Hair means a lot to us as Black women. Like Solange said, “Don’t touch my soul.” It’s our protective vortex, whether it’s natural, in braids, or in wigs.
Braids and wigs are protective styles that prevent breakage and help retain moisture and length. These styles began as ancient African cultural traditions dating back to 3500 BC; these include locs, braids, and twists, which protected our hair from the harsh sun and humidity amidst gruelling labour and limited resources.
It is believed that when captured by slave traders, slaves’ heads were often shaved, and once regrowth occurred, cornrows were braided to create escape maps, secret codes, and to hide and transport seeds or grains to survive upon reaching liberation.
Our hair history is deep and rich. A highlight of my childhood was trying new hairstyles. I loved getting braided down by my mother, feeling the grease working into my scalp. Yet, I hated braids, especially the itchiness and irritation.
In 2026, studies published by the Silent Spring Institute and Consumer Reports found that many hair extensions and synthetic hair products contain high levels of toxins and hazardous chemicals. These products are disproportionately, about 70% in the USA, used by Black women and have been linked to carcinogens. These findings confirmed what I had long suspected. It raises a difficult question. Can a style meant to protect our hair also pose a risk to our health?
In Ivory Coast, a growing trend is braiding with wool to escape exposure to the chemicals found in hair extensions. As I am typing this, my hair is braided in wool, weightless and free. Still, I would be a hypocrite to say that I do not also use extensions sometimes, despite knowing the risks.
In recent weeks, there has been an ongoing debate on natural hair on social media. It all started with user @sshozzxox on TikTok, with her video series suggesting that self hate and the constant wearing of wigs can be linked. She raised fair points, saying that taking care of your hair is not that hard, contrary to popular belief, and that stating “it is hard to maintain” can be deep rooted in self loathing.
@mssandybabyy Afro, slick back, wigs, cornrows. The list goes on. At the end of the day it’s my hair….??? #naturalhair #hair #wigs
♬ original sound – Ipreferbluestrips 🐉🥋 • Opps
Her videos were met with praise but also controversy, as it has become a sensitive topic in our community. Some people responded with the rebuttal, “Let Black women do what they want with their hair.”
I personally did not feel attacked, but I do admit that it took me some time to grow into loving taking care of my hair. There were times when I found it to be a burden and used braids as an escape. Growing up, my mother took care of my hair, so I had no knowledge of how to maintain it when I moved to the UK without her.
I arrived with a shaved head, as I had previously done my big chop months earlier due to damage from a failed relaxation attempt. My 4C hair texture and curls were taught to be appreciated and nurtured by my big sister, who helped me navigate this whole new world.
YouTube tutorials became invaluable as I had to take my own initiative. Doing braid outs with lots of moisture and straining my hand muscles became familiar to me. It took me years to get to this point, and I understand that this is not the case for everyone. It is easy to classify it as self hate rather than acknowledging that it is a response to Eurocentric standards and how hair maintenance is introduced to us.
I asked my friend Kemi what she thought of this natural hair debate. “It is not necessarily self hate if you never have your natural hair out,” she says. Kemi believes it often stems from people not knowing what steps to take to care for their hair, as well as a bit of laziness. “It is such a heated topic on social media,” she adds.
I think it is important to remember that our hair will never look like Eurocentric hair, so the expectation that straightening it can erase your type 4 texture is unrealistic. Recently, Coco Gauff did an advert for Miu Miu where her hair was styled in a neat bun, and she received a lot of social media backlash from the Black community, to the point where she had to come online to defend herself.
The criticism stemmed from the fact that her 4C hair texture did not resemble that of a white woman, as you could still see her natural texture. Kemi adds, “You can sleek our hair, but it is inevitable that there might be a kink or curl.” It is demoralising that people from our own community react that way. It is no wonder some steer away from natural hairstyles.
So how exactly are we meant to take care of our afro hair? Afro hair frequently forms knots and tangles compared to other hair types, according to the British Association of Dermatologists. It is prone to dryness, as its tight, coiled structure prevents sebum, the natural moisturiser, from travelling along the hair shaft, resulting in a lack of moisture. This is why it is so important to consistently moisturise your hair. Otherwise, breakage and lack of growth can occur.
Patience is required to nurture our hair, as well as keeping manipulation to a minimum. It is best to stick to a few styles, hence protective styles. In terms of washing your hair, the American Academy of Dermatology recommends once a week or every other week, along with a hot oil treatment twice a month.
However, even when you master proper hair maintenance, another issue remains, how our hair is perceived. New research published in the journal Social Psychological and Personality Science found that Black women with natural hairstyles, such as afros, braids, or twists, are often perceived as less professional than those with straightened hair.
Why?
Deeply ingrained racial biases and Eurocentric beauty standards equate straight, sleek hair with professionalism, while viewing coily or textured hair as unkempt or distracting. Afro hair is penalised, reflecting systemic discrimination, with studies showing that natural hairstyles can restrict job opportunities and lead to lower professionalism ratings.
To justify racial hierarchy, sexual exploitation, and systemic enslavement, colonisers depicted Black women as savages and beasts, while white women were described as symbols of virtue and purity, reinforcing the idea that whiteness determined beauty and social value.
Research carried out by the University of Southampton states that colonisers sexually exploited enslaved women, resulting in 10% of the 4 million enslaved people being classified as mixed race, 400,000 individuals, by the 1860s.
This created a hierarchy among enslaved people, where lighter skin and straighter hair led to preferential treatment. Some worked in the house as domestic help, while darker individuals with coiled hair were forced into the fields.
Straighter is still viewed as superior to coily to this day, which is why Black women’s hair is often deemed unprofessional and untamed.
Mayan, 27, speaks on the Eurocentric standards placed on our hair. “It is a reflection of the oppression Black people have faced. I think it is important to be aware of that. Hopefully that awareness will allow us to distance ourselves from such limiting perspectives and embrace the beauty of our natural hair.”
There is confidence in not letting yourself be defined by these standards. Black women face a lot of discrimination, but we persevere. It is important not to judge each other, as we were all conditioned differently.
For years, I tried to escape my own hair, wanting to crawl out of my skin with each confrontation. But I now understand that it is something I cannot escape, only embrace.
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Writer Jamine Kamagate
