by guest contributor Tami Winfrey Harris
“Maybe Aunt Tami can be the clown at my birthday party.”
So my five-year-old niece told my sister. It’s not that I can juggle or do magic. I don’t own a pair of big, floppy shoes or a red, rubber nose. It’s the hair.
My hair is nappy. It is coarse and thick. It grows in pencil-sized spirals and tiny crinkles. My hair grows out, not down. It springs from my head like a corona. My hair is like wool. You can’t run your fingers through it, nor a comb. It is impenetrable. My hair is rebellious. It resists being smoothed into a neat bun or pony tail. It puffs. Strands escape; they won’t be tamed. My hair is nappy. And I love it.
To my niece, my hair is a novelty. I am the only black woman in her life that wears her hair in its natural state. I could dismiss my niece’s comments as a kid innocently calling attention to a perceived difference, but I realize there is some judgement in her words. She has already learned, like little girls of color almost always do, that typically European physical features, like straight hair, are the prettiest.
When my niece first spotted the short afro that replaced my straight bob, she crinkled her nose and emphatically said, “I like your hair the other way better.” When I gifted her with two Barbie dolls–a caramel colored one with silky hair and a deep brown one with bushy afro puffs–she favored the one with the combable ‘do. I also notice how she preens and tosses her tresses when they are freshly straightened by the hot comb. She feels pretty, like I used to when I was a little girl.
Growing up, I learned to covet silky, straight hair; flaxen, “bouncing and behaving” hair; Cheryl Tiegs and Christie Brinkley hair. It was a Eurocentric beauty standard that many women no doubt struggled with, but as a young black girl, my appearance could not have been further from the American ideal.
Making my hair bounce and behave meant hours wriggling between my grandmother’s knees as she raked an iron comb, heated in the flames of the stove, through my hair. I remember the sizzle of the hot comb as it rested cooling on a damp towel, the smell of burnt hair and Posner’s blue grease heavy in the air. The process stretched my tight curls into hair I could swing, toss and run my fingers through, something closer to the “white girl hair” that black girls admired and tried to imitate, sometimes even wrapping our heads in towels to a simulate a long, flowing mane.
My straightened hair was beautiful. But that beauty came at a price. It meant ears burned by slipped hot combs and a scalp scarred by harsh chemicals. It meant moderating outside play so as not to work up a sweat and staying clear of the swimming pool; dreaded moisture would make my hair “go back.” It meant having lye from a perm relaxer eat away at the back of my long, thick hair until barely an inch was left. It meant subtly learning that my natural physical attributes were unacceptable, something to be hidden or molded into submission.
I was not alone in my pathology. Pressing combs, relaxers, weaves and the quest to hide the naps are part of the fabric of black beauty culture. It is estimated that more than 75 percent of black women straighten their hair. In the book “Hair Story: Untangling the Roots of Black Hair in America,” Ayanna Byrd and Lori Tharps write: “Before a black child is even born, relatives speculate over the texture of hair that will cover the baby’s head, and the loaded adjectives “good” and “bad” are already in the air.” In the same book, a New York City dancer named Joicelyn explains: “Good hair is that silky black shit that them Indian girls be havin’…Good hair is anything that’s not crazy-ass woolly, lookin’ like some pickaninny out the bush.”
Cultural and professional pressures kept me relaxing my curls for 20 years. In the late 90s, the neo-soul movement caught fire in R&B. Young, bohemian singers like Jill Scott, Erykah Badu and India Arie were rocking stylish natural looks, and I began seeing more natural heads strutting down Michigan Ave. in Chicago, where I lived. Two of my close friends took the plunge, shearing their permed hair to start anew. Suddenly natural black hair was fashionable—at least for a small group of people.
Seeing more women, however few, freed from the tyranny of constant straightening, inspired me.I began poring over books about the care and politics of black hair. I became a member of a popular Web site devoted to championing natural hair. I learned about the toxic ingredients in chemical relaxers and the lasting damage they do. I discovered the origins of negative myths about black hair. I learned how to properly care for natural locks and discovered the myriad styles that can be achieved. I met women of all ages who embraced “nappy” as a positive description. And I slowly came to realize the inherent foolishness of believing black women’s hair, apart from that of all other races, needs to be fixed—pressed, weaved and manipulated into something it isn’t.
