Black Hair Matters

‘Don’t you wish you just had normal hair?’

This was a question asked to me by a school friend, about my apparently ‘abnormal’ hair. OK, some context: I think the question was well-meaning, as I had just been complaining about the number of hours it took to straighten my hair each week. But this memory has stayed with me. Why is Afro-Caribbean hair not considered ‘normal’?

It has now been over 5 years from the last day I ever straightened my hair. Since then I have binned the straighteners and been on a natural hair ‘journey’. For me, embracing my natural hair was really the first step I made in really connecting and embracing my ethnicity.

Growing up with black hair

 For many years I didn’t really know what to do with my hair.  I was the only person I knew with hair like mine . Although I have darker skin, many of my family members are white (which, believe it or not,  some people find hard to understand) so I didn’t have any one to show me how to manage my hair. In my primary school I was one of only two black girls in my class, and the proportions weren’t much different in secondary school. At some stage, perhaps at 13 or 14 years old, I started straightening my hair and this became  the only way I wore it. Leaving my hair natural simply was not an option for me. It looked OK when it was wet, but when dry I just did not like my hair. The damaging straightening regime took hours each week, and gave me loads of split ends. The hard work was also ruined by the slightest source of moisture (yay for UK weather!) which meant further effort and caretaking, and strictly no swimming. But hey, at least I fitted in now right?

At the time, I didn’t really have an awareness of how much my environment, the media, my peers, and society influenced me in my choices.  All magazine models had straight or at best wavy hair. Of all my favourite singers, TV characters, book characters – I can’t recall ever seeing hair like mine. From a worryingly young age, society taught me that ‘good hair’ was long, flowy, silky, and straight. My hair was fizzy, unruly, grew out rather than down, and was generally large – all words which were only ever written on a hair product when it promised to remove these characteristics.

University – an education in more ways than one

When I went to university, again there were no other black girls in my all-girl flat, and only one other on my course. University in general was a torturous experience for me at times. I often felt that I didn’t fit in, and I had very little self-confidence. Looking back, I can now see how this was in part, tied up with my appearance, and especially my hair and skin. I didn’t have the experience or understanding to actively go and seek out others that looked like me to share experiences and make new friendships. As a matter of fact I was put off from joining the Afro-Caribbean Society as I was scared of not fitting in there for not being considered black enough, with lack of skills to do my own hair, and my lack of knowledge about my Jamaican roots. Therefore I continued my slog to try and force my hair to look a certain way, not quite knowing where I fitted.

In my third year of university, I visited one of the few black hair salons in Sheffield (MADE, which sadly has since closed down) with the aim of getting my dry split ends trimmed off.  The (black) stylist asked me why I straightened by hair all the time, and advised that I should only do that for special occasions. I confessed that I didn’t really know what to do with it, and they encouraged me to let them style it for me. I am in no way exaggerating when I say this was a life changing moment. They styled my curly hair using techniques and products I didn’t know existed. They gave me free samples to take home, and I marvelled in the mirror at how my hair looked. For once, I thought my natural hair looked amazing.

Around about the same time, I met a some friends of a friend –  two black girls and for the first time in my life, I had a friend I could talk to about my hair. We talked about the techniques we could use to style our hair, which ones they had tried, and they really encouraged me to wear my hair natural.  YouTube became my tutor and I was connected in with black girls with curly hair around the world, all sharing tips about how to style their hair, discussing the curly hair categorisation scale, and reviewing products (most of which weren’t available in the UK at the time, thankfully shops are now catching on). It was a brand new world.

Realisation

I realised that my hair was not ugly, unruly, or to be hidden away. I just needed to learn to take care of it (number one rule: moisture!). I learned that it was part of me, and I should be proud of it. All this time, I had, without consciously meaning to, rejected this whole part of myself, and worked so hard to fit in with what is ‘normal’. I had this warped view of the world and what constituted ‘beautiful’. And it’s not just me. I have heard so my little girls at age 5 or 6 with curly hair asking their parents to straighten it so they can look like their friends. It honestly makes me so sad that by age 5, society tells us that black hair is not ‘normal’.

Looking back, I actually think curly hair suits my face way more than straight hair ever did. Don’t get me wrong, lots of people choose to straighten their hair and that is great too. But you do have a choice. Now I choose embrace my curly hair, and see it as a sign of being proud of who I am. It is also a statement to those who need it that black hair is beautiful and it is normal.  I also learned of  the importance and the power of having a connection with other black women, and having black role models to share, understand and process our experience of the world.  I think this is particularly valuable in the painful year that is 2020.

What now?

There are some small things we can all do:

• Firstly, please do not be tempted to touch someone’s hair without permission. Just because it looks different to yours, I am a person, not something exotic to be petted or examined. (Yes, this has happened to me on several occasions by complete strangers…)
• Educate yourself. There are plenty of great books out there, YouTube videos, and articles on racism, structural racism and how you can be an ally.
• Challenge – whether it’s the products we buy (why can’t I get plasters/tights/bras that match my skin tone?), the magazines we buy, or the leadership teams of the companies we work for. Ask do they reflect our society? If not, ask why and demand better.
• Most importantly, listen. Talk to your black friends and colleagues about their experiences. If you’ve never experienced racism then talk to someone that has. Put yourself in someone else’s shoes, even if it might be uncomfortable to start with. We all need to start somewhere and listening is the first step to moving forward as a society.

I really do think I have only realised in the past few years of my life what it means to be black. Unfortunately, society still tries to tell us that to be black is still to be considered to be abnormal. Less than human. I’ve spoken about this in the context of hair, but this issue is so far reaching, so ingrained into the structure of our society, that only considered, collective, pro-active action is going to bring about meaningful change.