As I write this article, I’ve had my braids for five months. My scalp itches and my hair smells. I’ve covered my overgrown roots with a hat or a headband to hide the dirt that has accumulated in my hair. I feel ashamed and ugly. When I’m not working, I try to stay home and turn down invitations to parties and other social events. On Facetime and when I occasionally see them in person, my parents bombard me with the same question: “When are you taking your braids out?” My answer is always vague, uncertain, and the same: “Soon.”
Under capitalism, Black hair care is time-consuming. From washing, detangling, deep conditioning, braiding, and blow-drying to removing braids, wigs, and other types of extensions, Black hair care can take hours and sometimes even days. The time and care that Black hair (and other types of curly hair) requires is in direct conflict with our nine-to-five, five-day-a-week work model. Yet we face significant pressure to ensure our hair is “presentable” in white society. When Black and brown people’s hair is deemed “unacceptable,” they suffer the real consequences of that “failure.”
In 2019, five years old Josiah form was banned from the playground during recess and sent home from school because of his basic fade, which was described as an “extreme” haircut. In 2020 Ruby Williams was awarded £8,500 in an out-of-court settlement after her family took legal action against her east London school for repeatedly sending her home because her natural afro hairstyle was deemed to be against uniform regulations. Most recently, a eight-year-old girl from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, allegedly had her long, thick hair cut by a teacher without her parents’ permission. According to the young girl’s parents, she is now undergoing therapy after being severely traumatized by the abuse.
I came across a Tik Tok that said the “natural hair movement” is slowly coming to an end… many black women are tired of taking care of their natural hair.
—Dr. Atkinson (@Dare_Re_Ya) October 12, 2022
Hair is everything. Not only is it highly politicized, but it’s also how people express their gender. For black and brown women, this is especially significant because they are seen as outside of femininity, so long braids, wigs, and other “feminizing” hairstyles are popular. But as work continues to take up most of our lives and spill over into our free time, how do black women navigate the struggle between work and hair care, and how does it affect their self-esteem?
“I’ve been wearing my braids for far too long, four months to be exact, which is neither good nor healthy for my hair,” admits 24-year-old creative Chioma. “If I want to look after my hair, I have to take days off from my already limited annual leave.” Being forced to take weekend holidays or do your hair is, as Chioma puts it, incredibly frustrating. Both weekends and annual leave are supposed to be opportunities to relax, but for many of us, they rarely are. Even at weekends, when we are free to choose what to do with our day, choice is merely an illusion, as housework never ends and real self-care – which we neglect during the week – is necessary.
@jasadetunji I got a little vulnerable in this video. Let me know if you feel the same way that you can’t love your natural hair ❤️
♬ Original sound – Jasmine Adetunji
The lack of flexibility in work is not the only reason why black women struggle to go to the hairdresser. “I really can’t afford to spend £100 to £150 on my hair,” explains Chioma. “I would rather fly home to Ireland and pay 50 euros.” Aswan, a 23-year-old writer, agrees that hairdressers have become increasingly unaffordable: “My mother does my hair, which is a gift from God, but if my schedule and hers don’t match, it doesn’t get done.” She also stresses that it is not only finances that affect her desire to use hairdressers’ services, but also her lack of trust. “I have not yet found a hairdresser I can trust with my hair, because I also want to take time for the health of my hair.”
In recent years there has been an intense debate about the use Instagram hairdressers vs. aunties in traditional black hair salons. Instagram hairdressers are often ruder and more expensive than aunties in salons, who usually have cheaper prices. When I was a child, my mum would take me to a hairdresser she knew and trusted, often a friend from Nigeria who needed work after moving to Ireland. My hair was never done by someone she didn’t trust. It wasn’t until I got older and was responsible for booking my own appointments that I allowed strangers to touch and mistreat me and my hair. In her book Don’t touch my hairIrish-Nigerian author and radio presenter Emma Dabiri tells how people in early African cultures were very cautious about who they let touch their hair. There was a fear (which many Africans still have) that someone who “has access to your hair, for example through a comb, could put a spell on you”. Those born in the West are not so held back by this fear, as they are desperate for any Hairdresser near them that they can fit into their busy work schedule.
“The fear of not being able to take care of myself to the extent that I would like sometimes plagues me more than I would like. It is difficult to reduce this dependence on my vanity” – Aswan
Hairdressing is a transactional business for Instagram hairdressers and salon aunties. While many people enjoy their work, it is still a tiring, time-consuming, and often painful service they must provide to supplement their income. This can lead to them no longer treating their clients’ hair with care and no longer being interested in treating it with respect. Capitalism in all its forms has created an environment where Black hair is devalued. And that devaluation impacts how Black women perceive themselves. “I feel like shit overall,” Aswan admits. “The fear of not being able to take care of myself to the extent or to the degree that I wish sometimes plagues me more than I’d like. It’s difficult to reduce that dependence on my vanity.”
Realistically, capitalism must be abolished and the world must change. Before European forms of capitalism took hold in Africa, “for most people, time belonged to themselves,” writes Dabiri in Don’t touch my hair. “For the Yoruba, time was understood in relation to the task that needed to be done… The time it took to style afro hair is, quite frankly, the time it took to do it.” Even if we do not live in a world without capitalism (yet), we still have the power to question our attitudes towards our hair and ourselves. 24-year-old multidisciplinary artist Funmi believes that respectability politics and anti-blackness are at the core of why balancing hairstyle with work is so difficult. “As a Black woman with tightly curled hair, our hair texture is often viewed negatively and has to be significantly manipulated to be considered ‘done.'” She continues, “I wear my afro to parties and the club; I wear my natural hair to formal events and more. I’m rewiring my brain so that I don’t feel sad when only my natural hair comes out. I want to be as neutral with my hair as possible.”
$75 for detangling hair???? IG hairdressers are scammers pic.twitter.com/DGgjIG9fiu
— L 🤎 (@L_ren27) 30 September 2021
There are several reasons why I wore my braids for five months. From the difficulty of finding time on weekends to not wanting to sacrifice my annual leave. Another reason, as Funmi mentioned, is my fear of wearing my natural hair. As much as I love my afro, I also hate it. I hate how much effort it requires, and I hate how European beauty ideals have tricked me into believing it masculinizes me. Although capitalism significantly affects Black people’s relationship with their hair, the blame also lies with us and the way we have internalized white supremacist thinking.
While capitalism demeans black hair, we don’t have to. By challenging our understanding of Western beauty, our hair can truly be a space to express ourselves and our Heritage. Although hAir and appearance neutrality may seem unlikely, beauty standards influence us negatively and have led to Death of countless women. Let us not forget that Black women after menopause who have used chemical hair straighteners more than twice a year or for more than five years have an increased risk of developing uterine cancer. The sooner we learn to respect and accept our hair in its natural state instead of constantly manipulating it, the better.
