There’s something quietly radical about standing in front of a mirror and deciding how to wear your hair. No external pressures, no hidden codes of conformity, just you, your hands, and a singular moment of choice. Whether it’s soft coils, a neat bun, a head full of braids, or a buzz cut, that act of styling is deeply personal. It is care, it is love, and it is ours to define.
For many of us, this is where our journey begins, not in the workplace or the classroom, but in the private, everyday ritual of touching our hair and choosing how to present ourselves to the world. It’s here, in the intimacy of our own reflection, that we first learn that hair is more than an accessory. It is a form of expression. It holds memory. It connects us to the people who raised us and the cultures that shaped us.
I often think about the living room salons and kitchen chairs where so many of our hair stories were born. The laughter shared during braiding sessions, the sting of a comb through thick new growth, and the pride that came after hours spent creating something beautiful. These moments were never just beauty routines; they were gatherings, therapy sessions, and lessons passed down through hours of patience and tradition. Our hair has always brought us together.
We wear our hair in many ways, not because we can’t decide, but because we don’t have to. Braids, twists, locs, silk presses, wigs, afros, fades, bantu knots – each one is a mood, a message, a choice. The versatility of our hair is not only aesthetic; it’s ancestral. We’ve always adapted, reimagined, and celebrated our identities. We don’t shrink ourselves into one version; we expand and evolve, constantly.
This freedom to express ourselves through our hair isn’t new, it’s rooted in histories as complex and beautiful as the styles themselves. Long before terms like “protective hairstyle” entered common language, these styles were deeply functional, spiritual, and political. In pre-colonial African societies, hair was a powerful indicator of tribe, status, marital stage, and personal identity. Hair care was communal, often performed with great reverence, and styles carried profound meaning. During slavery, braiding became a covert act of resistance. Cornrows were used to create maps for escape, and seeds were hidden in hair to preserve life when everything else had been taken. Even when everything else was stripped away, people still braided freedom into one another’s scalps. That legacy lives on in every plait, parting, and twist, a living thread of hope.
Today, we continue to carry that spirit of survival, resilience, and creativity, where our hair still speaks, even when others attempt to silence it. we find ourselves explaining, still navigating ignorance in classrooms, offices, and boardrooms. Still met with curiosity that borders on critique. It’s discrimination when your self-expression is treated as a disruption, when you have to navigate systems where your hair becomes the barrier instead of the bridge. That’s why it’s not enough to simply celebrate our hair, we must also protect the right to wear it with dignity.
Change doesn’t always look like protest. Sometimes, it looks like policy, like ensuring that schools and employers have clear guidelines that prevent hair discrimination. Like holding institutions accountable for how they treat Black hair, not just in slogans but in structure. These small actions matter. Whether it’s raising awareness, sharing a story, or supporting a petition calling for legal protection, each step takes us closer to a future where our children can enter any space with their hair in its natural state, braided, in Locs or other… never questioning if it’s “appropriate.”
More than anything, this is about love. Deep, rooted, unapologetic love, the kind that says, “I belong here, exactly as I am.” The kind that teaches our children to cherish their edges, their shrinkage, their texture. The kind that reminds us that our hair isn’t too much. It is rich, alive, and whole.
So wear it big. Wear it slicked back. Wear it braided or picked out high. Wear it however you feel most like you. And remember: you don’t need to explain your hair to anyone. It has always told its own story. We have inherited a legacy of beauty and resistance, one that lives in our hands, in our routines, and in every strand we nurture. Let’s honour it, not just in celebration, but in action.
Because when we protect the way we wear our hair, we protect something far greater, our right to take up space, to express our culture, and to live free.
