…in that moment I viewed my hair to be aspirational. The versatility of my hair holds a certain type of mystery which I can understand would make non-Blacks curious. As a Black woman, I am sometimes intrigued by the magic of the beautiful twist-outs that leaves our hair cascading in gentle waves.
Recently I was on a bus going to Geneva City. I had my head buried in V.S. Naipaul’s ‘A Bend in the River,’ a novel that I had bought in 2013 but had not gotten around to reading. The bus came to a stop and in true Swiss fashion, people filed off and on in fairy-tale order. A white woman, maybe in her late fifties was trying to get to the empty seat behind me but while doing so her hand caught my hair. Her body tensed and she apologized incessantly.
Even with me saying “D’accord” utilizing the twelve weeks of French classes I had taken, she was still saying “je suis desole.” Her nervous behavior left the otherwise forgettable encounter choked with tension. When I got off the bus, I thought about the woman and how she seemed to be one of those people who was so buttoned up, they did not allow themselves to even touch other people without coming close to having a heart attack.
A few days later, I was scrolling through a natural hair group on Facebook and saw a post by a fellow ‘naturalista’ who was venting about the audacity of a white woman who had asked to touch her hair. One of the comments under the post said, “Honestly every woman knows the DON’T TOUCH MY HAIR RULE…” It then occurred to me that that woman on the bus knew the ‘don’t touch my hair rule’ and had thought more about it than I did.
I immediately thought about the time I had allowed my son’s teacher, a white French woman, to touch my hair. I even explained to her the process of braiding after she had asked how long it takes to get my hair done, and how long will the style last. She wanted to get her hair done like mine – which is another conversation due to cultural appropriation.
No, I did not find her question to be invasive, nor did I feel like I was being used as a display piece to satisfy non-Black curiosity like Sara Baartman (read up on her). In fact, the opposite is true, in that moment I viewed my hair to be aspirational. The versatility of my hair holds a certain type of mystery which I can understand would make non-Blacks curious. As a Black woman, I am sometimes intrigued by the magic of the beautiful twist-outs that leaves our hair cascading in gentle waves.
Being a Black woman, I never ask ‘other’ women to touch their hair and I don’t feel like I have to. The reason being, even in a country like Jamaica where the majority of women are Black, we are usually fed images of straight hair to be the best hair. Growing up, I had never seen an advertisement that uses Black women with any of the 4s types of texture as the face of a hair product, even on local television. It is only recently we have dolls on the market with kinky hair textures and dark skin. The majority of us grew up being owners of non-Black dolls with straight hair. We grew up having more experiences with white hair than we did with our own hair type. The result of this is hair steeped in controversy which will garner different reactions from Black women.
Side note:
Dear non-Black women, Black hair is seen as political and the pain from our kinky hair rejection runs deep in our veins. It is a complicated position that you will not understand, or even care to understand. Please don’t worry, most of us who wear our hair in a natural state do so because this is what we like and are not necessarily trying to make a political statement of fighting against your beauty standard. I allowed my son’s teacher to touch my hair because of the relationship we had developed over the school year and because I was sure she asked out of curiosity and nothing else. It is, however, considered rude to approach a Black woman and immediately dig your fingers into her roots or pat her afro.
Dear Black women, it is alright not to be comfortable with other women touching your hair, even if your refusal make you seem mean and difficult. And if you are comfortable with other women touching your hair, then, by all means, continue on your journey of demystifying our kinks and curls.
Dear woman on the bus, please calm down. I was not going to get up from my seat and body slam you because your hand accidently touched my hair. Saying ‘I am sorry’ once would have been enough. Our few seconds of interaction left me feeling violent although I was just sitting and reading a book.
Written by Sandrene Jackson
Sandrene is a Jamaican creative who hopes to leave the world a little better than how she entered it. She has lived in different countries to include Kuwait and now lives in Switzerland with her husband and children.
The Latest Episodes on TheBeyondWoman Podcast
Join Our Community
