Self Acceptance, Race, and Hair: On Being Different

Every once in awhile, I get a message or email about my hair.  What products do I use, how do I maintain my hair, where do I get it done?  I’ve long shied away from it because my relationship with my hair feels complicated and in many ways ties into my ethnicity.  There’s tons of stories about racial micro aggressions, being uncomfortable, and having to learn.  Being multiracial with an Asian mother and African-American father is in many ways a large part of my identity.  So let’s dive into self acceptance, race, and hair.

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featured | draper james: chambray ruffle shift dress c/o + justfab: shea bootie c/o + work the metal: black and white resin earrings {similar} + cato fashions: circle crossbody purse {similar}

Self Acceptance, Race, and Hair: On Being Different | I’m Six.

I’m six years old, visiting family in Atlanta, and having my hair pressed for the first time.  The stylist is detangling my curls while blow drying and I wince several times as she yanks.  “You can’t be that tender headed, baby,” she tells me while my mom stands nearby taking notes.  My mom is half Japanese, half white and struggling to figure out how to do my hair that’s so different from her own.

Self Acceptance, Race, and Hair: On Being Different | I’m Eight and Different than Everyone Else.

My mom is driving me about an hour from our home in Cameron Park, California to a Black hair salon that’s closer to Sacramento.  I’m eight and complain about constantly having to ride places for my hair.  “I’m sorry honey, but this is the closest place I can find that can do your hair,” my mom sighs.  I settle down into the car but find myself wishing I could be like the other girls in my class with straight blonde or brown hair.

Unknown to me, my parents have begun discussing the possibility of moving.  While they’re both Californians they’re worried that our hometown lacks diversity with the Census demographic placing our hometown at 92.25% Caucasian.

Self Acceptance, Race, and Hair: On Being Different | I’m Eleven and Living Somewhere New.

Going to Atlanta always feels like a treat.  While my parents have moved us from Northern California where I was one of three Black kids in my entire school, it’s still hard to find hair products for me in the DC suburb we live in.  I’m ten and our trips to Atlanta to visit my aunt and grandpa feel like a different world to me.  There’s hair stores solely dedicated to Black hair products and TONS of salons that can do all kinds of different treatments to my hair.  Hell, the Targets and Walmarts all have more than five Black hair care products.  Our new hometown, Vienna, Virginia is only about 3.2% African American which means Black hair products are rarely available at our local big box stores.

I like our new home in Northern Virginia; we have a pool so I can invite friends over during the summer.  I love swimming and am glad we have our own pool.  Because we’ve started chemically treating my hair, I have to wear a swimming cap to prevent my hair from breaking off and kids usually stare at me when I have my silicone covered head.  Despite my begging, my mom makes me wear the cap; my aunt’s warned her of how my hair could all fall out if not properly protected.

Self Acceptance, Race, and Hair: On Being Different | I’m Thirteen and Want to Be Pretty Like the Other Girls.

By middle school, my hair texture has changed to the point where it’s hard for me to comb it without chemically straightening it and I just don’t know how to style it.  Every six to eight weeks, my mom takes me to a salon since we’ve had to start using stronger chemicals.  Once in awhile, I’ll get a chemical burn from the relaxer, but I love getting my hair relaxed and pressed.  For a couple days, my hair is pretty like the girls at my middle school.

I’m thirteen and it’s field day at our junior high.  My hair’s just been done and my mom reminds me that being -too- active and sweating a ton will make it not last as long.  It’s ok though because I feel pretty!  In the middle of a flag football game, a cute boy in my grade tells me I look so much prettier with my hair straight and that I should wear it like that all the time.  I smile, but internally feel a little defeated; it’s  impossible to get my hair to look like I came fresh from the hair salon more than my bi-monthly visits.  Not for the first time, I find myself wishing I weren’t multiracial.

Self Acceptance, Race, and Hair: On Being Different | I’m Sixteen and Can’t Find Hair Products.

We’ve just moved to Kentucky and my parents who are big believers in my public school education specifically look at homes in neighborhoods that will ensure I’ll go to one of the best rated public high schools.  In terms of diversity, it’s a bit of a step back.  Our neighborhood is very nice and I’m living a privileged life alongside the kids I go to school with, but once again the racial makeup is about 92.9% white.  Our local grocery store doesn’t carry any hair care products that I can use.

