Today began like any other day. I started out with my usual morning routine of checking social media, but this normally mind numbing activity incited a surge of emotion on this particular morning. My newsfeed was inundated with people’s responses to what, at first glance, seemed to be a comment intended as a mere fashion criticism. However, humor was far from the minds of many people who have been personally affected by the unintentional subject matter of this fashion critic’s joke- Black Hair in America.
A controversial fashion critique was made by Guilana Rancic, a well known Italian- American co- host of a popular E! fashion show. Her exact words in response to Zendaya’s (an 18 year old Black, Disney Channel star. ) red carpet ensemble including dreadlock hair extensions was: "I feel that she smells like patchouli oil . . . or weed." In any other facet of life I would not feel the need to bring up the race of the co host or the Disney star but in this instance it is relevant. But my question is why? If Zendaya were white and decided to wear dreadlock hair extensions as part of her ensemble and the same comments were made would there be such uproar? I do not know the answer to this question but in my opinion the answer should be yes. Many people are saying the comments are racist but it is my opinion they are more ignorant than anything else. In Guiliana’s apology she says she wasn’t aware of any racial implication of her words she was really attempting to make a reference to Bohemian style. I am not sure if ignorance makes her words excusable but I do think if this co-host had any idea of how “touchy” the subject of hair is in the Black American community she would have chosen her words more carefully.
Growing up with Black hair in America means different things for different people because everyone has their own life experiences. So, I do not claim to be the Black Hair Spokeswoman of America. I can only tell my experiences. For me, it meant constant ridicule and shame. Children can be harsh when they perceive someone as different. I experienced this feeling first hand being one of the only Black kids in my class for most of my early schooling. Because of the sheer volume of my hair most of the time my mother styled it in several braided and tied up styles. In my mind, I was the same as the other girls in my class I had the same interests and dislikes but these girls would not let me forget the one big difference…my hair. I will never forget one example of the consistent bullying in early grade school. In line, a popular girl named Alyson would take down her ponytail and whip it in my face under a guise of just turning her head to sharply. She never apologized or said anything really. She would just grin at me smugly- as to say look at my beautiful hair. As her soft mane whipped over my face, surprisingly I didn’t yearn for revenge or think to say anything mean. Instead I only longed to have flowing, lovely, beautiful “white girl” hair that I could whip around. My girl “friends” at school always had insincere questions just posed to make me feel insecure and less than them. Looking back I think to myself “Was I just super sensitive about the subject at the time?” But then I began to remember the condescending tone used when asking these questions which only reaffirms the memory of hurtful intent. The tone was always accusatory and bullying in nature. They would ask questions like, “Why is your hair so short? (Which in reality it was really quite long. Longer than most of their hair but since I always had to wear it up no one knew) Why don’t you take down your hair? Why is it so greasy? Do you bathe? How do you take showers? But what my classmates at the time didn’t understand and what I didn’t have the verbal skills to convey to them at the time was that my hair is not a styling choice - it is the way I was made. When I wash my hair it is poofy and curly and kinked and knotted. I would have to undergo hours of damaging heat treatments or even more damaging chemical treatments to make my hair as straight as theirs. And at that age I did not understand why I had to have such a big, poofy ,untamable curse- Black hair!
Though my mother has Black hair too her contradictions of her speeches given to me vs. her actions did not make it easy to accept my hair as “good enough”. She would tell me I have gorgeous hair and that I am perfectly made as I am yet ; she would spend most Sunday evenings coercing her perfectly coiled locks into the slick straight style that haunted me daily at school amongst the girls. One Sunday evening my mom was in the middle of her weekly routine of straightening her hair. She had just washed it and her head was filled with neatly wound corkscrew shaped curls. She started blowing drying her hair when a gray puff of smoke shot out of her dryer. Despite her desperate attempts she couldn’t revive her trusty old faithful- her dryer was broken. I overheard her crying over the phone to her girl friend. She told her, “ I shouldn’t have waited so late to start my hair! Now all the beauty supply stores are closed. I cannot go to work looking like “Kunta Kintae” ( A reference to the made for T.V. movie, “Roots” in essence she was saying she looked like a slave or barbaric) ” My mom’s friend rushed over to rescue her from the utter humiliation of having to go to work with her hair in its natural state. Her friend brought her spare blow dryer over and then my mom calmed down and finished her hair. It was then I asked her. Well really accused her, “Why can’t you go to work the way you send me to school every day?! It’s not fair! Isn’t your hair perfectly made just for you?” There was a long pause. Her reply didn’t really need to be uttered because it was already silently conveyed to me by her actions. She broke her silence with these words. “You are a kid and when you grow up and have to get a job and have to look professional then we will worry about straightening your hair! But for now you worry about being a kid!”
