The Big, Black Ugly Secret

Photography by Miguel Jacob FASHION’s Magazine Summer 2009

What’s wrong with this picture? If you’re Caucasian, Asian, Indian or from the Middle East, it might escape your attention. Might. Take a look at the picture again. What do all of these women have in common? Are you thinking that they’re all Caucasian?  No, they’re not, right? I ‘m not referring to their ethnicity. Look closer. They sort of look alike, don’t they? Hmmmm, what is it? It’s not the shape of the nose or the length of the chin. There’s just something so similar about their . . . HAIR!

I didn’t have to do much digging to find a picture for this piece. After all, I’ve been observing this trend all my life. Have I caught your attention yet or lost it? It depends on your race, I suppose, because I’m about to discuss something that many women, African-American women in particular, don’t want to talk about. You see, there are too many of us of African descent, with kinky textured hair, who would not be caught dead in public with our natural hair. Never. Not ever.

Why? Well, that’s what I would like to talk about.

When I had dreadlocks, it amazed me how many women would ask me “how” I got my hair like that. I mean, it was my natural hair. One woman of Jewish heritage brazenly told me that my hair looked better before, when it was relaxed.  I told her, in dismay, “But this is my hair, the way I was born.” She turned her nose up and said, “I don’t like it.” Dismissively.

I guess that’s it in a nutshell. As a general rule, we African-American women with kinky hair, don’t like our hair. There, I said it, and  I should probably run for cover now.   Many women of African descent try very hard to deny this fact but the truth is typically our hair doesn’t come close to remotely taking on the texture and appearance of a Caucasian woman’s hair, an Asian woman’s hair, an Indian’s woman’s hair – basically pretty much every other race, unless it has been first chemically relaxed, fried sizzling straight with a scorching hot iron comb or blown within an inch of its life with a whole lot of hot air. A typical visit to the hair salon for an African-American woman consists of the following:  creme relaxer to relax the curl, blow dry on high heat to further straighten the hair, hot curling iron to get it even straighter and to then curl it into the appearance of a natural head of swinging, shiny, blowing in the wind hair.

It’s a life-long commitment to toxic chemicals that makes humidity, rain, snow and any body of water meant for swimming our arch enemy. A woman with naturally kinky hair who has just gone through this process is NOT going swimming. She won’t even break out into a sweat if she can help it, because kinky hair is always ready and willing to go right back to the way it was at the first provocation.

Thanks to the popularity of weaves, some of us opt not  to go through that torture. However, getting a weave is an arduous experience in and of itself.

We braid our natural hair into tight corn rolls and sew tracks of longer, straighter, softer hair onto the braid.   Some of us who are gluttons for punishment both relax and put a weave in our hair.  If we don’t have the time or inclination  to sew it in, we might glue it onto our own hair.  When we’re done doing that, we usually have less hair to work with, but that’s okay; we hate our hair, any way.

Some of us who have a lot of time and money attach hair extensions in tiny, individual sections to our own hair, a painstaking, long, boring process that takes hours. Some of us who have given up on making our hair behave have discovered the joy that is laced-front wigs. A little glue around the edges of our hair line and presto, we now have that long, flowing, tousled look that we crave.

Most women with naturally kinky hair, no matter their own personal preference, are aware of the universal truth of what I am saying; it’s just not discussed.  We know, for instance, that when an African-American child is born we’ll watch to see if their hair will change.  Most of our children are born with hair that is smooth and straight, having been in the placenta for nine months. By the time that child is around six months old, however, the baby hair, as we call it, has fallen out and the real hair – the hair texture that this child will have for the rest of their life — starts to grow in. We hold a vigil for it, watching and waiting with hungry anticipation, hoping fervently that it will be a looser, softer, silkier curl, the straighter the better. If that happens, then good tidings and celebrations! We are elated. If not, no worries. We have an arsenal of weapons in our boudoir to tame our unruly hair into submission.

An African-American child who has been fortunate enough to grow hair that has a texture softer and straighter than her siblings and friends is often told by her community that she has “good hair.” A tongue-in-cheek look at our obsession with good hair was taken by Chris Rock in his comedy of the same title. In it, he looked at the multi-million dollar business that is dedicated to one pursuit: changing the natural, original ethnic hair of the typical African-American woman into one that is softer, straighter and to put it plainly, less African. Of course he had to make it a comedy. If people cannot laugh about this subject believe me, it will not be discussed.

The self-hatred we’ve internalized in connection with our hair is serious business. When an African-American woman spends hundreds of thousands of dollars constantly and consistently changing the texture of her hair to something that is other than what she was naturally born with, what message does she send to her daughter, who has the type of hair that she is desperately trying to get rid of?