My mom, who is often the biggest advocate for my hair, finds a Black hair stylist but also makes sure to take me out every time we visit Atlanta because of the plethora of Black hair care products.

Self Acceptance, Race, and Hair: On Being Different | I’m Eighteen and Starting College.

Legal adulthood has arrived and my parents move me into my dorm at the University of Kentucky.  While I have all the normal anxieties of starting college and living away from my parents for the first time, one of my biggest concerns is how I’ll manage my hair.  At this point, I know that the fact that I only wash my hair about once a week is often deemed “gross” by my friends, who are for the most part white.  Trying to find a routine, I typically press my hair in my dorm room while my roommate is in class but one day she comes back early comments on how “awful” my hair products make our room smell.

I start driving the hour and a half home to Louisville every weekend so I can wash and press my hair without fear of judgement.  After my first semester, I have the opportunity to move from the dorm into my sorority house.  Each floor of the house features a large bathroom with multiple showers; most of the girls leave their shower caddies in the bathroom.

Self Acceptance, Race, and Hair: On Being Different | I’m in a Sorority (and Still Eighteen.)

One day as I’m coming back from class, I open the door to our floor to find a group of girls circled around and laughing at one sister that’s put on my shower cap as a joke.  “Whose is that?” they all laugh and I force myself to fake a laugh with them.  That night, I go out and buy a new shower cap that I can keep hidden in my room.  I’d been recruited by a historically Black sorority, but my experiences and fear of being “not Black enough,” led me to join a non-NPHC group.  Still, I can’t help but wonder how different my sisterhood experience would be with women that had physical similarities to me…like my hair.

Self Acceptance, Race, and Hair: On Being Different | I’m Twenty-Two and Working.

Not sure what I want to do career wise, I start working retail and find that it helps me personally grow into someone more comfortable around strangers.  At this point, I’ve moved onto doing keratin treatments about every nine months and using a flat iron, but I’ve noticed how the natural hair movement is getting much bigger for Black women.  One day while standing with my boss, I notice a Black woman with beautiful dreadlocks.  I mention to my boss how pretty I think they are.  “They’re nice, but if you had hair like that I don’t think I would have hired you,” she comments.

Self Acceptance, Race, and Hair: On Being Different | I’m Twenty-Seven, Comfortable in My Skin, but Still Used to Being Different.

Somehow, blogging has become my full-time job.  I’m passionate about it {but also often frustrated} because I know how important representation is and want to change that for girls that look like me.

My hair experiences these days are similar to when I was asked to walk in a local fashion show.  As always, I arrived to the salon with my hair already straightened.  While waiting for my turn in the chair, I watched other girls in the show leave with curled updos and extravagant French braids.  When I sit down for the hairstylist, I can see her hesitation in her face.  “Alright I can do this,” she says more to herself than to me.  Internally, I wince as she takes a flat iron to my already straightened hair.  {Black hair is more coarse and requires flat irons to be much hotter than the flat irons traditionally used on other hair.}

“You look great,” she remarks at the end.  I force a smile noting that my hair is exactly the same as when I came into the salon and wishing I’d known that she wouldn’t be able to style my hair.

Self Acceptance, Race, and Hair: On Being Different | What Most Salon Experiences Look Like.

I get asked to model for a styled shoot and the contact tells me that they’ll do my hair and makeup for the shoot.  As always, I make sure to line up my hair wash schedule to be right before the shoot so I can wash and straighten my hair myself.  My hair is mostly natural; I’ve stopped doing keratin treatments and when I don’t straighten my hair, you can see a texture difference between my “virgin,” or non chemically treated hair and the ends that are still around from before.

I know not to have high expectations for the hair stylist there and find myself almost teary eyed {in a good way!} when she says, “of course I can do your hair!” after listening to me apologize for my hair being different.  I’ve all but given up on finding someone in Louisville that can do my hair, but she comments several times on how beautiful my hair is and for the first time in awhile…I feel included.