loverofnaps71
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This is a really good article. Please read and share your thoughts when you have time.
My Search for the Black Beautician: A Hairstory
In a sea of black faces, in a business owned and operated by black people they were trying to find someone who did natural hair!
Email Letter to the Editor
By Jane Malloy-Kamau
I wear my hair natural. In a society rife with weaves, perms, relaxers, texturizers and extensions I prefer to just let my hair be. Does this act on my part deserve some dubious distinction of being "more" than the average black woman? Absolutely not.
Wearing my hair natural is not a new trip for me. I have never had a weave or perm and have gone through 30-plus years without enlisting the support of any additives, preservatives, activators or motivators! These days I wear a combination of double-strand twists and a twisted, bushy 'fro. I admit to having served under the black hot metal of the straightening comb and yes, I proudly rocked my 1980s flip (ode to Farah Fawcett) and my own version of the mushroom (which made me look more like Fat Albert's friend Dumb Donald than Dorothy Hamill). In college, I wore the black woman's version of the mullet. You remember: long in the back, short up top. I'm not sure who we owe that hairstyle to, but I worked it. Oh, did I work it! Yes, I did fry my hair on occasion and even freaked it out with a wig from time to time, but underneath the netting, the Dixie Peach, the Ultra Sheen and Pink Lotion, I donned just about every natural hairstyle one could don: cornrows, short afros, big afros, locks, afro puffs, twists, knots, you name it — I had it. So what, you might ask, is the dilemma?
Recently, I went to an African American-owned day spa and salon in New Jersey to get my hair washed and styled. My appointment that day had been cancelled because the woman who did my hair was gone and they were trying to find someone who could do natural hair. In a sea of black faces, in a business owned and operated by black people they were trying to find someone who did natural hair! Finally, a woman who called herself the co-owner of the salon announced that they could not accommodate me. I told her that it was disheartening to hear that in a salon owned and operated by black people there was no one who could do black hair. The woman shrugged it off, while another woman (doing a white woman's nails) asked me to step outside. The woman explained that although they were a black-owned salon, they were not there to simply serve black people.
The bitterness of that salon visit lingered long enough for me to put in a call to my friend and attorney, asking her if she believed it to be discrimination if a black-owned salon refused to due your hair based on its texture. My friend thought the idea was interesting, but persuaded me instead to exercise my First Amendment rights, to speak freely about the issue and if necessary protest the salon and its indifference to the needs of black women. And so I did. I sent out e-mails to friends, complained to the Better Business Bureau and the state's governing body that licenses beauticians and barbers. I also wrote this essay.
Our emancipation in America sparked the advent of black beauty salons, barbershops and Madame C.J. Walker's straightening combs. There existed a coalition of the willing who would, no matter how poor your pockets or unruly your 'do, transform your crown into a work of art. These beauticians who once honed their skills and hair weaponry with little more than grease, water, comb and brush have been replaced by hairstylists who rely on high-tech chemicals and synthetic hair.
There was a time when a black beautician did not retreat in shock when we walked in with hair that defied the laws of physics and resisted comb and brush. Yet, we find ourselves today struggling to find someone who can do what is our legacy and our most inimitable bridge to our ancestors: our hair.
The new natural hair salons that have sprung up in recent years although wonderful, charge a considerable amount for what we once got done sitting on our best friend's front stoop or at the local kitchen-tician. Now, we have professional natural hair salons or spas that boast experienced lock-ticians, braid-ticians and all-around natural-ticians. Some of these natural salons want to charge more than $100 dollars to twist or cornrow my hair --and this is without any extensions or add-ons. Although I have heard the argument from several natural hair stylists that natural hair takes longer, and the price matches the amount of time it takes, this argument holds very little water when the same exorbitant prices are charged to women with shorter hair. It's starting to feel like the poll tax once administered to black people as a requirement for voting — only now, the tax is on the natural head and the message states loud and clear that if you choose to wear your hair natural, it will cost you. It makes you think that there is a conspiracy to force black women to use chemicals in our hair, and the co-conspirators are our very own black beauty coiffeurs. What happened to a regular old black hairdresser who could do it all? Now, the process has been re-mixed to something that makes our very natural hair seem unnatural and out of place.
I'm fortunate that I can style my own hair and have for most of my life. However, I lead a non-stop life that includes a daughter who has a head full of hair that demands my attention. I feel I deserve to be pampered from time to time. Now, the black beauty salon, once a haven for all types of hair 'dos subjects people with hair like mine to a litany of unapologetic hair don'ts.
Lucky for me, I've found, not far from my home a store-front salon with young, fast-talking hands that braid, twist, lock, perm, press and weave — "we do it all" boasts the store's young owner. And so my story ends on a happy note. But what bout all my sisters dealing with the same drama in their own hometowns. What becomes of their search for the black beautician? We live in a time when our natural hair has become a novelty even to ourselves. When will we learn that the very things we reject about ourselves are later stolen, marketed and sold back to our communities? I guess in about ten years, when white women are getting afro hair weaved in to their straight hair, we'll have no trouble finding a sister to do our hair.