In August 2006, after years spent admiring the growing number of nappy heads around me; fretting whether my husband would still find me attractive; worrying whether my unruly ‘fro would frighten my co-workers; I chopped my near shoulder-length hair off, leaving barely an inch of kinky curls. I was free!
I know that brains and character are more important than beauty, but I still want to save my niece from the burden of feeling not pretty enough in a Western culture where all women are judged by their appearance, and women of color often come up lacking in the eyes of the mainstream. My niece is one of few black children in her neighborhood and school. Her playmates are young enough now that affection is not dampened by differences in skin color. But I know what often happens to girls of color in majority white schools; they become ciphers–sidekicks on the social scene. As my stepson said of the handful of black girls in his high school, “They are friends with everybody, but I don’t hear about them dating that much.”
I want my niece to feel beautiful–inside and out–because she is beautiful, the spitting image of her mom when she was a girl with, my mother says, her Aunt Tami’s precocious personality. I want her to value that as much as I do. So, I tell her that she is smart and talented and pretty. I look for dolls and playthings that help affirm black beauty. I buy books like bell hooks’ Happy to be Nappy. And I try to be an example of a black woman who is comfortable in her skin and her hair.
Someday, when she is older, my niece may decide to chemically straighten her hair, as most black women do. That is her right. But if she makes that choice I want it to be based on a style preference–like choosing passionate pink lipstick instead of ravishing red–not because she is ashamed of the way her hair naturally kinks and curls.
So, today when my niece stares at my hair and exclaims “Your hair is so big!” or “Your hair is like a bush!,” I smile and say, “Yes it is. And I like it, don’t you?”
Tamara Winfrey Harris is a communications and marketing professional living in central Indiana. An aspiring writer, Tamara blogs at whattamisaid.blogspot.com. You may reach her at whattamisaid@gmail.com.
Hi Tami,
Thanks for writing this; it’s important we are aware of cultural pressure. Especially cultural pressure that says to be you is to be ugly.
I would add that it’s bothered me for a VERY long time seeing people at sporting events and on Halloween wearing afro wigs.
They are saying that our hair is a joke and that should a Black woman choose to wear her hair naturally, she will be considered a joke as well.
I am also saddened that another generation of little Black girls will grow up not knowing the texture of their own hair.
It’s only unruly if you’re trying to make it do what it is not suppose to – and it’s not suppose to be straight! So, as is, it’s pretty tame and well-behaved. It stays in its place and keeps its curl. Beautiful!
Self imposed racism is the worst. Though I can understand it to the extent that minorities want to “fit in”, much of it is also to do with the invisible pressure that the majority race – white – don’t realise that they force upon you. i.e. the strike to attain gorgeous flowing hair, or a pure, “innocent” skin tone.
But I’m a firm believer that a person can never be fully beautiful, or the best they can be, if they are constantly imitating another person, least of all another race.
Great post! Every black woman has a hair story and yours covered a lot. Thanks for sharing your thoughts and ideas.
I have Irish curly hair that my mom spent hours trying to tame when I was a girl. I didn’t even know that my hair was curly until I was in high school and tried to cut my hair in a bob. I looked like a poodle and cried and cried. I was ashamed to go to school and always wore my hair in a bun.
Then I let it grow and had no idea how to manage it so I just looked unkempt. Then I came across the book “Curly Girl” and my life changed. Literally. I was suddenly happy to have curly hair, and even knew how to make it look good. Since that day I have been on the look out for women who let their hair be what it is.
There are so many different formulas for beauty. I want to see as many variety as I can, and encourage women to be proud of the natural beauty they have.
I enjoyed your message and feel more relieved about my own daughter–she has said many times she wished her hair was like mine or like her blonde Barbie’s. As a transracial adoptive mom, I wanted to ensure I was affirming and celebrating her African culture. I have given her mostly beautiful brown-skinned dolls, that look more like her, but she still gravitates toward the blonde ones. I was hoping she would begin to love her hair and accept herself as the beautiful child she is. But even her self-portraits are all drawn with long blonde hair. Thank you for reassuring me in my fear that she has a poor self-image–she’s not alone–and she’s probably not suffering from a poor self-image. But I do want to know if you or anyone else has more ideas about how to counteract this propensity to favour the Eurocentric look.
