When I was little, my mother would give my sister and I “wash days,” where she would wash both of our hair. My mom would finger coil my sister’s hair and off my sister went to play with her toys, while I was dreading the hurdle to come. I knew the drill. I would walk over to the television, sit down, and watch American Idol for hours until my mother finished detangling, deep conditioning, braiding, and oiling my scalp. This was only the beginning of my journey to embracing my natural hair.
Black people’s hair texture has been historically politicized for decades due to the beauty standard being set for those who are closely linked with European ancestry and have straight, soft, or wavy hair. This leaves people with tighter curl patterns and darker skin to automatically be put in a space where they might have to fight against systemic discrimination.
“Good hair” is a term that was used during slavery, that indicated how slaveowners would treat you, since hair was a direct status symbol. There is no such thing as “good hair” now. All hair is good. Black hair in its entirety is symbolic to the long, barbarous fight that enslaved African ancestors had to go through.
DRAG A HAIRSTYLE ON MY HEAD AND I WILL TELL YOU ABOUT IT
Hair discrimination has been an ongoing issue that the Black community has been fighting against for decades. From getting fired at jobs for wearing natural hair, to being forced to cut their hair off, or telling children that their hair is in school violation code, Eurocentric beauty standards are still considered ideal.
The physical attributes of African descent have been considered inferior, making it a struggle for simple everyday tasks. It directly correlates to the social, political, and cultural experiences of black individuals. Black hair is symbolic. It is an essential part of black history and identity.
Many find different styles and textures fascinating but somewhere along the way, there has been a stigma that it lacks professionalism. In fact—the ‘inferior’ perception of black hair is still so relevant that California recently had to mandate, Senate Bill 188, “The Crown Act,” (Create a Respectful and Open Workplace for Natural Hair) making it illegal to discriminate against hair.
Some companies find natural black hair unprofessional. Systemic change started to take place when the Natural Hair Movement began during the Civil Rights era. The United States was being strictly segregated in the 60s. Thus, causing the political climate to be divided and tense. Activism was prominent. A form of protest was being “Unapologetically Black.” This form of protest was utilized by wearing natural hairstyles to claim back the power that was stolen.
A California bill openly admitted that there is a profound problem happening right now in regard to the treatment of people with Black hair. The bill explicitly states, “Professionalism was, and still is, closely linked to European features and mannerisms, which entails that those who do not naturally fall into Eurocentric norms must alter their appearances, sometimes drastically and permanently, in order to be deemed professional.” Systemic hair discrimination is factual and undeniably happening, even through the lens of the law. This mandate wasn’t the first action that has had to take place.
The debate over Black people’s hair dates back to early colonization. In the 1400’s, Europeans started kidnapping Africans and trading them on the West Coast of Africa. In order to gain control and rid them of their identities’ to ensure enslavement, Europeans would shave off all of their hair. Black hair was used as a way to identify and communicate social status, family origin, and African tribe. In order to combat hunger if captured, some would place rice and seeds in their hair, specifically, in between sections of their braids, to have something to eat.
The first enslaved Africans (from the port city of Luanda) arrived in Jamestown, Virginia in 1619. Due to being on a ship for three months in inhumane conditions, hair was the least of worries. When they all arrived, many of the enslaved African’s hair was matted. Their culture was completely stripped away from them ever since. They could not maintain their hairstyles that they preferred, let alone speak their own native language.
Since Africans did not have resources to detangle their hair, they would use wool carding tools; adding animal fat and clay to create different hairstyles. Butter was used to moisturize and condition, while bacon grease and kerosene were used to maintain their hair.
Slave owners pushed their agenda of beauty standards from this time period onward. Lighter skin and straight hair are still prominent beauty norms that were dated back to over 400 years ago.
A "Good Hair" study by the Perception Institute in 2017 conducted a survey that found that black woman experience higher levels of anxiety than white woman when it comes to their hair. They also found that the average white woman showed explicit bias towards black hair, rating it less beautiful and less professional. These common perceptions about beauty have a direct impact on the way that Black women perceive themselves and their own relationship with their own hair.
Jamelia Donaldson, Founder of Treasure Tress, a subscription-based black hair product company in Europe, started her business after traveling to the United States and realized that black women in Europe didn't have access to the same quality products as African-American women in the United States. Donaldson says that she was spending 110 dollars on strictly shipping, just to receive American black hair products. This sparked her business endeavours by creating her own black hair product line in Europe.
“I would not go out with my hair in its natural texture. I'd always straighten it. I had to go through a whole process of almost like decolonizing my mind and letting myself know that my hair was fine in its natural texture,” Donaldson says.
The beauty hair standard that the Black community is forced to conform to in professional settings is equivalent to expecting white hair to be in cornrows, dreads, or afros. The difference in texture of hair is drastically different. Both cannot do the same hairstyles. When a job that funds a whole livelihood, fires someone for wearing natural hair, it becomes political; in result—these experiences affect the way that people look at themselves and their hair, and can have a dramatic impact on their self-esteem.
Keli Goff, a journalist, playwright and screenwriter, wrote a play that explains the journey of the relationship that black women have with their hair. “I found that during my career as a broadcast journalist, I was spending a lot more energy focusing on my appearance than the part I actually cared about, which is telling meaningful stories.”
A doctor told Goff that she was doing long-term damage to her hair and scalp. “I was doing a lot to keep my hair TV ready, which then meant longer and straighter, at all times. I tried hair extensions, excessive heat, and intensive straightening agents. So I switched gears to focus more on professions in which no one really cares what my hair looks like.”
Whitney Miller, a multimedia journalist for WCPO 9 News, recently started wearing braids on-air after she realized that she had not done so, in her eight years of reporting on television. “I used to wear them every day when I was a kid, and braids were my identity back in the day. It's crazy that when you know what the standards are in an industry, or you know that if you ruffle feathers, you're not going to get the job that you're looking for. You just kind of say, hey, I have to do what I have to do to get this job” Miller says.
Unfortunately, this is the experience that many Black women face during their career and while seeking a job.
“Our hair is bold. Our hair is not subtle at all, and I think white people have probably become accustomed to black people trying to assimilate as much as possible. Now, I think that Black people are at a point where they know, this is us. This is how we like to wear it. This is what our hair actually does and we're going to embrace it.” Donaldson says.
The effects of slavery never went away. It directly translated to what is now defined and considered “work appropriate” for black hair. The beauty standard is outdated. Natural black hair should not be deemed as “unprofessional” for the lack of progression within societal norms.
“It's also our cultural upbringing, its tradition. It speaks to quality time with other females in your family, but then it can also speak to insecurities, racism and discrimination. For me, black hair is quite intricate, but equally beautiful,” Donaldson states.