🎀👸🏾👑 --> THA HEAVIE$T CROWN TO CARRY.
[ spiritual goonery. ]
Have you ever been ashamed of your natural crown of curls?
Have you devalued you unique cultural assets as a Black Woman because of what society deemed beautiful?
Have you ever experienced micro-aggressions and gaslighting from society that made you question your Ancestry?
[ don’t touch tha crown. ]
As Black Queens our job is hella complex in every way and area of life — in addition to having our existence discounted by those looking upon us.
As industries — that devalue the Black Body, infiltrate Black Culture and copy the natural Style & Swag of Black Women — make millions by utilizing cultural cues such as the cornrowing of hair to sell a vibe they don’t naturally resonate with or understand, Black Women are simultaneously being reprimanded and punished for embracing the beauty & hair trends that they set.
These industries fail to do the research, lack diversity in their corporate structures and take for granted the rich culture and economic power that Black Women are constantly creating as they mis-label our ancient techniques — when Black Culture had already perfected the alchemy of braiding for centuries — and openly play in our faces; not to mention the disgusting cases of Korean beauty supply store owners who harass the Black Women who’ve patronized their businesses and kept them fed for decades.
As Black Women, muthafuckas are always trying to dismantle our throne and make it seem like our talent, beauty, truth and spirit are irrelevant; when, in fact, our crown is the heaviest to carry.
[ tha childhood of apology. ]
As Black Women we’ve been subconsciously raised to apologize for our “Blackness,” beginning with our hair; our crowns. We’ve been mind-fucked into perming our hair since elementary school to fit the European standards of beauty as we’ve been taunted and at times exiled by our own because of the extreme kinkiness of our natural hair.
Seems to me that society continues to be invested in Black Women rejecting our natural crown from an early age because once you get a queen to denounce her own crown, then you’ve conquered her spirit.
My earliest memories of my hair involved my mother putting my hair into dreads, which I hated; to be honest, looking back on it, I think she only put them in my hair because she didn’t have the patience or time to do my hair.
Another memory from my childhood that I remember was when I was fully aware of the fact that my older sister had a perm — and how I wished I had a perm — I was so embarrassed of my natural hair.
So. This one time in particular, in elementary school — Prospect Elementary to be exact — I had an awards ceremony that I had to go to and my mother made me wear my hair in a natural Afro, while wearing an outfit that made me feel like she was sabotaging me even further; not to mention I was the tallest and one of the fattest in my class at the time — tbh the lowest of self-esteem was me.
When I got on stage and made my may to the back row so no one would see me, I just remember praying and bargaining with whatever celestial being was listening, throughout the entire awards ceremony, that the host of the ceremony would NOT call my name so I wouldn’t have to get up in front of everyone because I knew I looked ridiculous. Unfortunately, as my name was called for award after award I just remember shrinking and wanting to get it all over with.
Looking back on my childhood my hair made me want to sink into the background and dim my greatness; a habit that I clung to for too long and that ultimately lead to an era of my undoing.
[ a de-valuation of tha crown. ]
Let’s fast forward to the first college I went to, which was Clark Atlanta University — a Historically Black University — where I spent my first two years of college.
During my first year I was taking this psychology class and as I was sitting and waiting for the professor to begin the class — I overheard this light-skinned Black girl, with “good hair,” tell a story that was like a fable or something to another classmate in jest as to how Black people received the kink in their hair.
From what I remember, the story was about the day that God gave out hair textures to all ethnicities. Apparently white people got to the meeting spot on time and received straight hair and in the order of the races in line, the texture of the hair given would become more wavier, curlier and kinkier. As per this tale, supposedly Blacks got there too late — playing on the notion of “CP Time” — and because of this were tossed whatever was left of hair available, which was a “tumble weed of naps.”
Let’s just say disgusted was an understatement of my reaction.
My revelation — that most Black Women have been brainwashed into configuring their crowns and mentality to fit a minute frame of existence due to an ingrained self-hate that I must play a role in undoing…for good.
I’m curious…how have your feelings about your crown of curls impacted your self-image?