Don’t Touch My Hair

Don’t touch my belongings, don’t touch my body, and, most importantly, don’t touch my hair.

This is an issue that has historically plagued African Americans. As one of the most prominent parts of our anatomy, no matter the length or type, we share the same experiences with our hair.

As a child, my haircare was built into our morning routine.

My sister, 5 years older, would be applying liquid, oil, crème and a heat protectant, before flat ironing it, and cementing the straight press with a hot comb, heated by our oven stovetop.

With hair shorter than an inch, my brother would be taking off his durag, applying jojoba oil, and vigorously brushing his waves.

Removing my bonnet, mom would rub Shae Butter into my hair, use a rattail comb for a clean part, the pain of which was soothed by Blue Magic hair grease to my scalp, before two pony tails were pulled together by the unyielding hand of god and held together by two bobbles that snap back into the side of my head before they are secured. Finally, Olive Oil edge control with a damp toothbrush to smooth my baby hairs and an afro pick to fluff my poofs and I was ready for my day, knowing that I couldn’t get them wet, flatten them, touch the edges, scratch my head, or loosen them if they were too tight.

This leads me to the question: If I cannot touch my own hair, what makes you think that you can?

Between 1776 and 1865, where America had the transatlantic slave trade, they actively shaved the heads of slaves to remove an essential part of their identity. During this time, African Americans were given nothing to care for or maintain their hair.

When some slaves were freed and allowed to grow their hair, the Tignon Law was passed in 1786 that required African American women to cover their hair in public.

Following slavery, society told African Americans that straighter hair was better than natural curly hair. This lead to decades of African Americans creating harmful methods to try and straighten their hair.

This issue was addressed in the 2000s with the Natural Hair Movement that actively encourages African Americans to use healthy natural products in their hair and embrace their texture.

This lead to seeing more natural hair styles portrayed by African Americans in media (Black Panther 2018) and starting the discussion for discrimination against African Americans in jobs and schools (“Don’t Touch My Hair” by Solange 2016). 

In 2018 a private school in Florida banned a 6 year old from attending  because he had locs. The same year a High school Wrester was forced to cut his locs off to compete.

In 2019, despite New York’s antidiscrimination law, Catholic Schools have created rules to circumvent the law and ban hair styles, all of which are targeted at African American students.

This issue has been prominent enough that the EEOC has created a Compliance Manual on Race and Color Discrimination that explicitly protects against workplace issues that are prompted by a person’s physical characteristics including hair.

This brings me to my profound personal opinion: Don’t Touch my Hair.

It’s a violation of personal space and has historically offensive implications. 

“I’ve done it before-“

No.

“Well I was curious-“

Hell no.

“People touch my hair all the time-“

Tell them no.

“It’s a complement-“

Its rude.

If you like my hair, your first response shouldn’t be to ruin it, or my day, because you can’t keep your hands to yourself.

Sources:

Dormon, James H. Creoles of Color of the Gulf South. Vol. 7, University of Tennessee Press, 1996.

Patton, Tracey Owens. “Hey Girl, Am I More than My Hair?: African American Women and Their Struggles with Beauty, Body Image, and Hair.” NWSA Journal, vol. 22, no. 2, 2006, pp. 24–51., doi:10.2979/nws.2006.18.2.24.

Race/Color Discrimination, www.eeoc.gov/laws/types/race_color.cfm.

Griffin, Chanté. “How Natural Black Hair at Work Became a Civil Rights Issue.” Daily, 3 July 2019, brewminate.com/how-natural-black-hair-at-work-became-a-civil-rights-issue/.