(Canadian opera diva Measha Brueggergosmnan)As a black woman living in Canada, I often feel invisible when it comes to my natural hair. The television series da Kink In My Hair (which just wrapped up its first season on Global television) taps into a lot of the issues black women have with hair, but on the streets of Toronto, it's a whole other story.
Talk about hair is so woven into the black female experience that people often make jokes about who has "good hair" and who has "bad hair." In the song "I Am Not My Hair," India Aries sings, "Good hair means curls and waves/Bad hair means you look like a slave." A lot of people might not have a clue as to what she's talking about, but, as a black woman, I sure do.
Prior to the transatlantic slave trade, black hair denoted cultural and spiritual meanings for women, and men, too, write Ayana Bryd and Lori Tharps in Hair Story: Untangling the Roots of Black Hair in America.
Back in the motherland, hair functioned as a carrier of messages for the Wolof, Mende, Mandingo and Yoruba people – those who filled the slave ships that sailed to the New World.
Specifically, the authors trace the roots of black hair to the early 15th century, when hairstyles were used to indicate a person's marital status, age, religion, ethnic identity, wealth and rank within the community. You could also determine a person's geographic origins from a distinctive hairstyle.
Once the slave trade began, Africans' connection to their hair was forever altered – and complicated – by their new life. Forced to work in the fields all day, they simply had no time to care much about their appearance or hair. While black women meticulously crafted elaborate hairstyles back in Africa, once slaves, they took to wearing head scarves or handkerchiefs atop their heads, partly to shield themselves from the sun, but also to hide their unkempt hair.
In the 20th century, black women wanted to show the world they were "free" and the easiest way to do that was to let go of their past. Thus, Madam C.J. Walker, touted as the first African American to use the hot-comb with various products to straighten black hair, helped to promote the idea that hair alteration was a signifier of collective progress.
By the time African American George E. Johnson created a permanent straightening system, the "relaxer," in 1954, there was virtually no turning back; that is until the afro-wearing Black Power movement of the 1960s.
Wigs, weaves, extensions and chemical relaxers are examples of how hair is socially, psychologically, and culturally significant to the black female experience
One of the first things I learned as a child was that "bad hair" was not the same as having a bad hair day. It was a matter of texture. "Good hair" was the complete opposite of nappy, tightly coiled hair.
In the book Hair Raising: Beauty, Culture, and African American Women, Noliwe Rooks says African Americans spend three times more than other consumer groups on their grooming needs.
Further, according to a 1997 American Health and Beauty Aids Institute survey, African Americans spend $225 million annually on hair weaving services and products. While these figures are from the '90s, it is fair to assume that similar results would be found today, and would also be applicable in a Canadian context.
And so, it's not just about hair. It's about a lack of cultural awareness and an internalized negative pathology. In order to transcend a troubled past, you have to engage in an open and honest dialogue, but that requires acknowledging there's a problem. On one level, I can understand why black women do what they do to their hair (I used to do it too). Natural black hair can be very difficult to manage and sometimes you just want to try a new look. Having said that, there are lots of products, books, websites and hair salons that cater to natural styles, but it requires effort to find them. [Full Story]
Talk about hair is so woven into the black female experience that people often make jokes about who has "good hair" and who has "bad hair." In the song "I Am Not My Hair," India Aries sings, "Good hair means curls and waves/Bad hair means you look like a slave." A lot of people might not have a clue as to what she's talking about, but, as a black woman, I sure do.
Prior to the transatlantic slave trade, black hair denoted cultural and spiritual meanings for women, and men, too, write Ayana Bryd and Lori Tharps in Hair Story: Untangling the Roots of Black Hair in America.
Back in the motherland, hair functioned as a carrier of messages for the Wolof, Mende, Mandingo and Yoruba people – those who filled the slave ships that sailed to the New World.
Specifically, the authors trace the roots of black hair to the early 15th century, when hairstyles were used to indicate a person's marital status, age, religion, ethnic identity, wealth and rank within the community. You could also determine a person's geographic origins from a distinctive hairstyle.
Once the slave trade began, Africans' connection to their hair was forever altered – and complicated – by their new life. Forced to work in the fields all day, they simply had no time to care much about their appearance or hair. While black women meticulously crafted elaborate hairstyles back in Africa, once slaves, they took to wearing head scarves or handkerchiefs atop their heads, partly to shield themselves from the sun, but also to hide their unkempt hair.
In the 20th century, black women wanted to show the world they were "free" and the easiest way to do that was to let go of their past. Thus, Madam C.J. Walker, touted as the first African American to use the hot-comb with various products to straighten black hair, helped to promote the idea that hair alteration was a signifier of collective progress.
By the time African American George E. Johnson created a permanent straightening system, the "relaxer," in 1954, there was virtually no turning back; that is until the afro-wearing Black Power movement of the 1960s.
Wigs, weaves, extensions and chemical relaxers are examples of how hair is socially, psychologically, and culturally significant to the black female experience
One of the first things I learned as a child was that "bad hair" was not the same as having a bad hair day. It was a matter of texture. "Good hair" was the complete opposite of nappy, tightly coiled hair.
In the book Hair Raising: Beauty, Culture, and African American Women, Noliwe Rooks says African Americans spend three times more than other consumer groups on their grooming needs.
Further, according to a 1997 American Health and Beauty Aids Institute survey, African Americans spend $225 million annually on hair weaving services and products. While these figures are from the '90s, it is fair to assume that similar results would be found today, and would also be applicable in a Canadian context.
And so, it's not just about hair. It's about a lack of cultural awareness and an internalized negative pathology. In order to transcend a troubled past, you have to engage in an open and honest dialogue, but that requires acknowledging there's a problem. On one level, I can understand why black women do what they do to their hair (I used to do it too). Natural black hair can be very difficult to manage and sometimes you just want to try a new look. Having said that, there are lots of products, books, websites and hair salons that cater to natural styles, but it requires effort to find them. [Full Story]
