You’d be surprised at how much controversy my hair starts—not my skin or my religion but my hair. I literally cannot walk in a room without someone staring or twitching their nose up at the sight of my hair. Is it because I’m an African American woman with blonde hair? Is it because you wish your hair was like mine? Or is it because you don’t know how to give a compliment, so you just stare until I walk away? I get a lot of mixed feelings when it comes to my hair. I get mostly compliments but sometimes I feel as if I am getting a lot of shade towards my hair—from all races. So when I get the occasional “your hair is messy,” “all over the place,” or “wild.” A lot of people are already judging me based off of my hair. What if I just think it looks better on me? It doesn’t mean I’m lazy or crazy; it means I am stepping out of the box for my happiness, not yours.
Don’t forget the people who compliment and degrade at the same time, “You have pretty hair. You MUST be mixed.” Well aren’t we all? Regardless of what my Great-Great Grandfather twice removed’s nationality is, I’m still a black woman. Wasn’t there a study somewhere that states “If you are 1% black…you’re black” (aka the One Drop Rule)? So, why not just give the compliment and keep it moving? Some of you may argue that this is what I’m asking for: attention. Like I want someone to stare at me every day trying to figure out if I’m really black or if my hair is really real. My hair (my little three dreads included) is a representation of me. And if you don’t know me, you wouldn’t know how I want to represent myself, correct?
You see, it used to bother me when people at my school stare, but now it’s just a compliment saying “I wish I could try something as bold as you.” So, yes, continue to stare. I appreciate the compliments. Let me clear some things up for you: yes, I’m a black woman with dyed blonde hair; yes, I have real hair underneath the weave I choose to wear; yes, I have dreads hanging there in the back of my head, not extra eyes. So “Why you looking at me like a got horns on my head?”—in the words of my sweet mother dearest. Moral of my little story: Try not to stare at me and my hair with your pre-judgmental thoughts. Try giving me the compliment I know you were thinking of in your head. Who knows? I might even let you touch my golden blonde crown.