My daughter’s step-sister illustrated this point to me succinctly. I remarked that her hair was different and asked what she did to it. I asked if the person who styled her hair had used a creme relaxer or had her hair straightened with an ironing comb. Let me disclose at this point that this child is only eight years old. She told me that the woman had straightened it with an ironing comb. I told her that she couldn’t get it wet then because if she did, it would go right back to the way it was. She said that she hoped that didn’t happen because she didn’t like her hair. I asked her why and her face screwed up as she tried to explain. She said, “I just don’t like it.” I asked again, “But why?” She said that her hair as it was now was better. I asked her again, “Why is it better?” She actually stuttered as she tried to formulate an answer. She finally said, “Because my hair is ugly.”

Now where did she receive that message? Well, it’s all around us. I would wager a guess that there are some people reading this piece right now who share that opinion though they might be loathe to own up to it. Perhaps they’re thinking that ethnic hair is dry, brittle and hard to comb, which is absolute nonsense. In an online discussion that quickly became heated, a Caucasian woman told me to admit that hair “like that” is hard to comb and just less attractive. It amazed me that this woman did not realize the many of the people in my family had the hair she was describing, that my son had the hair she was criticizing. I was not offended by her ignorance because I recognized the origin. The problem is we’ve never been taught how to take care of OUR hair and so people of other backgrounds have no idea how we take care of it. We’ve only been taught how to take care of hair that is other than what we have. We are sold products that cater to a hair texture that we do not have. Predictably, we have tried to change the texture of our hair to match the products that we are being sold.

Are there products out there for ethnic hair? Yes, of course, but we usually don’t see them unless we are looking for them, unless we buy an African-American magazine or we are watching an African-American program on television. I often wonder if there is a special vault that they take these commercials and ads out of just for those occasions because we DO NOT see those print ads in Glamour, Marie Claire, or Vogue, and they do not air those commercials during primetime television shows that everyone else watches. So what is the perpetual message to women with ethnic hair when we are bombarded with images that propose and support the idea that a beautiful woman is a woman who does not have hair that looks like ours? What is the message to women of other races?  Does a little African-American girl ever have to be told her natural hair is ugly if she is never told that  it is beautiful; that it has value?

Personally, nothing is more beautiful to me than a thick afro! I just want to sink my fingers in it. If you relax hair of that texture, its thick and shiny; if you leave it natural it’s fluffy and full. You can braid it, dread it, twist it, smooth it back into a pony tail or hang it off the edge of a tower and let a man climb up on it. It will not break. It is healthy. It IS beautiful. It’s not at all hard to comb. No matter how tight the curl, all you need is water, a good brush, any type of oil and a silk scarf; that’s it. But that’s not the message that is given when we see ads like this:

This picture was featured on a beauty advice blog, Peaches Tells All.   There she says, “Everybody knows the commercials with the frizzy hair, no one wants that :-)” The hair on the left is supposed to be the hair that we DON’T want.   Gee, all of the women with hair like that should feel . . . what now?  This picture was captioned:  Frightful Frizz in Ellegirl‘s online magazine:

TeenBeauty: Ellegirl

Whose hair does that look like? To make matters worse, many of the advertisements for Black hair care products are misleading, in that they feature women who have weaves or lace-front wigs on, misleading buyers into thinking that they could possibly make their hair look like the woman in the picture if they use that product.

I’d like to leave those who are reading with this message: typically when this topic comes up, women become very defensive. They feel attacked and as if their insecurities are being flaunted for all the world to opine on. I don’t think a conversation about this topic has to be reduced to mud flinging. In my opinion, all hair is beautiful. I’ve had a weave; I’ve worn wigs; I’ve had hair extensions, dreads, and I’ve even cut all of my hair off. Currently my hair is cut short and relaxed. This is not an anti-hair relaxer rant (though an African-American woman will save a lot of money when you stop relaxing your hair and your hair will be healthier too!). I’m well aware that many women of all ethnic backgrounds wear wigs and weaves, oftentimes for just a different look. As women, our hair is a very important expression of who we are and I applaud and support those who are bold enough to experiment with their hair. I believe an important step in self-love and acceptance is embracing the unique attributes of beauty that is inherent to us all BECAUSE of our differences.  Isn’t it time that we stop telling a large sector of our society that they are ugly; that something as integral and important to their appearance as their hair must be changed?

I think it’s high time and so I am opening up the dialogue. I took this picture of a mannequin display at the Forever 21 flagship store in Times Square over the weekend.  I think it’s beautiful. I would love to see more of this “look” in our fashion magazines, on our billboards, on television and in film. I believe that it will go a long way towards helping young children see the beauty in all of us, not just in what is oftentimes an unrealistic ideal.