Don't Touch My Hair

Hey loves!

I know it’s late guys (Black people timing lol), but my 2024 hair wrapped has finally arrived yayyy! I had braids, locs, dyed red hair, silk press, wigs… you name it.

I had many crashouts over my hair too.

Sigh

So… what’s my next hair? Is it locs, cornrows, wig, twists? I don’t even know mehn.

Being a black girl is lining up your hair with your social calendar, and I’m tired.

Futsek.

On Monday, I attended a Black-led poetry workshop where we discussed identity. It was a small gathering, and we brainstormed ideas about identity to help shape our creative writing for the poems we would later recite.

It was a powerful experience, and lately, I have been exploring poetry alongside my blogging. Just a reminder, I could never abandon my blog.

Just Jenni is literally my Shayla (please tell me you get the reference). She is very much my first-born child and I will not be leaving her.

ANYWHO…

Someone mentioned hair as an aspect of identity, and we collectively reflected on how hair texture can influence the way people treat you.

Nah because, let’s talk abourrit. Let’s gist small small.

When I have my bussdown, I'm showered with "Oh my gosh babe, you’re so pretty" (thank you girlies, I appreciate you, mwah).

Men will swing doors open for me (thanks I guess), and thirsty uncles are asking for my hand in marriage (but more time that’ll happen on a day-to-day anyways, especially when I’m in Woolwich…ugh).

I’ll even be hearing, “Excuse me miss, can I chat to you quickly?” (yuck, no you can't). Even when posting on my Instagram story, there’ll be an influx of likes. I'll even be sat there cheesing at my phone feeling like one celeb, chai.

On the contrary, when I have my natural hair out. No gummy. No edges. No curl definer.

Guys, you’ll just be hearing crickets.

The crickets aren’t even there. Because it’s silence. Dead silence.

So, your hair moulds the way you’re perceived, thus facilitating your ease of navigation in the world.

Interesting.

That straight wig… that’s the white girl privilege of Black girls. Our invisibility as Black women in our natural state and our ‘need’ to always be presentable to be accepted is a lot.

But why is our natural hair not seen as presentable?

It’s too much. Give us a break PLEASE.

Futsek mehn.

We must continue decolonising beauty standards - both communally and individually. Even intrinsically, Western ideals shape us. It’s how people treat you based on your hair and how we internalise it.

I always find this phenomenon fascinating, and since Monday, it’s been lingering on my mind. It made me deep how much I love switching up my hair. Whenever I change my hairstyle, I notice the different ways people interact with me.

The only issue? I have a million and one styles I want to try, but not enough heads or money to pull them all off. One day though, by God's grace, when I'm up there and I've made it. I'll be unrecognisable - switching my hair every two business minutes, wait on me ooo.

Black women have an unmatched ability to be versatile with their hair, and that is a true blessing.

One day, I can have straight hair. The next, it can be kinky, curly, or wavy. You could do a 180-degree turn and see me rocking a slick-back bun, but then blink, and I have a big, bouncy afro. In the flash of an eye, I could have Fulani braids with the most intricate designs woven into my scalp... the list is endless.

Tell me that's not cool?

There are so many styles and so much versatility.

But notice how our unmanipulated natural hair is never a stand-alone style, and always an in-between? It’s never the main character.

Why is that? 🤔

When I was younger, I despised getting my hair done because my mum would have me looking insane. I used to go to school with that village girl hairstyle - my fellow Africans, if you know, you know.

For those who don’t, my mum basically used to send me to school looking like Upsy Daisy from Teletubbies.

My gyal violated.

So she’d section my afro into multiple parts and wind black thread around it. It looked like this:

This is African hair threading - a protective style deeply rooted in many Sub-Saharan African cultures. Protective styles reduce manipulation and shield our hair from environmental elements like humidity, rain, and extreme temperatures, which may dry it out and make it frizzy, so it's harder to manage.

It’s such a drag, so I wear protective styles regularly.

African threading also stretches the hair without heat. Haircare is a huge part of Afro hair, and even as an adult, I’m still learning how to take care of it. It’s an art form born out of functionality and culture, welding generations together. It deserves more appreciation.

But back then? The white kids mocked it hard. It was peak.

I hated that hairstyle.

I started ballet at 5, so can you imagine the pain I went through when the teacher would tell us how our hair needed to be combed back into slicked, neat buns? Mate.

It felt like she was indirecting me because I was the only Black girl in the class as well.

How do you tell your white ballet teacher that you literally cannot abide to that rule?

I’d be on my knees begging my mum for pick and drop. My hands conjoined together so aggressively, crocodile tears flooding down my cheeks, my nose bubbling with snot, screaming, “Mummy, please. I don’t like this hair!”

Sis wasn’t trying to hear nuttin. Yo, she was actually savage for that when I look back at it.

She said I was beautiful and that there was nothing wrong with my village girl hairstyle.

I thought she was an opp.

She was right though. My hair was beautiful. It still is (even though my edges are crying).

But then why was it okay for the white kids to roll out of bed with a messy bun, yet my intricate style was mocked?

They won.

I had internalised their views, and I still see that reflected in the styles I choose today.

I can’t lie though, you’re never catching me with village girl hair unless I’m in the depths of Bafang and someone is forcing me to wear it. Abeg.

I consider my hair an integral part of my identity because it’s one of the first things people notice about me. Now that my mum no longer does my hair, I’ve taken full ownership of it. 

I buy it. I pay for it. I choose my hairstylists.

As a result, I’ve come to embrace my hair more. And I’m actively trying to embrace my natural hair, which I know a lot of girls struggle with.

We all witness this.

Yeah, we’ve internalised Western beauty standards, but we also reinforce them.

Why’ve I seen one babe say natural hair and braids aren’t for birthdays? Another one on my FYP said braids are childish?????

Mind you, these were Black women stating this...

Can we be serious? Ah ah, Chelsea come on now.

Sigh

Anyways o

Afro-hair is important because it carries history, culture, and power. It is deeply tied to identity, self-expression, and resistance. For centuries, Black hair has been policed, misunderstood, and even discriminated against. But it is also a source of pride, creativity, and strength.

Everyone should appreciate and respect Afro hair for what it is; beautiful, dynamic, and powerful. Whether it is styled in intricate braids, a voluminous afro, or a sleek protective look, Afro hair deserves recognition and celebration.

It is not just hair; it is a statement, a legacy, and a reflection of individuality.

No matter how it is worn, Afro hair should be embraced, protected, and loved.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about cutting my hair short - a pixie cut with cute curls. Ayra Starr chopped hers, and the looks she’s been serving? Indescribable.

I keep going back and forth. It’s a big commitment. But I’d constantly be rocking my natural hair, which would be perfect.

Cutting hair symbolises detachment from the identity our hair creates. It’s a way to redefine ourselves beyond our hair.

Black hair, in every form, makes a statement. It is resistance. And above all, it is our freedom.

Not to mention, we look GOOOOODDDD.

No matter how it’s worn, Afro hair should be embraced, protected, and loved.

Here’s Ayra with her gorgeous look. Isn’t she such a fine babe? Come and see her beauty. Her hair is everything, and I’m here for it.

Nonetheless, our hair is a part of who we are. It’s an identity, it’s allowing creativity and adaptability. Behind hairstyles, there are narratives to be told.

And so I leave it there. Also, listen to ‘Don’t Touch My Hair’ by Solange, it fits perfectly with this blog.

I still need to figure out my hair though… on a G ting what’s the next style though???

With love and curiosity (and indecisiveness about what to do with my hair),

Just Jenni