First published: December 18, 2003
My Search for the Black Beautician: A Hairstory
In a sea of black faces, in a business owned and operated by black people they were trying to find someone who did natural hair!
Email Letter to the Editor
By Jane Malloy-Kamau
I wear my hair natural. In a society rife with weaves, perms, relaxers, texturizers and extensions I prefer to just let my hair be. Does this act on my part deserve some dubious distinction of being "more" than the average black woman? Absolutely not.
Wearing my hair natural is not a new trip for me. I have never had a weave or perm and have gone through 30-plus years without enlisting the support of any additives, preservatives, activators or motivators! These days I wear a combination of double-strand twists and a twisted, bushy 'fro. I admit to having served under the black hot metal of the straightening comb and yes, I proudly rocked my 1980s flip (ode to Farah Fawcett) and my own version of the mushroom (which made me look more like Fat Albert's friend Dumb Donald than Dorothy Hamill). In college, I wore the black woman's version of the mullet. You remember: long in the back, short up top. I'm not sure who we owe that hairstyle to, but I worked it. Oh, did I work it! Yes, I did fry my hair on occasion and even freaked it out with a wig from time to time, but underneath the netting, the Dixie Peach, the Ultra Sheen and Pink Lotion, I donned just about every natural hairstyle one could don: cornrows, short afros, big afros, locks, afro puffs, twists, knots, you name it — I had it. So what, you might ask, is the dilemma?
Recently, I went to an African American-owned day spa and salon in New Jersey to get my hair washed and styled. My appointment that day had been cancelled because the woman who did my hair was gone and they were trying to find someone who could do natural hair. In a sea of black faces, in a business owned and operated by black people they were trying to find someone who did natural hair! Finally, a woman who called herself the co-owner of the salon announced that they could not accommodate me. I told her that it was disheartening to hear that in a salon owned and operated by black people there was no one who could do black hair. The woman shrugged it off, while another woman (doing a white woman's nails) asked me to step outside. The woman explained that although they were a black-owned salon, they were not there to simply serve black people.
The bitterness of that salon visit lingered long enough for me to put in a call to my friend and attorney, asking her if she believed it to be discrimination if a black-owned salon refused to due your hair based on its texture. My friend thought the idea was interesting, but persuaded me instead to exercise my First Amendment rights, to speak freely about the issue and if necessary protest the salon and its indifference to the needs of black women. And so I did. I sent out e-mails to friends, complained to the Better Business Bureau and the state's governing body that licenses beauticians and barbers. I also wrote this essay.
Our emancipation in America sparked the advent of black beauty salons, barbershops and Madame C.J. Walker's straightening combs. There existed a coalition of the willing who would, no matter how poor your pockets or unruly your 'do, transform your crown into a work of art. These beauticians who once honed their skills and hair weaponry with little more than grease, water, comb and brush have been replaced by hairstylists who rely on high-tech chemicals and synthetic hair.
There was a time when a black beautician did not retreat in shock when we walked in with hair that defied the laws of physics and resisted comb and brush. Yet, we find ourselves today struggling to find someone who can do what is our legacy and our most inimitable bridge to our ancestors: our hair.
The new natural hair salons that have sprung up in recent years although wonderful, charge a considerable amount for what we once got done sitting on our best friend's front stoop or at the local kitchen-tician. Now, we have professional natural hair salons or spas that boast experienced lock-ticians, braid-ticians and all-around natural-ticians. Some of these natural salons want to charge more than $100 dollars to twist or cornrow my hair --and this is without any extensions or add-ons. Although I have heard the argument from several natural hair stylists that natural hair takes longer, and the price matches the amount of time it takes, this argument holds very little water when the same exorbitant prices are charged to women with shorter hair. It's starting to feel like the poll tax once administered to black people as a requirement for voting — only now, the tax is on the natural head and the message states loud and clear that if you choose to wear your hair natural, it will cost you. It makes you think that there is a conspiracy to force black women to use chemicals in our hair, and the co-conspirators are our very own black beauty coiffeurs. What happened to a regular old black hairdresser who could do it all? Now, the process has been re-mixed to something that makes our very natural hair seem unnatural and out of place.
I'm fortunate that I can style my own hair and have for most of my life. However, I lead a non-stop life that includes a daughter who has a head full of hair that demands my attention. I feel I deserve to be pampered from time to time. Now, the black beauty salon, once a haven for all types of hair 'dos subjects people with hair like mine to a litany of unapologetic hair don'ts.
Lucky for me, I've found, not far from my home a store-front salon with young, fast-talking hands that braid, twist, lock, perm, press and weave — "we do it all" boasts the store's young owner. And so my story ends on a happy note. But what bout all my sisters dealing with the same drama in their own hometowns. What becomes of their search for the black beautician? We live in a time when our natural hair has become a novelty even to ourselves. When will we learn that the very things we reject about ourselves are later stolen, marketed and sold back to our communities? I guess in about ten years, when white women are getting afro hair weaved in to their straight hair, we'll have no trouble finding a sister to do our hair.
First published: December 18, 2003
I think I have finally found a place though of nice non judgemental stylist who actually know how to do hair even though it isn't relaxed - no smart comments either!!!!
