Howgoing natural mademe visible
Thenight before Ichopped off my hair, I got nervous.
This decision felt bigger than me, given all theweight that Blackwomen’s hair carries. But after three months of wearing hats and scarves in a pandemicwhen trips to the hairdresser felt unsafe, I walked into a salon emotionally exhausted but ready to finally see my natural hair.
I thought a fewtearswould fall, but, as the last of my chemically straightened hair floated to the floor like rain, I felt cleansed. Free. I laughed hysterically as I drove away from the salon.
Friendsandfamilycheered meonvirtually, butmyfather quietly worried about my decision. My dad grewup in the Jim Crow South, where many women straightened their hair to land jobs, husbands and respect. Before my big chop, he never said much aboutmy hair beyond the occasional compliment, which iswhy Iwas surprised when he issued a warning.
“Watch it out there. Your hair is cut now,” he blurted when he sawmewalking out of the house.
My mother heard him but remained silent. She had her ownset of concerns. Shewas worried about me looking less professional.
I also had to helpmy now 4-year-old daughter understand why I decided to go natural. We’ve watched the animated “Hair Love” a million times. We’ve read books like “Happy Hair” byMechal ReneeRoe, “ILoveMy Hair!” by Natasha Anastasia Tarpley andmy personal favorite, “Don’t Touch My Hair!” by Sharee Miller.
Still, my daughter had a hardtimeadjustingtomynew haircut, often askingwhen I planned to getmy hair styled again. Shepreferredmyextensions, saying she thought I looked more like a princess that way. I gently explained that my hair is a style — and the one I choose— even if it’s not long and straight.
Myfamily’semotionsabout my hair left me tangled.
Of course, the styling of Black hair has been fraught for centuries. The CROWN Act, which passed the U.S. House in September and is now pending in the Senate, is intended to protect Black peoplefromdiscriminationin schools, housingandemployment based on their hairstyle. But such a law, even if passed, cannot stop bigotry, bulletsandtheemotionalbattle that comes with being a Black woman in America as seen through something as simple as our hair.
I hadn’t considered talking to my daughter about howhair couldaffecther personal safety until my father broke his silence. A haircut shouldn’t influence your life expectancy.
Onthenightofmyhaircut, I drovetothestoremoreaware ofhowotherswould perceive mynewlook. My father, however, wasmoreworriedabout my safety becausemy silhouette could possibly be mistakenforaBlackman’sframe.
We live in theMidwest, just outsideSt. Louis, wherenaturalhairstillmakesastatement for Blackwomen. Ifmy buzz cutmademelookmore like a Blackman, would the cops in ourtowntreatmedifferently? Inmydad’s eyes, myfemininity increasedmy chances of making it home safely.
His comments also led to a conversation about the intersection between racism and sexism. Without reading the crucialwork of scholar Kimberle Crenshaw and other activists, my father intuitively understood that society has placedBlackwomeninablind spot, where our gender and our race make us invisible in many ways.
But that space isn’t safe, is it? A Eurocentric feminine hairstyle can’t protect Black womenfromthemanydeadly forms of racism.
Police officers can see us.
Since 2015, at least 48 Black women have been killed by the police. I’m guessing the styleoftheirhairdidn’tmatter tothe officerspulling thetriggers. Inthepastfewyears, the #SayHerName campaign has put a spotlight on their killings, but society still pays less attention tothepolice killings of Blackwomen. While most people have heard ofGeorge Floyd, Michael Brown and Breonna Taylor, fewer know aboutKathrynJohnston, Korryn Gaines and India Kager.
Indeathandlife, our rights and our achievements don’t seem to hold asmuchweight compared with those of our male counterparts or our white ones. Yet, many Black womengo to great lengths to be accepted in this country.
In the past fewweeks, I’ve listenedtootherBlackwomen inmylifeventabouttheirhair andnavigating racism. We’ve shared our fears, hair horror stories and moments of victory. I’vecometo realize that my haircut wasn’t just about changingmy style. Itwas also about reclaiming my crown after years of letting society control it.