Have you seen this [First lady's coiffure a hairy issue]? I know, I know, I’m a few days late. But I just found it and think it’s great. The Times - and props to Aspasia Karras – really handled the subject well.
For me, hair – and especially the annoyingly euphemistically named ‘ethnic hair’ – is the perfect nexus between the private and the political. South Africa has a long history of suppressing anything deemed remotely ‘African’ (as we know). And who can forget The Pencil Test.
(FYI: The pencil test involved apartheid officials putting a pencil in a black person’s hair. If the person’s hair was kinky enough and the pencil stayed put, the person was classified ‘African’. If the pencil fell out, they were classified ‘Coloured’.)
Mrs Obama – and her hair – occupy a very special space in this whole ‘hair-as-political-commentary’ theory. She’s the first black first lady of the US. There are huge expectations for her to fly the flag for all sistas, but both her and President Obama have had to project a rather a-racial, people-next-door persona that wouldn’t scare away white voters.
Writes Aspasia Karras: ‘Pundits across the political spectrum have focused on her sleek, perfectly groomed and immobile helmet, questioning the message it sends. Is the Obama hairstyle unwittingly or even purposefully too white?’
Why is this even an issue? Karras quotes Erin Aubry Kaplan (from Salon):
‘The black image – indeed, the very idea of beauty – is still inherently political, mirroring our national mood about race and the ancient tensions between reality and what we prefer to see … A reality check: in this alleged new era of racial enlightenment, how would we see Michelle if she switched to braids, twists, curls or dreads, if she looked more like the black person she is?’
It took me years (and it’s still ongoing) to deal with my hair issues. I always struggled with this idea of politicising one’s image. I felt that I needed to carry my Black Consciousness ideals on my sleeve (or atop my head) to be taken seriously. As I’ve grown older (ha), I’ve realised that even that is a reactionary stance. And through personal experience, I found it doesn’t even guarantee that people will get what you’re saying. Whether I wear an afro (and I did, for years), or have my hair sleek (as it is now), I still get the same questions – ‘Is that a weave? Is it a wig?’
I also used to negatively judge women who chose to wear wigs and weaves, seeing them as ‘sell outs’ or trying to emulate Western ideals of beauty. This may be true, but I’ve definitely eased up on judging. Bottom line is – to paraphrase india.arie – we aren’t our hair. We all do the best we can to get by.
Here are some interesting perspectives from Karras’ article:
Nomfundo Xulu:
I’ve noticed that the majority of black women would rather starve than not have their fake hair sorted. Horse hair, synthetic fibres, weaves, braids, extensions – call it what you like – it is pathetic, expensive and unnecessary. And no, girls, it does not make you prettier. In fact, most who’ve resorted to this expensive fix look cheap. Think about every working girl, in the traditional sense, you have driven past – they all have pathetic, colourful, huge curls that look like foreign fruits. I prefer natural hair on black women, but even that has become conformist. Everywhere you look, “back to our roots” types have the same style plaits, or have forgotten how to use a comb so they look like something out of an African freak show.
Maseipati Tsotsotso on letting go of relaxers:
I got tired of the amount of money and time spent at hair salons each month, and realised I did it because my mom and society said it was what “ladies” looked like. It took me a while to rebel and affirm my inclination towards this natural, Afro-ethnic style … It was liberating. I can be “me” and look good, but it still takes time and guts
Lerato Matsaneng:
My main problem with my hair is the pain associated with getting it done. Everything about getting hair done is PAINFUL. When you straighten (relax) it, you get burned by the chemicals – pain. When you plait it, you get pulled and stretched – pain. When you get your dreadlocks twisted and locked – pain. When you style it, you get burned with curling irons – pain. Getting a weave sewn in with an extra thin needle and string – pain.
Bongiwe B Khumalo:
My weave and I are the best of friends. I feel naked without it, so I don’t mind parting with a few hundreds just to get it done. I did try to go the au naturel route, but I failed dismally. I don’t have the time to wash my hair every day, and the hairstyles are so limited. I can have curls, a bob, shoulder length or even longer. It’s less hassle
Phumla Matjila:
Ask any girl in the know and she’ll tell you payday means a good hair day. You can’t even bring yourself to draw up a budget with your hair in a mess. There’s nothing like a good hairstyle to get financial management juices flowing. The truth is, by the 23rd of the month, if your hair is relaxed or has undergone chemical harassment, the virgin hair is starting to lace your hairline with bits of what looks like peppercorns. If it is virgin, kinky hair, you are doomed! It’s scary. Look at Ntombi in Generations on the last days of the month. With that, your face sags each time you look in the mirror as you count days until payday.
This, though, is where I am right now:
Keitumetse Segoai:
“Is she ‘conscious’ or is she ‘bougie’ [bourgeois]?” That is the question – the one I refuse to answer. What does it matter? When will black people be able to be black without having to answer a questionnaire about it? Hundreds of years have passed since the last slave ship offloaded its human cargo, yet black people are still being stared at and hounded with questions about their appearance. I refuse to be a billboard for the Black Consciousness Movement or the Post-apartheid Coconut Movement. Being black is defined by a universe of elements that cannot be boiled down to whether your hair is straight, short, virgin, weaved or dreadlocked. Just let our hair be.
Say what?