Throughout my life, people have always had something to say about my hair. While I’ve received compliments about my curls, the comments about my hair’s curly texture have often overshadowed them. I’ve faced questions like, “Why don’t you wear your natural hair more often?” These conversations have led me to develop a complex relationship with my hair. Like many others with curly hair, I understand the struggle of making it look presentable. I don’t have the privilege of waking up and walking out the door; at least 20 minutes of my mornings are dedicated to taming my curly locks. However, as I’ve grown older, I’ve learned to appreciate my hair, although I’m still on the journey of truly loving it.
From the moment I was born, my head was covered in thick curls. My mom and grandmother, both with curly hair, knew how to manage my hair. In our original neighborhood, finding hairdressers who understood different hair types was easy. However, everything changed when we moved to an area dominated by straight-haired neighbors and classmates. Suddenly, my hair became a focal point in every conversation.
In this new neighborhood, I felt like an outsider. My curls were labeled as frizzy, and I felt immense pressure to conform to the town’s beauty standards. During my middle and high school years, I tried to make my curly hair fit in by straightening it and wearing it in braids, rather than embracing my natural curls.
That all changed in 2020 when the pandemic forced us into lockdown. At that point, I stopped caring about what others thought. After years of damaging my natural pattern, I didn’t even recognize my own curls anymore. However, my newfound indifference only led to further resentment towards my hair.
You might expect that isolation would provide the perfect opportunity to experiment with my hair and develop self-acceptance. Unfortunately, my journey wasn’t that simple.
I didn’t truly begin to love my hair until I decided to cut off half of it. Suddenly, with half of my hair gone, I had to take better care of what was left—and I had to embrace its natural texture. I couldn’t hide the blunt cuts and uneven lines created by my amateur haircuts by straightening my hair.
This marked the beginning of my personal hair-loving journey. I experimented with various products, hairstyles, and cuts, all while learning to appreciate the unique beauty of my natural curls. As my hair began to heal and regain its lost ringlets, I also started receiving comments about my hair preferences.
Hearing people express their preferences for my hair can be a challenging experience, especially for an overthinker like me. Yet, I’ve realized that I shouldn’t have to conform to someone else’s idea of beauty.
The constant chatter about my hair is perplexing. I’ve never cared much about anyone else’s hair, so why is my hair always the topic of conversation? Those with curly hair can undoubtedly relate to this struggle.
On top of personal judgments, conversations about hair and hairstyles often carry racial undertones related to notions of “professionalism.” I once faced a coworker’s comment about the frizz that accompanied my curls on a humid day, suggesting that I needed to look “professional” by hiding my hair. This raises questions about what constitutes “professional” hair and whether frizzy hair can ever be considered professional.
I’ve decided to stop striving for an unattainable standard. My hair is curly, and I’m determined to let my curls breathe. If I choose not to style my hair one day, the world will keep turning. However, I ask for one thing: please, let my hair be. I don’t want to hear your opinions about it. I’m on a personal journey to love and embrace my curls, and that’s a path I must navigate on my own.
