Mes cheveux afro sont politiques

As far back as I can remember, my hair has always been a topic of conversation. I was born in an era where it was normal to relax a child's hair around age 10-12, more or less the age when you send your daughter to middle school.

Before that, my mother was the person who styled my hair most often. Sometimes a cousin would take care of it, but I don't have fond memories of that. She would complain about the “thickness” of my hair, because yes, I had thick hair. Sometimes I was taken to the hairdresser for a treatment, the famous oil bath and what is known today on social media as a dominican blowout.

Then, hair relaxing came into my life. At 11, I didn't question whether it would have consequences for my physical, physiological, or mental health. I did it because everyone else was doing it. Did I really have a choice? Thinking back on it, I believe I took it as an important coming-of-age milestone, much like receiving your first mascara. And so, from age eleven to twenty-five, I wore my hair relaxed without questioning it any further. Of course, I also wore braids and other protective styles. When I think back to university, I feel like I tried almost everything: weaves, braids, cornrows, blonde and/or copper extensions. My best friend at the time would do my hair about every 6 weeks, and I lived through a glorious hair era. Around 25, I therefore had relaxed hair and a pixie cut. Little did I know this was not going to last.  

The big turning point happened for me in the 2010s. I went to live in London, and there, everything changed. The natural hair movement was becoming increasingly visible on YouTube, and thank God for that. Because at that time, I quickly discovered that I didn't necessarily have the means to maintain that relaxed pixie cut, but I could afford to get braids from time to time. Which, of course, caused me to end up with an outgrown pixie cut, an afro with relaxed ends. The moment for my first Big Chop had therefore arrived. I think at the time, I didn't measure the impact of this decision on how others would perceive me. And I also didn't know that this decision was political. I was also unaware that I would never go back. At the time, I was simply choosing to simplify my life by removing one of my two hair textures, favoring the one that grows from my head.

Of course, I was aware of the Black is Beautiful movement and the African Americans who wore their afros as a sign of pride in the 1970s. But I hadn't realized first hand what wearing my natural hair would make me feel and how it would make me evolve as a Black woman.

I know now that this story is not limited to my own case. This experience is the experience of thousands of girls and women from the same era. Above all, I know that policing afro hair is an ancient practice, whether it involves shaving the heads of enslaved Africans, the Tignon laws preventing free women of color from showing their hair, or even more recent discrimination against this hair type that leads states to legislate on the matter in the 21st century.

In this section of the blog, we will address issues relating to afro hair and its perception, across different eras and in different places.

Because no, it’s not just hair.