I do not blame my mom for this outlook on life. It has been handed down for centuries as a survival tactic. Every culture does it really – assimilation = acceptance. As I said before, I didn’t need my mom to actual say your hair is not good enough that idea was constantly fed to me from every direction: school, media, Black dolls with super straight hair, and the actions of the community around me. So I continued into my adult life seeking acceptance, seeking success and undoubtedly seeking STRAIGHTER.. hair! I used every kind of chemical, process, and product until my hair was just as straight as my hair could be until I took my hair to its literal breaking point and it just started falling out. At this point in my life I learned that my hair on my head was just going to have to be good enough. And it WAS good enough and if anyone had anything to say about well… I would politely explain to them that this is just how my hair is and I love it. And I did begin to slowly love my hair and the different styles my hair has to offer. Surprisingly enough as an adult I get just as many ignorant comments in the work place as I did in grade school except now I know what to say to help them understand that it is inappropriate to judge my hair against another ethnicity’s hair standards. I think it is important for Black people to be polite and really come from an informational stance when addressing these issues. I do not think that adults who have made comments like “You look so much prettier with your hair straight.” and “Your hair is so poofy today, can I touch it? ” and “Your hair is interesting what do you call that?” are racist or coming from a place of hate. I do however; think they may be ignorant to how Black women feel about their hair and the stereotypes that they may play into about hair. The only way to fight ignorance is knowledge. Just getting offended and saying hurtful things back does not solve the problem. Instead it just perpetuates another Black stereotype that Black women are unapproachable and angry. And that is the reason why I love Zendaya’s (or possibly her publicist’s) response to Guiliana’s clearly ignorant statement. She does not spew hateful things back at her attacker she just simply explains that dreadlocks are a hair style specific to my culture and my hair type and though there are some Rasta and Bohemian links to this particular style those two examples should not and do not define the style in which I wore my hair that night. After hearing such a classy retort, I could hear the resounding cheers from nine year old me from within screaming, yes! And confirming …everything I felt but really didn’t know how to say as a child. Everything I knew of my bullying girlfriends but didn’t have the words to define. Everything I knew about myself: That I am good enough, smart enough and pretty enough no matter how my hair is styled because no physical attribute defines me and that includes my hair! I am the only one who has the power to define me!
A controversial fashion critique was made by Guilana Rancic, a well known Italian- American co- host of a popular E! fashion show. Her exact words in response to Zendaya’s (an 18 year old Black, Disney Channel star. ) red carpet ensemble including dreadlock hair extensions was: "I feel that she smells like patchouli oil . . . or weed." In any other facet of life I would not feel the need to bring up the race of the co host or the Disney star but in this instance it is relevant. But my question is why? If Zendaya were white and decided to wear dreadlock hair extensions as part of her ensemble and the same comments were made would there be such uproar? I do not know the answer to this question but in my opinion the answer should be yes. Many people are saying the comments are racist but it is my opinion they are more ignorant than anything else. In Guiliana’s apology she says she wasn’t aware of any racial implication of her words she was really attempting to make a reference to Bohemian style. I am not sure if ignorance makes her words excusable but I do think if this co-host had any idea of how “touchy” the subject of hair is in the Black American community she would have chosen her words more carefully.
Growing up with Black hair in America means different things for different people because everyone has their own life experiences. So, I do not claim to be the Black Hair Spokeswoman of America. I can only tell my experiences. For me, it meant constant ridicule and shame. Children can be harsh when they perceive someone as different. I experienced this feeling first hand being one of the only Black kids in my class for most of my early schooling. Because of the sheer volume of my hair most of the time my mother styled it in several braided and tied up styles. In my mind, I was the same as the other girls in my class I had the same interests and dislikes but these girls would not let me forget the one big difference…my hair. I will never forget one example of the consistent bullying in early grade school. In line, a popular girl named Alyson would take down her ponytail and whip it in my face under a guise of just turning her head to sharply. She never apologized or said anything really. She would just grin at me smugly- as to say look at my beautiful hair. As her soft mane whipped over my face, surprisingly I didn’t yearn for revenge or think to say anything mean. Instead I only longed to have flowing, lovely, beautiful “white girl” hair that I could whip around. My girl “friends” at school always had insincere questions just posed to make me feel insecure and less than them. Looking back I think to myself “Was I just super sensitive about the subject at the time?” But then I began to remember the condescending tone used when asking these questions which only reaffirms the memory of hurtful intent. The tone was always accusatory and bullying in nature. They would ask questions like, “Why is your hair so short? (Which in reality it was really quite long. Longer than most of their hair but since I always had to wear it up no one knew) Why don’t you take down your hair? Why is it so greasy? Do you bathe? How do you take showers? But what my classmates at the time didn’t understand and what I didn’t have the verbal skills to convey to them at the time was that my hair is not a styling choice - it is the way I was made. When I wash my hair it is poofy and curly and kinked and knotted. I would have to undergo hours of damaging heat treatments or even more damaging chemical treatments to make my hair as straight as theirs. And at that age I did not understand why I had to have such a big, poofy ,untamable curse- Black hair!
