A Journey through the Complexities of 'Good' Hair

Understanding the tension to accept release.

Zuri magazine ad in ebony, 1970

Hi all! Happy holidays to you and yours. I was able to see my family and although it seemed like such a hassle it was such a blessing. I have been suffering from some major burnout and creative funk. Maybe it’s grad school, maybe it’s the many other possibilities. Regardless, although I am struggling to share. I have things I constantly want to write about. Hair is one of them. So enjoy this little glimpse into hair thoughts if you will. Sending you all lots of love. :)

In my recent studies, I am learning the importance of words. Surprise! It is what separates the impact from the intention of design and understanding. It defines how people listen and at the same time offers context. A word that’s been on my mind within my design thinking is “good”. It can be such a subtle word, four letters, easy, and offers immediate understanding. But one that depends highly on its context. If used in specific scenarios relating to bodies, spaces, and people I find it adds to its potential complexities. About one's hair, I think we experience “good” in this varied context.

I grew up hating my hair. No one explicitly told me I should, they didn’t have to. My grandma decided to relax(a chemical hair straightening process)my hair when I was 8. This added some strain to our relationship over the years. Even back then I had thoughts of hair acceptance. I remember looking into the mirror afterward with confusion and questioning why such treatment was necessary. Why is something that burned and reeked of chemicals be any sort of answer to an unspoken question? It wasn’t until I got older that I realized how uncool that was for my grandma to do, and how she had done it without my mom’s knowledge or permission. Which sadly caused some resentment on my end. This was my first lesson in the lack of control and exhaustion that hair potentially offered me.

Crooklyn, 1994

When I was young I often compared my hair to my sisters, family, classmates, or characters on TV. My hatred grew from this innate comparison. I remember going to visit my half-sisters, mixed, curly but “manageable” hair. Often we would go out and they would get compliments. “Y’all got that good hair!”, “wow, look at those coils”, “you have such good and beautiful hair”. These comments fueled some comparison and confusion about what I was missing. Where was my good? Was it obtainable? Can I buy it? The confusion was often followed by anger. An anger with nowhere to go but up, all the way to my scalp.

This taught me that good comes with a price. A price of ease, distance, and movement. It was not something you grow into but something you were born with. But I wanted to learn. My hair was taught to me through a series of spaces. Barbershops, living rooms, salons, basements. Each offered a new glimpse into a hair identity for myself. A new persona to explore. When I was young these vast hair expressions made me feel like I had to choose. To choose parts I wanted to identify with, or pieces that I wanted to carry with me rather than highlighting the joy and freedom. Hair solicited feedback and as a kid, my whole being felt like a reaction rather than a discussion. Often hearing things before even seeing, a hello adds to this significance. Hair is a challenging experience. 

I remember cutting my hair doing as they call in the black hair community “the big chop”. When one cuts out the relaxed(a hair chemical treatment) parts of their hair, it invites the new growth of untouched hair. This was the first step toward creating an identity that I can remember. Sadly, I mostly remember the negative things about this experience, the name-calling, and the negative self-esteem that followed. My hair was short, dark, and easy, but still found a way to carry so much weight. As it started growing back, I often got it braided, finding ways to try to think about it less. From my friend’s mom across the street to the African braiding shop further down the street. I was under tension as a means to find a release. Honestly, I think to this day spending time in these spaces, making connections is what helped me gain my networking skills.

A series of hair over the past few months

This continued into high school until I learned to do my hair alongside one of my best friends. We would have hair braiding nights and spend money we didn’t have at our local hair store. We were a United force. Defining things by our means. Testing colors and twists to our liking and laying a strong foundation for the years to come. I am thankful for the camaraderie that offered me a positive outlook on the beauty hair could offer. It turned what was once work more into a dance. A dance that can be done solo or communal but that you can also choose for yourself. 

The complexity of hair is something I have come around to over time. Being more in control, setting my expectations, and the harsh acceptance of growing up. Although the confusion has lessened, the frustration has remained the same. Every time I plan to do my hair it takes me several days to make sure I have the time. Often takes 6 to 9 hours depending on the style. It can be exhausting before it starts. A burning from both ends. Despite this, there is peace about it. A peace comparable to a runner’s high, crossing the threshold of this sucks to feeling gratitude to be alive and in the moment. 

Don’t get me wrong this exploration still comes with a price. One that remembers comments or that gets nervous butterflies when showing off a new style from time to time. Wondering what potential questions and reactions might follow these ebbs and flows of the winding hair paths. Hair that looks like mine is more often in the places I longed for them before. Whether it’s intentional or not, I notice and soak it up like my hair on a wash day. For me, this expands the meaning of “Good”. How it can now be a larger conversation full of deep roots and textures of congruities.

It can often be hard to separate identity and hair. For me, it is still hard. Maybe, it is impossible? Maybe there’s a reason it is sometimes the first or last thing you notice. Folks who shave their head often talk about hair being one less thing to think about, a certain ease that coats one’s being. This influences me to think about shaving my head often but I realize that hair is inescapable. No amount of trims will stop it from growing back even thicker, closer to you, and always in sight. Nothing stops it from being a conversation, which isn’t always a negative thing. If anything I think the fascination gains as the grays grow in.

I try to let hair exhaustion be a minimal part of my routine. My past hatred is redefined with crochet braids and a curly Afro that reminds me it’s all worth the conversation. To get up and dance cause I’m not alone. Despite the ups and downs hair is ongoing, a glimpse into my headspace past and present. Reflecting on it, hair is first and foremost an expression that can quickly be dismissed and challenge any idea of the “good” and “bad”. The rest is history. Here’s to continuing the dance for generations to come.

That’s it for now! I’m in my home state and feeling renewed and glad to be alive!

Lots of Love,

xoxo Your Little Mama <3