What does your hair say about you?
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Me and my loud hair
When I was a child, the white adults called me the wild woman of Wonga!
I hated it. It was supposed to be funny. It was racist and misogynistic. It didn’t make me laugh and I didn’t know why, it made me feel funny inside. They said it was because my hair was wild and I was loud and mouthy. I still cringe when people talk about how loud I am or how much I talk. In fact every conversation about my hair in my family was negative, too much, messy, wild, uncontrollable!
In the black community my hair was amazing. It made me beautiful, it put me on a pedal stool. But I would get the other comments, who did I think I was, her hair is nice , but it’s dry, why doesn’t she look after it properly. And, I was still too loud, too mouthy, I didn’t know my place.
In my twenties, I went to a ball and was entered into a competition for the belle of the ball. Another woman (a close friend) had the same dress on as me. She won because she looked neater. Her hair was straightened and mine was out. The inner child in me came to the surface and all I heard was the wild woman of wonga!
I battled with my hair for over 40 years, trying to make it let me fit in. Constantly trying to tame it. I felt that I unconsciously put the same burdens on my daughters about their hair, always controlling it, never giving it space to be. I never called it bad, because as long as I had control over it, it was good.
In lockdown my daughters were living at home and for the first time I really watched them with their hair and their bodies. My younger daughter Ysabel did not think her hair was the most important thing about her. Oliviyah embarked on a new journey with her hair. I saw a liberation in them. They embraced the freedom of their hair, and I wondered why I felt so bound. I realised my hair was telling a story about me. It was grey, it was frizzy and for the first time I thought it was beautiful. So, I embraced it. I stopped hiding it, slicking it down and I let it talk about me and who I really was.
I decided as a child that when I grew up no one would make me shut up and now I let my hair shout for me too.
Here is my question to you: What stories are you holding onto, and what parts of yourself have you hidden away to fit in? For so many of us, especially Black women, there’s been a long history of silencing—whether it’s how we speak, look, or just ‘are’. Misogynoir, the unique discrimination Black women face, often tells us we’re “too much” or “not enough,” that our natural selves are somehow unacceptable. Hair discrimination is real; it sends the message that our natural beauty doesn’t belong in certain spaces, and that straightened or "tamed" is somehow better. But here’s the truth: we deserve to take up space, just as we are. But here’s the truth: we deserve to take up space, just as we are.
Whether it’s hair, voice, or any part of your identity, maybe it’s time to reclaim and celebrate those things. Embrace who you are, and let your true self be seen, loud and proud. Join the conversation with us, and let’s lift each other up, unfiltered and unapologetic. Let your story speak, and let’s ensure no woman feels silenced ever again.
Carolynn Bain
When I was a child, the white adults called me the wild woman of Wonga!
I hated it. It was supposed to be funny. It was racist and misogynistic. It didn’t make me laugh and I didn’t know why, it made me feel funny inside. They said it was because my hair was wild and I was loud and mouthy. I still cringe when people talk about how loud I am or how much I talk. In fact every conversation about my hair in my family was negative, too much, messy, wild, uncontrollable!
In the black community my hair was amazing. It made me beautiful, it put me on a pedal stool. But I would get the other comments, who did I think I was, her hair is nice , but it’s dry, why doesn’t she look after it properly. And, I was still too loud, too mouthy, I didn’t know my place.
In my twenties, I went to a ball and was entered into a competition for the belle of the ball. Another woman (a close friend) had the same dress on as me. She won because she looked neater. Her hair was straightened and mine was out. The inner child in me came to the surface and all I heard was the wild woman of wonga!
I battled with my hair for over 40 years, trying to make it let me fit in. Constantly trying to tame it. I felt that I unconsciously put the same burdens on my daughters about their hair, always controlling it, never giving it space to be. I never called it bad, because as long as I had control over it, it was good.
In lockdown my daughters were living at home and for the first time I really watched them with their hair and their bodies. My younger daughter Ysabel did not think her hair was the most important thing about her. Oliviyah embarked on a new journey with her hair. I saw a liberation in them. They embraced the freedom of their hair, and I wondered why I felt so bound. I realised my hair was telling a story about me. It was grey, it was frizzy and for the first time I thought it was beautiful. So, I embraced it. I stopped hiding it, slicking it down and I let it talk about me and who I really was.
I decided as a child that when I grew up no one would make me shut up and now I let my hair shout for me too.
Here is my question to you: What stories are you holding onto, and what parts of yourself have you hidden away to fit in? For so many of us, especially Black women, there’s been a long history of silencing—whether it’s how we speak, look, or just ‘are’. Misogynoir, the unique discrimination Black women face, often tells us we’re “too much” or “not enough,” that our natural selves are somehow unacceptable. Hair discrimination is real; it sends the message that our natural beauty doesn’t belong in certain spaces, and that straightened or "tamed" is somehow better. But here’s the truth: we deserve to take up space, just as we are. But here’s the truth: we deserve to take up space, just as we are.
Whether it’s hair, voice, or any part of your identity, maybe it’s time to reclaim and celebrate those things. Embrace who you are, and let your true self be seen, loud and proud. Join the conversation with us, and let’s lift each other up, unfiltered and unapologetic. Let your story speak, and let’s ensure no woman feels silenced ever again.
Carolynn Bain