Though my mother has Black hair too her contradictions of her speeches given to me vs. her actions did not make it easy to accept my hair as “good enough”. She would tell me I have gorgeous hair and that I am perfectly made as I am yet ; she would spend most Sunday evenings coercing her perfectly coiled locks into the slick straight style that haunted me daily at school amongst the girls. One Sunday evening my mom was in the middle of her weekly routine of straightening her hair. She had just washed it and her head was filled with neatly wound corkscrew shaped curls. She started blowing drying her hair when a gray puff of smoke shot out of her dryer. Despite her desperate attempts she couldn’t revive her trusty old faithful- her dryer was broken. I overheard her crying over the phone to her girl friend. She told her, “ I shouldn’t have waited so late to start my hair! Now all the beauty supply stores are closed. I cannot go to work looking like “Kunta Kintae” ( A reference to the made for T.V. movie, “Roots” in essence she was saying she looked like a slave or barbaric) ” My mom’s friend rushed over to rescue her from the utter humiliation of having to go to work with her hair in its natural state. Her friend brought her spare blow dryer over and then my mom calmed down and finished her hair. It was then I asked her. Well really accused her, “Why can’t you go to work the way you send me to school every day?! It’s not fair! Isn’t your hair perfectly made just for you?” There was a long pause. Her reply didn’t really need to be uttered because it was already silently conveyed to me by her actions. She broke her silence with these words. “You are a kid and when you grow up and have to get a job and have to look professional then we will worry about straightening your hair! But for now you worry about being a kid!”
I do not blame my mom for this outlook on life. It has been handed down for centuries as a survival tactic. Every culture does it really – assimilation = acceptance. As I said before, I didn’t need my mom to actual say your hair is not good enough that idea was constantly fed to me from every direction: school, media, Black dolls with super straight hair, and the actions of the community around me. So I continued into my adult life seeking acceptance, seeking success and undoubtedly seeking STRAIGHTER.. hair! I used every kind of chemical, process, and product until my hair was just as straight as my hair could be until I took my hair to its literal breaking point and it just started falling out. At this point in my life I learned that my hair on my head was just going to have to be good enough. And it WAS good enough and if anyone had anything to say about well… I would politely explain to them that this is just how my hair is and I love it. And I did begin to slowly love my hair and the different styles my hair has to offer. Surprisingly enough as an adult I get just as many ignorant comments in the work place as I did in grade school except now I know what to say to help them understand that it is inappropriate to judge my hair against another ethnicity’s hair standards. I think it is important for Black people to be polite and really come from an informational stance when addressing these issues. I do not think that adults who have made comments like “You look so much prettier with your hair straight.” and “Your hair is so poofy today, can I touch it? ” and “Your hair is interesting what do you call that?” are racist or coming from a place of hate. I do however; think they may be ignorant to how Black women feel about their hair and the stereotypes that they may play into about hair. The only way to fight ignorance is knowledge. Just getting offended and saying hurtful things back does not solve the problem. Instead it just perpetuates another Black stereotype that Black women are unapproachable and angry. And that is the reason why I love Zendaya’s (or possibly her publicist’s) response to Guiliana’s clearly ignorant statement. She does not spew hateful things back at her attacker she just simply explains that dreadlocks are a hair style specific to my culture and my hair type and though there are some Rasta and Bohemian links to this particular style those two examples should not and do not define the style in which I wore my hair that night. After hearing such a classy retort, I could hear the resounding cheers from nine year old me from within screaming, yes! And confirming …everything I felt but really didn’t know how to say as a child. Everything I knew of my bullying girlfriends but didn’t have the words to define. Everything I knew about myself: That I am good enough, smart enough and pretty enough no matter how my hair is styled because no physical attribute defines me and that includes my hair! I am the only one who has the power to define me!