I am from a tiny island in the sea—a mesmerizing place called Haiti, where we grew up drinking coconut water, swimming in the salted ocean, and singing songs with family all day long. Looking back, I realize that my childhood in Haiti felt so pure because I was true to myself, especially in how I embraced my natural hair. One thing I loved the most about the island was the hair care and the proud ways we nurtured our hair.
When I immigrated to Canada, I saw that this deep-rooted pride in our hair wasn’t just limited to Haiti—it was woven into Black communities across the diaspora. This idea that our hair, Black hair, regardless of its texture, length, or form, was worthy of love, care, and of being showcased.
There is no secret recipe for Black hair except the language of love.
Danie Maxelus
Growing up in a conservative household, my natural hair was my only option—not because of a lack of choice, but because it was the norm in my family. I didn’t mind; I loved my natural hair. I still do. It isn’t my whole identity, but it is a big part of who I am. In high school, I felt out of place, as if my hair was never presentable enough. I went from seeing Haitians wearing various crowns on their heads—from slicked-back buns to head wraps—to experiencing the stark opposite in Canada.
But over time, I realized that the lack of representation in media wasn’t just a minor inconvenience—it shaped the way I saw myself and my possibilities. First, the lack of representation of Black women, especially those with various hair textures, stood out to me. I barely saw any Black women in the media. I grew up a TV and iPad kid, and no matter where I looked, my consumption was always of people who did not look like me.
Despite what media and society showed me, my mother’s care reminded me that my hair was always worthy of love. My family never texturized it; they braided it with care, were patient and gentle, and simply let it bloom on its own. There is no secret recipe for Black hair except the language of love. Yet, I could not understand why Hollywood and every entertainment industry showcased only one version of our beautiful hair. Why was the standard so rigid? Why did I feel like I had to straighten my hair to look presentable or beautiful? There is nothing wrong with straightening our hair, except when it becomes the standard of beauty, implying that our natural texture is not.
This internalized standard of beauty wasn’t just my experience. One day, a friend of mine, who is Ethiopian, shared something similar. She told me that whenever she had a special occasion or fancy party, the first thought that crossed her mind was that she had to straighten her hair. She refused to accept the belief that classy, elegant hair had to be straight when Black people are so diverse in their beauty.
This realization resonated deeply with me. It captured everything I wanted to say about the pressures and perceptions surrounding our hair.
As I got older, I began experimenting with wigs, thinking it was just a style choice. But soon, I noticed a shift in how I felt about my natural hair. After high school, I started wearing wigs. Everyone was doing it, and I realized I was late to the game. I liked wigs a lot, and some days, I liked them more than my natural hair. I had never experienced that before—preferring a different hair texture over my own. I became so accustomed to the style, length, and texture that when I saw my natural hair, it felt strikingly different. I liked it less and less.
This shift in my self-perception wasn’t helped by the way people around me talked about my hair. Growing up, I heard specific compliments about it: “You have good hair.” They said this because it curled a certain way and had a specific length. When my hair started shedding due to stress and wig tension, I wondered: would they still love it? And if they didn’t, what did that mean for me? Would doors close simply because of how my hair looked? I felt like if my community and I rejected my natural hair, the world would do the same. This feeling was draining and exhausting.
Over time, I realized that my relationship with my hair needed to change. Instead of struggling with it, I chose to embrace it. I did a lot of research on hair care, self-care, and Black empowerment. To me, being Black is not just about struggle; it’s about so much more. I no longer struggle with my hair—I embrace it. I balance my natural hair goals with sensibility and care, just as my mother taught me.
Here are some tips I learned:
- I started to see myself in my natural hair texture. I can’t tell you how many wigs I discarded. I began watching myself in the texture I naturally have, and it’s beautiful.
- I began embracing my curls all the time by speaking love to them in the shower. I can’t imagine that I used to yank a comb through my hair, frustrated that it was curly. Now, I comb it with love and patience. Affirming that I love my hair now feels so real, I couldn’t see it any other way.
- I curated a self-care hair routine. My hair routine is my “me day.” I love it with hair masks, candles, and movies. It is not a burden; it has become a self-love ritual.
- I stopped caring about length. If my hair sheds, there is nothing I can do. Mourning dead cells will not bring them back. Instead, I analyze what I must do next to fix it. I don’t talk about my hair length or goals with most people because it can be personal and sensitive for those on different journeys. I think it’s important to know that we all have different hair lengths and curl patterns, and they manifest differently for each of us. So, no matter what state my hair is in, I celebrate it. I am happy when I see progress, but I do not rush it.
- I seek out and advocate for women who look like me. My vision board, my TikTok, my YouTube, even the books I read—I search for women who love their hair like I do. When you see people who look like you, you not only feel proud of your natural features, but you also realize you can achieve your dreams by being yourself. No alterations, just your own standard of beauty.
I have learned so much about hair care and self-love through the Black community—from our incredible cultural traditions to innovative solutions like hair oiling. Hair, for all cultures, is a crown to be seen and loved. Black hair, in all its textures, lengths, densities, and colours, is equally as beautiful and worthy to be seen and to love. Always.
Happy Black History Month ♡＼(￣▽￣)／♡