Could you ever imagine going to your therapy appointment having to defend your natural black hair?

One day a few months ago, I walked into my therapist’s office welcomed by the outdated, dingy décor, I took my usual seat on the stiff, forest green floral couch across from her. Usually beginning with small talk, how was your week and such, she, Dr. M complimented my new hairstyle.

I had been ready to do something different with my hair, a protective style or something, so over the weekend I spent hours pinching small sections of hair, two-strand twisting each one, and letting the curls form at the ends.  

Dr. M asked me if it was a perm or what the style is called, to which I laughed a little, shook my head, and replied, “twists.” She followed up with another compliment, but instead of leaving it with my Thank You, she added, “I like it a lot, a lot better than the big hair,” using her hands to act out just how big my hair normally is.

It felt like everything froze for a minute as I glared at her and wondered to myself if she had indeed just said that to me and with a smile.

This small frame, straight haired Asian woman who had initially complimented my hair, has now had the audacity to impose her likes and dislikes around my hair choices on me, an opinion I never sought for her to give. 

Head shaking, eyebrows wrinkled at the center, surely giving a look of confusion, I say, “No. No style will ever be better than my big curly hair; that is my natural hair. I will always prefer my natural hair more.”

The tension was thick, discomfort itchy and lingering, for me, not for her of course. She was able to proceed on through the session as if the exchange never happened, because for Dr. M, a non-black woman, it’s no big deal.

Too often, the discomfort and offense on black girls and women concerning our hair, whether it’s touched unwarranted, rules and regulations put in place against it, or commented on in any way less than complimenting is glossed over as “no big deal” by the offending party.

This indeed is a big deal because for us it’s more than just about hair. In actuality, it never is just about hair when the comments are made and how they’re received.

Historically, black hair has been scrutinized in comparison to a European standard and false idealism of beauty. False because beauty isn’t linear and one-dimensional. 

An example of this played out in the media with actor Gabrielle Union after her dismissal from the show, America’s Got Talent. Without hesitation, Union made it clear that the reason for her firing from the popular TV show was that her hairstyles were considered, “too black.”

To those executives and producers, I wish to raise the question, how can anyone be too much of who they are, too much of their race and ethnicity? How can anyone display too much of his or her culture? 

Box braids and cornrows has been ingrained in black culture, having originated in Egypt, spreading across all regions of Africa.

Since the day our ancestors were stolen from their homes and families, stuffed into the tightest corners, down in the darkest holes of a ship, brutally beat, killed, and sold off as slaves, every ounce of our blackness has been micromanaged and controlled. All for the convenience, comfort, and desire for superiority of white people.

Early this year Virginia became the fourth state to issue law against hair discrimination, following California, New York and New Jersey. Virginia (Virginia Beach) is where I was born and raised and will always consider home.

The implementation of law in these four states and the states following comes after the pressure of the CROWN Act. According to thecrownact.com, the mission of The CROWN Act is to ensures protection against discrimination based on hairstyles by extending statutory protection to hair texture and protective styles in the Fair Employment and Housing Act (FEHA) and state Education Codes.

While seeing many of my peers celebrating this act, I understand it but can’t fully wrap my head around why hair, black hair, is still, in 2020 a political statement. Why as black girls and black women, black boys and black men we need permission to exist in this world with our natural hair and/or to wear any hairstyle we so choose for ourselves. Yet, of course our white and other counterparts do not need that same permission.

Whether our hair is worn in its most natural state, the way it grows from our heads, or skillfully braided, twisted, and styled, it should have always been our right and ours alone to make that decision. Even with the passing of these laws, reality remains, that we are still bombarded with images that fall short of fully representing our versatile beauty as black women. 

As a mother to a daughter, from her birth three short years ago I have been overtly intentional in what I put in front of her for mental, emotional, and visual consumption. This includes television, apps, books, and dolls purchased for her play. 

Nearing the end of my pregnancy I made the very conscious decision to wear my natural curls when delivering my baby girl because I wanted the first time she laid eyes on her mom, to be seen as my fullest natural self.

I never wanted my daughter to face any doubt about her beauty and it starts with self-love followed by positive representation.

Early 1990s, at Indian Lakes Elementary School, Virginia Beach, VA, I was the little girl in class with long puffy hair, worn in neat ponytails, plaits and at times my mom would curl it and let me wear it down. While I thought my hair was beautiful then, it didn’t take long for me to notice my white friends’ hair was straight and my black friends hair was also very straight but achieved by what they boasted about, a “relaxer.”

They talked about getting relaxers with so much pride, my young mind began to gather that straight hair must be better if all the little girls around me had it and wanted it so badly. For a few years, I begged my mom for a relaxer so that my hair could “fit in.”

For centuries, black girls and women have been trying to fit in with their hair. Fit in, in the classroom, the workplace, and fit in socially. Young black girls quickly get the memo that something must be wrong with their black hair and develop an urge to fix it.

I personally spent over ten years flat ironing the spiral out of my curls to mimic what I saw as beautifully acceptable hair and pressed it straight until my curls were nonexistent. It took me a few years well into adulthood to say no more, to heal my curls and welcome them back to themselves after all the trauma I had caused them.

It became well beyond tiring having to defend my black hair, from being questioned about what I’m mixed with, to feeling uncomfortable by other women constantly touch my hair. Also, enduring conversations much like the one with my therapist, taking in unwarranted opinions that people liked my hair “better” when it was straight.

The unfortunate truth is that while many black women like myself, have taken on the journey of healing their natural hair and themselves, while movements have taken charge, laws and radical acts are rising up, there are folks and decision makers who still see our hair as problematic and unacceptable.  Many black women (some I know) still hold demeaning dialogue around their black hair.

A few months before ever having the exchange with Dr. M, conversations with some female acquaintances (one biracial, one black), around our daughters’ hair left me disappointed in their comments and considering what I want Torrie to know about her hair. 

I will do everything I can to be an example for my daughter of what it looks like to walk unapologetically in the total beauty of our blackness.

Tinita Tennant

Here are a few lines pulled from the poem I wrote: What I’ll Tell My Daughter About Her Hair

I’ll tell my daughter

Our hair, is meant to grow out towards the sky, have conversations with the stars and dance with the sun

The wind don’t blow straight thru, it gets wrapped around these curls, these coils

As to wrap messages the ancestors whisper to us, as the gifts they are

The spring in every spiral forming from your head bounces back when stretched,

Like black women, have done for centuries and centuries to come

You were made to bounce back when stretched daughter

There’s power in knowing Daughter

There ain’t no mistake in how you were created Daughter

You are not difficult

You are not a burden

Reflected in any mirror, in any space, you are beautiful

Perfectly imperfect and unique

I’ll tell my Daughter:

To be just as she was created to be, without shame, question or hesitance 

Tinita Tennant

I want Torrie to know that her black hair is never the problem, anyone who raises an issue around her hair is the problem.