My Journey With Natural Hair As A Black Woman

When Michelle Obama revealed that she didn’t wear her hair in natural styles as First Lady, to avoid controversy and distraction from her husband’s policy goals, I and so many others felt seen. A common experience in the Black community, society pressures us to appeal to Eurocentric beauty standards for centuries. 

Her story made me reflect on my own evolving relationship with my hair. That journey spans adolescence, early adulthood, and now my late twenties. From adolescence to early adulthood to my late twenties, each phase tells its own story about identity, acceptance, and growth.

As a teen, I was what many call a “straight natural.” I kept my natural hair but straightened it every weekend at the salon. It allowed me to conform to white beauty standards when young me felt too daunted about standing out from the crowd. Back then, I also didn’t have the tools, like YouTube hair tutorials, that many younger girls have today. 

Eventually, I chemically straightened my hair with a relaxer – and regretted it. 

I missed the simple joy of my hair coiling up when I washed it and fluffing it out to make my ‘fro as big as possible. I called it my lion’s mane. And now, with it permanently straightened, my crown fell flat. 

By the time I reached high school, my natural hair had regrown, and I had my relaxed ends cut off. Still, I continued to wear blowouts during the school years and natural hairstyles in the summer, mainly afro puffs and buns, because that was all I knew how to do back then. 

But something changed in my last week of senior year. I complimented a friend on her natural hair, and she encouraged me to do the same. So I did some research and got the famous ecostyler gel (popular among naturals for its strong hold and affordable price), and sported a half-up style on the very last day of school. 

That was my first introduction to freedom.  

I entered my college years with natural hairstyles as my daily wear. Instead of going to the salon, I learned everything I could about my hair from YouTube tutorials. Soon, I mastered twist-outs, box braids, wash-and-go’s, and everything in between. My newborn pride allowed me to make up for all the years I wore my hair straight, even though I really didn’t want to. It was my political statement that I was no longer going to bend to society’s expectations of what “professional” or “acceptable” should look like. 

Wearing my natural hair was a way to honor ancestors who were forced to cover their hair, the ones who had their hair shaved as an act of dehumanization. Natural hair became my natural birthright and a way to express my identity and culture. 

Now, I’m a few weeks away from 30 and in the most freeing hair phase yet. My hair is my creative expression. And while I still mostly wear my hair in afrocentric styles, I won’t feel like I’m backstabbing my identity if I want to rock a blowout every once in a while. I now live with the freedom of understanding that I don’t need to prove anything to society with my appearance. 

Now, I allow myself to experiment with confidence,  styling my hair just for me.

Michelle Obama’s experience, as well as mine, are not isolated. The existence of the CROWN Act, a law that bans discrimination against natural hair, proves that society has politicized, scrutinized, and misunderstood natural hair. Natural hair is truly a source of beauty and resilience that we will continue to celebrate.

As more of us embrace our hair on our own terms, we move closer to a world where Black women no longer have to shrink, straighten, or silence parts of ourselves to exist peacefully.

Featured image via Jabari Timothy on Unsplash