To Her Its “Just Hair”, To Me Its An Earned Trophy Of Patient Persistence - Why #BlackHair

“Why? It’s just hair. It’ll grow back.” These words were uttered by a white coworker who looked incredulously at me when I expressed that I didn’t want to cut my hair into the trendy style she had suggested. My hair at the time was a very awkward TWA, perhaps even warranting its own abbreviation as an MWA (Mid-way afro).

Basically, it wasn’t short enough to really be called “teeny weeny”, and not quite long enough to be the bold afro style every naturalista fantasizes about. So I was stuck, and it was tempting to imagine shaving down my sides, getting a fade and wearing something that would be much more suited to my face shape, and style in general.

But since my long-term goal was the aforementioned fantasy fro, the thought of shaving my sides to me seemed like a fate worse than death. By this time I was a year into my natural hair journey and my MWA, no matter how awkward, was a powerful reminder of my gains. Hard earned and carefully tended, these inches were more valuable to me than any attention that jumping on the newest fad would have gotten me.

Her statement though, that it was “just hair”, was unintentionally loaded with privilege. It made me feel both embarrassed and belittled at the same time.

Although there are plenty of black women who could care less whether they grew or shaved or dyed their hair, there is, I believe, an equal number of black women for whom every inch gained represents a sort of victory.

Due to the delicate nature of our hair, and its tightly coiled appearance, an inch really is a mile. It represents a couple months of careful maintenance, of balancing moisture and strength for retention. The thought of shaving off what would have been every inch I gained during my first year of being natural was an idea I just couldn’t swallow.

Her words also triggered in me jealousy. Her hairstyle was short; as she had previously explained to me she had gotten “fed up” with “dealing” with her long, straight locks. She decided to cut her hair because she knew that in only 6 months time she could be back to shoulder length.

It was “no big deal”. On the other hand I was left considering how much more awkward my trendy cut would look 6 months down the line than my MWA did now, and how I would have to either keep shaving it for eternity or shave the whole thing again six months later just so that it would grow out evenly. The whole thing just sounded like one small step for upgrading my style, and one giant step backwards on my journey.

Where most girls would readily take that small step forward, blind or apathetic to the impending giant step backwards, I am a much more long-term oriented person and my goal is to have the kind of hair that disproves one of the fundamental myths about black hair, that it simply cannot grow. Coupled with the fact that I am tirelessly impatient, any delays along the journey to that goal are simply insupportable.

My coworker’s lack of cultural sensitivity, though unintentional, was a simple example of how privilege blinds. Any person who could step outside of that space of privilege for a moment would have realized that my hair is extremely curly, and curly hair takes a long time to grow long.

Therefore, what may seem to her as “just hair”, is to me an earned trophy of patient persistence. I wish that she could have taken off the rose-colored glasses through which she viewed the world for a moment and stepped into my shoes, considering not only what she was saying, but how saying it would make me feel.

It is the unintentional nature of privilege that makes it all the more insidious. It is not something that can easily be pointed out to its perpetrator because it is so deeply knitted into the fabric of his or her life. On top of that, had I mentioned how it made me feel and explained why to her, my words would no doubtedly have been met by the protests of my other coworkers, equally privileged, to invalidate the importance of my feelings with statements like, “You’re taking it too personal” or “That’s not what she meant” or “Come on, it’s not always about race.”

Thus is the cry of privilege, “I am above your reprimand” and “Your feelings are unjustified, simply because I declare them so”. It is what makes having real conversation to spark change so difficult, and what keeps the barriers between us. Because if I can’t reach you about the insensitivity of your narrow statement on the value of my hair, then how will I ever reach you about the insensitivity of your narrow view on the value of my life?