Beauty in Hair
By Tianah Ogilvie
Don’t touch my hair!
Adolescence is a confusing experience for many, especially for young individuals of African and Caribbean decent who struggle to take pride in the outstanding beauty of their skin, hair, and culture. For me, my identity was formed by the love I have for my hair; influenced by numerous encounters, education, and my ancestors. Growing up my grandmother adored my hair, constantly reassuring me of its unquestionable beauty. She would spend hours teaching me how to care for it, explaining how her mother cared for hers and how her grandmother’s hair had been so well cared for it became so long and healthy she wondered if it could be worn as a scarf!
My grandmother constantly warned me to never let anyone discourage me from the passion I had grown for my hair... At the time I hadn’t fully grasped this insightful advice, I believed it didn’t carry the importance she gave it and wished that it was long and straight like so many others were. Being one of the sole minorities within my elementary school, people saw my hair as foreign and treated me as if I was an exotic animal. They touched and teased my hair constantly, even going as far attempting to eat it claiming, “it felt so soft I thought it’d taste like cotton candy”.
Of course, at such a young age they didn’t understand how these ignorant micro aggressions impacted my life and my identity. Soon I began constantly straightening my hair and wearing my hair in small buns only taking my hair out in front of my mom and grandma. I told the kids my hair was so long it reached my bum and attempted to convince some that my hair was beginning to become naturally straight. This continued for years as my hair & health slowly deteriorated.
Care for my Hair
Tragedy creates realization…
Knowingly damaging my hair, I continuously ignored my grandmother and aunty, who was also my hairdressers’ advice.
I began neglecting my beautiful hair that even then I unconsciously cared for so deeply… I remained ignorant to this truth until tragedy struck: my grandmother had a rare cancer. At that time, the mislead identity I had taken so many yearscreating to impress others had shattered. As I sat letting my grandmother do my hair, the thing she adored so much that she did it with a smile despite the pain she was in, I began realizing the damage I had caused my own identity. Weeks later she had flown to Toronto for treatment, and I was so lost I barely had the courage to say goodbye.
During the time she was gone I lacked the wise, beneficial advice I required as an adolescence. I began realizing not only had I lost my relationship with my hair, but I had also lost my ability to love myself and truly understand who I was. The moments before she passed filled my heart with guilt, all I could gather was how I had failed to embrace the young confident woman she had spent so many years shaping.
Change your story…
The years following was a complete abyss, my mental health spiraled out of control, and I began losing sight of my cultural roots. I felt more lost than I ever had, I didn’t feel as though I could fit in due to my dark complexion and curly hair that was never straight enough. A part of me felt it was too late to turn back, questioning if I was too “whitewashed” to able to take pride in the features I was blessed with as a black girl. It wasn’t until 2020, during quarantine, had I finally decided to change my story.
I spent days upon days researching, learning, and experimenting with my hair. I wore it curly, vowing not to let any form of heat take over until I knew I understood its beauty. I tried over hundreds of styles, soon being known as “the girl with their hair done every day”. I began to take pride in my hair and despite other comments or opinions, I did not let anyone discourage me from the passion I had grown for my hair!
Make it yours.
It took years for me to build a stable mental health and healthy relationships with those around me, but through each moment I had my now healthy, gorgeous, curly hair reflecting the unimaginable progress I have made.
Through the journey of my hair alone I have learned how to embrace my identity as a black woman and to never be ashamed of who I am. I have grown boundaries, self-respect, confidence, determination, and self-love, necessary things that unfortunately so many lack in their lives. This journey allowed me to figure out who I was and what I’m capable of, and now despite my situations, society, or negative experiences, I know I’m fully capable of making my life mine and absolutely no one else’s.
I now influence others to acknowledge their beautiful ethnic features because it is what shapes them and makes them human. We are all unique in so many ways, through our hair, skin, and culture… The key to life is to acknowledge the tragedy, change your story and in the end make it yours!
Identity makes me human…
There is no other way of putting it, absolutely no way of sugar coating it. It is what makes us real.
Our identity forms us from the very moment we are brought into this stunningly confusing world. Not even just from that moment, our identity is shaped long before…
From the first breath of you mother, and her mother, and her mother generations before. From the incredible moment of conception, the moment your parents saw the smallest embryo form into something undeniably perfect. Our identity is formed in a moment we cannot hold within our memories or even begin to understand. This is what makes us human, the representation of the millions of lives built before you.
Bringing back our history.
As a Caribbean decent, through my journey I have acknowledged the insufferable history several of my ancestors had gone through, and their hair was a great contribution to their health, survival, and identity, which now forms who I am currently.
From symbolism of the movement for black liberation held within our Afro. To the small grains of rice, information transferred, and maps used to rebel against slavery held within our Cornrows.
To the pride we hold for our cultural identity and self-love presented through our Bantu Knots. To the symbolization of wealth, beauty, and power held within our Box Braids
And to the products that have been passed down through generations; remedies others would say aren’t reliable but have proven to be affective throughout our history.
The heritage and freedom we have obtained through hardships and dedication is held within our hair! It is much more than just a means of fashion. Our hair is the identity our ancestors formed for us so long ago. It is the identity we form for our offspring and the generations to come…
Take pride in your hair because in our lives it holds our lost history. The beauty in black hair is so unfathomable: holding our roots, pride, and uniqueness. The history held within is what shapes you, above all we must acknowledge it and bring its importance back.