Thanks!
“…And I like it, don’t you?”
Very much indeed.
Tami, I love you. I love you because you are one of the few enlightened sisters who values the statement made by going natural.
My wife and I are both Filipino, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t relate. Depending on the weather, our daughter’s hair does get nappy at times. It could be from my wife’s side of the family, which has some North African heritage, or it could be from a long forgotten negrito ancestor (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Negrito) from the island of Panay. …or it could be because I’m a SAHD who couldn’t give two $#!+s about grooming.
That whole straightening/relaxing business is a distraction imposed by the establishment to keep us from living up to our full potential. Not only is it toxic, it also robs us of the time and resources we need to live fuller, meaningful lives.
Sadly, when one of my beautiful black colleagues with natural hair made her hair long and silky again, I had to give her a piece of my mind. Thanks to your post, I have a link to email to her.
Thanks for all the comments.
Jennifer, you can be assured that your daughter is not alone. Have you ever heard about the doll test conducted in 1940 and 2005? Read about it here:
http://abcnews.go.com/GMA/story?id=2553348&page=1
For all of us with children in our lives who we care deeply about, it is important that we: 1) affirm their natural beauty, 2) show that we believe that WE are beautiful (You can’t tell a little girl that her hair is beautiful, while showing a disdain for your own.), 3) introduce them to others that embrace their unique beauty, and 4) reject beauty standards that favor one race over another.
I think you have to be vigilant, because children of color in particular WILL get the message that they are not attractive.
it’s maddening how this stuff gets internalized. being mixed, both of my parents would tell my sister and i how beautiful we are [don't get me wrong, we are cute girls]. dad would often make comments about how our hair is so nice – and that we don’t have to worry about all the stuff you wrote about here.
that sentiment ended up making me feel really uncomfortable when other black girls would say something about how i got the ‘good’ hair. [meanwhile, i had my own issues with my hair - cuz my mom didn't know how to do it at all. but that's a whole story on its own.]
thx for this post.
Kudos, Tami, for affirming natural hair!
I wrote a column years ago (for a different site) about Hair Day at my house, and all the drama, and how I resisted the urge to relax my girls’ hair (I got my first Kiddie Kit at age 5!). A black reader responded by saying she felt sorry for my girls because I was torturing them, and I should be kinder and relax their hair so the combing wouldn’t hurt so much. She felt the need to add, as her credentials, the fact that she had provided childcare for many years and was an employee of the federal government, lol.
Yep, I was swayed. So swayed that today my oldest has locs like mine, and my youngest wears a short curly fro.
Anyhoo, thanks again!
Excellent article.
Although I am South Asian, I dont have “silky black s*!t that them Indian girls be havin” I have thin curly messy hair and I love it – because its part of who I am. My daughter’s hair is like black silk and although I tell my children that they are beautiful, I dont believe that this should be central to their self-esteem and value (where will this lead when they age and lose their youthful looks). Their value should come out of their inherent good nature and from the good things they try to do.
I have never been able to understand why so many black women dislike their beautiful natural hair and torture it (and themselves) with relaxants. Your excellent article highlights how deep and how powerful the issues behind this problem are.
Your article was so on time. My 18 month old baby’s hair is exactly like you described it: Her hair is nappy. It is coarse and thick. It grows in pencil-sized spirals and tiny crinkles. Her hair grows out, not down. It springs from her head like a corona. Her hair is like wool. You can’t run your fingers through it, nor a comb. It is impenetrable. Her hair is rebellious. It resists being smoothed into a neat bun or pony tail. It puffs. Strands escape; they won’t be tamed. HER HAIR IS NAPPY and I do love it. Sure sometimes I would like for it to be a little more manageble but I LOVE her little afro that shrinks when anything touches it even air. Maybe later my daughter may also choose to make some changes to her hair but I hope the decision will be based solely on her individuality and not her wanting to conform to look like everyone else.
