After reading one of my articles on an interracial dating site, a friend once told me that I have a knack for controversy. She said:
You pick topics no one wants to talk about, and then write it in such a way that we find ourselves reading it anyway.
Well… this is another one of those articles that might offend a few people – maybe a lot of people. But really, it’s not intentional and I hope it doesn’t offend anyone at all. Rather than provoke anger, I hope this post provokes thought, as once again, I’m voicing an unpopular opinion on an issue most people would much rather sweep under the rug.
The Tangled Mess of Hair-Politics
In Translating ‘Becky with the Good Hair’, I delved into Beyoncé’s new album to explain the history and politics all tangled up in the kinky curls of a Black woman’s hair. I also mentioned that since the album’s release, many Black women have once again chosen to embrace their natural hair as it is.
While this is a positive and healthy movement, I realise it’s also bred a near-hostility for other people’s curiosity of Black culture and Black hair. We almost want to copyright our Blackness, and restrict access; while at the same time asking people not to notice our physical differences, or judge us because of it.
In what way? Well, let’s start with the meme below.
Over the past few years, I’ve seen a lot of African American women posting memes and other pop culture media warning non-Blacks not to touch their hair. At the time, I gave it little more than a raised eyebrow and kept on scrolling.
African American culture is vastly different from Jamaican culture, and many of the things that offend Black Americans get little more than a scoff from us. Jamaicans live in a more racially integrated culture; and Blacks are not a minority in our country. Thus, our dividing lines are more centered around gender roles, and social class.
But as is typical of American culture, it permeates. And much to my surprise, I soon noticed friends from back home jumping on the bandwagon. At first, it did little more than jut my eyebrow up a little higher, but it’s gotten to a point of ridiculousness now that requires addressing.
I grew up understanding and respecting boundaries. I learned what room in the house I wasn’t allowed in, to knock before I entered a room, to leave my parents’ things alone, and to respect people’s personal space and homes. In fact, there is perhaps no greater advocate for self-autonomy than myself.
And if that was the basis of these Don’t Touch my Hair campaigns, I would fully support it. A woman’s body is her own and she has the right to make any and all decisions regarding it. She should decide who touches her, and under what circumstances.
However, in almost every instance, when I’ve listened to Black women explain why they don’t want non-Black people coming up to touch their hair, it’s never really been about maintaining personal space.
It’s mostly about being made to feel like a public spectacle because one unfortunate White person got the idea in their heads that they want to know what Black hair feels like. It’s the awkwardness of having her difference acknowledged.
A woman has every right to feel this way – and I also retain the right to call B.S. for it.
The Curiosity of Minority Hair
I know I’ll be roasted alive for saying this, but I think sometimes African Americans forget that they are minorities. Just like us West Indians (Caribbean people), Mexicans, and the Japanese living in America, we are noticeably different from most of the people around us, and in our instance, we may even sound different too. Is it really such a bad thing to have that acknowledged?
If anything, I’m flattered when a White person comes up and sheepishly asks if they can touch my hair. It means they’re leaving all those preconceived notions behind to learn the truth. Half the time they’re blushing terribly, and preparing themselves for a harsh rejection or to soothe my offence. But why should I be offended?
Yes, my hair looks absolutely nothing like yours – and yes, you can touch it.
In fact, sometimes when I catch them staring curiously, I make the offer myself. And if one randomly came up to cop a feel – as long as they weren’t trying to be flirtatious, I really wouldn’t give a flying fig. It’s happened, and not one time did it cause offence. Caught me off guard, maybe – but then only made me laugh.
Of course it’s better to ask – it’s common decency. But in America, I think many non-Blacks can hardly speak a word on race before being branded a racist or called inappropriate, so sometimes they just go for it. This doesn’t necessarily make it okay, but for me, it makes it understandable.
I understand that that’s just me… and my mom.. and quite a few of my friends who don’t care; and that we can’t expect everyone else to be okay with it simply because we are. But how can I ask people to understand my culture, my differences – my Blackness – without giving them some firsthand experience?
And as a Black woman raised in a country where naturally straight, flowing hair was not the norm, let me assure you that we were just as curious about Asian and White hair. We wanted to touch it, too! We wanted to see what it felt like, and we loved helping our one friend with the super straight hair to get her hair into a ponytail.
And I’ve yet to see any Whites or Asians back home start posting memes online asking Black people to stop touching – or asking to touch – their hair. And if they did, I’m sure we wouldn’t take it nearly as easily as they have taken our own affront against them for touching ours.
Stemming from Insecurity
Yet, I can also admit that I wasn’t always this way. Though I certainly didn’t post any memes about it or threaten anyone, I absolutely hated having my hair touched as a teen. This stemmed from a war I waged with insecurities stemming from my hair – my Black hair.
I had tried a million things to make it look “right”, and to make it socially acceptable for Catholic school and all the girls who thought I was perfectly hopeless and unworthy of owning female nether-regions. I lacked their skill and patience, and sometimes I felt like I just lacked their good genes.
Though I washed my hair every week and did my absolute best, I was uncomfortable when people wanted to touch my hair. I worried about how the texture might feel, that maybe I used too much oil or gel this morning to make it neat, or that they would – with one stroke – mess up half an hour’s worth of hard work.
If these are your reasons for not wanting your hair touched, I’ve been there and I understand. However, I don’t think projecting that onto non-Blacks for being curious about our rich heritage really solves anything.
I think it’s time we admit our insecurities and do our best to work past them. I think it’s time we help people to understand where we’re coming from and what it means to be Black by removing the copyrights we have put on our Blackness and allowing them in to explore, to understand, and to embrace our culture along with us.
However – Dear, White people (and Asians),
Don’t get your hopes up. Your best bet for now is probably not to approach a Black woman you don’t know and ask to touch her hair. But if any of you miraculously happen to see me on the streets and would like to see what dreadlocks feel like:
Go ahead – touch it.
See what locs and Black hair really feels like – and help us cut the corporate crap telling us we can’t wear our natural hair to school and work and still be honour-students and career-women.
Check out the video below to see the short film that inspired the post.
As one of the spokespersons for the exhibit said:
There’s nothing wrong with being curious. But we do have to be aware of how we let our curiosities play out, and how we’re treating people as a result of that.