On Learning To Love My Hair By Mattie Holloway

By: Mattie Holloway

On Learning to Love My Hair

My mom sat me down in front of the TV every Sunday night with a towel draped around my neck — protecting my shoulders from my freshly washed curls. While we watched America’s Next Top Model for the next few hours, she would pick through my hair with a comb and a good amount of leave-in conditioner. I dreaded Sundays and the pain that came from detangling knots and sectioning; I even resented my mom a little bit for putting me through it. The weekly routine made me hate my hair. There was a disconnect between me and what sat on my head. It wasn’t until middle school that I was able to detangle my hair on my own. I picked out my own brush at the convenience store — it was dark green with Ariel from The Little Mermaid on the back. I spent an hour in the shower lathering my hair with conditioner and brushing through until my hair felt like my hair. It was one of the first times I ever felt independent. My hair, some-

I’m still protective of my hair. It signaled my independence and my connection to Black culture. Haircare plays a key role in the Black community. “If you want your hair to be healthy, the person who does it needs to love your hair and actually care for it…you have to actually put love into the work you’re doing,” says Tayla Dixon, a sophomore business of creative enterprises major at Emerson. Dixon’s mother, Erika Sanders, owns the hair salon Special E FX in Dorchester, Massachusetts. e job involves standing for hours and a lot of hand cramps. Most of Sanders’ clients are members of the community and people she’s formed relationships with. Hair is personal and so is the business. “A lot of people don’t trust other people to do their hair,” says Dixon. It’s a feature Black women have constantly been told to x

“If you want your hair to be healthy, the person who does it needs to love your hair and care for it.”

about themselves in order to look “neat” or “clean.” e process of doing one’s hair and accepting one’s hair is a dedication. Dixon admits that she’s still learning to love her hair. She grew up getting perms from her mom before deciding to wear her hair natural. She grew up with the stigma that her natural 4C hair looked “unkept” from her parents and the media. Growing up, most Black women Dixon and I saw in the media wore their hair straight, or if they did wear their natural hair, they had a looser hair type — like Zendaya in Shake it Up or Raven-Symoné in at’s So Raven. Tight curls were not accepted by the beauty or professional standards.

Dixon believes this is because of the beauty standard set for women to have stick-straight hair. Even White women with wavy or slightly textured hair feel the pressure to straighten it. Natural hair and protective hairstyles are often viewed as unprofessional, and the natural movement still has a lot of work to do before they’re normalized. Actresses like Amandla Stenberg, journalist Elaine Welteroth and musician Solange all push for the acceptance of natural hair and emphasize the emotional value Black hair holds. In her song “Don’t Touch My Hair,” Solange refers to her hair as her soul and her crown. She describes her hair journey saying, “You know this hair is my shit, rode the ride, I gave it time. But this hair is mine.” My relationship with my hair has changed and evolved over time. I still change the way I routinely do my hair. Like a relationship with an old friend evolves as you both grow and struggle, my relationship with my hair is constantly changing. I cut bangs for the rst time a little over a year ago and dyed (and undyed) my hair blonde a few times in the past ten months. I used to sit down with my mom in front of the TV every Sunday; I now sit myself down on wash days, running leave-in through my curls and nger coil. For some people, hair strengthens the relationship between them and their community. For me, it’s strengthened the relationship I have with myself. e movement to embrace natural hair is a movement to embrace Black beauty and the community and history it brings with it. Young Black women shouldn’t have to question whether their hair is pretty enough, and Black women in the workplace shouldn’t have to question whether their hair is professional enough. e journey to loving and appreciating one’s hair is a beautiful one, but hopefully, as beauty standards become more inclusive, the journey will be a shorter one.

“For some people, hair strengthens the relationship between them and their community. For me, it’s strengthened the relationship I have with myself.”

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photos by Graham Wheeler-Nelson, illustrations & design by Chloe Williams