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I LOVED this! Embracing and loving oneself for who and what we are is the first step to allowing others to love and embrace us for who we are. It also allows them the freedom to love and embrace themselves for who and what THEY are!
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Im a young black woman, with many admirable quailities I can account for. My parents are proud of me and my peers constantly call me beautiful. I agree with them, but only when my hair is relaxed and weaved. I have deep hatred for my naturally coarse, sheepish hair.
I cried towards the end of your essay, not just out of fear that your niece will fall victim to the “eurocentric standand”, but because I am ashamed of the way my hair naturally kinks and curls.
Thank you writing this essay and allowing me to realize that its foolish to feel shame for my natural beauty. I know this, but the apathy lingers most of the time and I value the insight of someone who knows.
The funny thing is, as a white girl I grew up envying the beautiful natural body and texture that black women have in their hair, wishing my stick strait (it got wavy as I got older) hair would be or do something different.
I guess everyone always wants what they don’t have.
I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS!! I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO EDUCATE MY SELF ABOUT NATUAL HAIR…I HAD A PERM WHEN I WAS LITTLE BUT IT NEVER STRAIGHTEND MY HAIR. MY MAMA WOULD JUST FLAT IRON IT. BUT RECENTLY I DID IT.
AND I ALWAYS LIKE HOW CURLY MY HAIR WAS BUT I LIV IN MISSISSIPPI AND ITS HARD TO BE NATURAL DOWN HERE AND I’M IN HIGHSCHOOL AND I GET TEASED. BUT I JUST GO OFF ANYWAYS. I CANT BELIEVE PEOPLE ACTUALLY THINK YOUR HAIR GROWS FROM A PERM
BUT ANYWAYS..I COMLETELY RELATE TO THIS….MY MAMA RECENTLY WENT NATURAL…HER HAIR LOOKS LIKE YOURS…LOVE IT!!! IF YOU WANT TO SEE HOW MY HAIR LOOKS YOU CAN VISIT MY BLOG….THNX
*claps* THIS, Tami. Thank you!!!
I’m biracial with very light skin…and nappy hair. I grew up feeling ugly and inferior because of the cruel comments people made about my hair.
At 26 years old, I still try to see myself as beautiful. My mother didn’t always send the most positive vibes about my hair. She tried to go natural herself a few years back, but it didn’t work out. This Dominican lady at a beauty salon made some bitchy comment about her hair, so Mom went back to the creamy crack.
My ex-boyfriend was black. That was an abusive relationship. His mother wanted to be white…she disliked me because I was half white. His father and other relatives were obsessive about skin color, hair type, etc. It was nonsense. Now he’s with this Colombian girl who has the so-called “pretty hair” that colorstruck people love.
I married a white guy. My husband was completely unaware of the issues that Black women deal with when it comes to hair and self-image. I had to school him on this. The first time he saw my hair in its naturally puffy state, he told me he preferred it “smooth”. I told him that THIS is the way my hair is. I was blessed with hair that twists, loops, puffs, and spirals.
I do not have “white girl” hair…not without the help of relaxers. I was taken aback by his comment, but I stood firm. I said: “Listen, boo…my hair isn’t naturally smooth. Be with a white woman if that’s the kind of hair you like”. I was short and sweet about it. After a while, he realized how difficult it is to love yourself when the whole world tells you that you’re not worthy or beautiful. I needed him to be sensitive on this issue. My hair might not be blonde and flowing, but it is still gorgeous.
Now he compliments my hair constantly.
Beautiful and eloquently well put.
@Cinnamondiva,
Yeah, one of the first things any White man wanting to date/marry a Black woman needs to know is to stay the hell OUT of our hair affairs!
My husband prefers me with natural hair if for no other reason than my natural hair is easier for me to style and take care of than if it were straightened, and a lot less expensive too. Me having natural, or as I like to put it–naptural, hair allows me to engage in various activities with ease, like anything having to do with water. I can go boating and fishing on one of the many lakes (really dammed up rivers) here and not fret about what the wind and water are doing to my hair. He can run his fingers through it without having me snapping at him about ruining a hairstyle it may have taken me at least an hour to put together. And I can workout and do, erm, other sweaty things and not worry about sweating out my perm or press.