Nappy love: Or how I learned to stop worrying and embrace the kinks

And think about the many things that some black women deny themselves to keep their hair fried, dyed and laid to the side. We will avoid working out, vigorous sex and a good night’s sleep. We will devote entire Saturdays to the hair salon and spend our last dime to ensure roots are touched up every six weeks. We will weave “better” hair from women of other races into our hair. Few of us can even successfully care for our natural hair, as much of what we’ve been taught involves minimizing our hair’s natural qualities, not working with them.

You may say “it’s just hair” or merely “preference.” But surely it means something when the vast majority of women of a certain race “prefer” to mask physical characteristics associated with their ethnicity. The doll test, oft-mentioned in anti-racist circles, revealed black children’s preference for white dolls with European features. There is a clue here. Societal norms don’t stop influencing us just because we’re too old to play with dolls. It pays to examine your preferences.

Today, my preference is for a natural me.

My hair is nappy. It is soft and cottony, a mass of varying textures. My hair is fun to play with. I like to pull at the spiral curls and feel them snap back into place. My hair defies the laws of gravity. It reaches energetically toward the sky. My hair is unique. In a fashion culture that genuflects to relaxed, flat-ironed tresses and stick-straight weaves, my fluffy, puffy, kinky mane stands out. It is revolutionary. My hair is natural. It is the way God made it. My hair is nappy. And it is beautiful.

*Please note, the essay presented here is an updated version of what originally appeared.

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