Soooo I have finally done it. I have finally started wearing my hair “out.” This means all of my hair in it’s curly glory is unleashed unto the wold, vulnerable to judgement and rejection, approval and pride, confusion and dismissal. 

For a while I didn’t wear my hair in a ‘fro because it just didn’t ‘feel right’ but then I started to think about where those feelings were coming from and dissecting them to see if it was some crazy self-loathing or embarrassment that stems from American society’s idea of beauty. In the end, I do think it was a bit of that, because let’s be real, it’s hard to be impervious to the onslaught of beauty standards that berate us everyday. But, it was also my preference to wear my hair in twists because it’s a style that doesn’t dry out my hair within minutes and I can wear that hairstyle for a few days (ahem, weeks) without having to mess with it. I’m very low-maintenance, so the thought of doing cute styles everyday would put me in shock. I’m slowly overcoming my aversion to spending more time on my hair. Ha.

So, whatever, I did it. And I love it. However, I do want to share an instance where my full head of kinky hair wasn’t so appreciated and I was so surprised and taken aback at WHERE I felt this incredible discomfort and more so sad as to the probable reasons why:

My little sister’s dance recital for an all-black dance company.

There were quite a few things going on before I even stepped foot into the theater that made me a little uneasy, including the fact that my little sister was required to wear a weave (which she looked adorable in- but still), as were all of the ladies in the dance company. I understand the creative desire for uniformity when putting on a show, but because our culture has been so ravaged by history it seems like maybe putting young black girls in straight weaves isn’t the best way to encourage confidence, but I digress. What went on in that show is a whole other blog post. 

Anyway, so I’m sitting down watching these super talented kids bop around stage when I feel a distinctive tap on my shoulder. I turn around and this girl tells me in the most condescending, self-important tone that my hair is in the way and that she can’t see and asked me if I could ‘move the the left’ so she could see.

Honestly, I don’t mind someone asking me to scoot over if my hair’s in the way, but sweet jesus they better do it in a way that is respectful. This kid made it seem as though I was wearing a giant sun hat that haloed 8 feet around my head. The way she said ‘your hair is in the way,’ my hair may as well have been live cockroaches crawling all over her. Needless to say I wanted to level her out right then and there. Of course, I refrained because the thought of actually getting into a physical fight with anyone makes me squeamish, but it also made me sad because I could almost hear the disgust in her voice and immediately understood that kind of hateful sentiment that permeates black culture when it comes to hair. Also, she was like 14- I think. Sigh.

I’ve been wearing my hair natural my entire life and have been subjected to all sorts of criticism, but in this new age of #blackgirlmagic and the warm embrace of and enthusiasm behind black hair care, I thought I would have a safe space at this event that was suppose to be celebrating blackness. Though, that may have been the case, not everyone is onboard with the ‘fro, and that’s okay- I guess. The only thing is to make sure the reason behind not wanting or liking afros is coming from a healthy place. Because, just look at it:

As I mentioned earlier, I think there was a part of me that was so hesitant to rock a ‘fro because of the prejudice associated with it, and I didn’t want to be ‘categorized.’ I know. I know. It took a long time for me to recognize and accept those feelings. It’s so frustrating because it was like I knew better, but couldn’t shake these strange sensitivities. I’ve come to terms with the fact that the healing within the community is going to take a lot longer than a few years of insightful speeches, ‘woke’ celebrities, and social movements. The kind of damage that’s been done is so much deeper than hair and so much more than just putting more black people in TV shows and films. My ancestors were completely stripped of their humanity and told they didn’t deserve, well, anything. Nothing. They didn’t even deserve to be themselves. So, of course that kind of psychological trauma that has manifested and evolved in countless ways not only within the black community but in society as a whole is going to take some time to mend. We’re on the right track though, finally, but whew. It’s gonna be a while. In the meantime, I’ll be over here rockin my ‘fro.