internalized trichonoirphobia, the hate of black hair

cisi eze

Trichonoirphobia is the irrational fear or hate of black hair.

In The Boondocks (Season 4, Episode 3), Huey Freeman tells his granddad, Robert Freeman, that he is making a hair cream. Realizing he is out of his own hair cream before a date, Robert decides to make use of Huey’s. The next morning, Robert wakes to find his hair straightened. A broke Robert sees this hair cream as a goldmine, as black people would love to have “straight, beautiful hair.” Huey confesses the hair relaxer is in fact an explosive, but Robert doesn’t care about that. He soon finds a buyer for the product: Boss Willona, owner of Right Like White, a beauty salon that caters to black women. When Huey tells Willona the relaxer is an explosive, she laughs it off, saying black women are willing to put whatever into their hair, even if it is toxic, to achieve “long, straight, beautiful hair.” Even when the authorities warn the public about the product, black women are willing to walk with bombs to attain the desired Caucasian hair texture. 

Some people questioned Viola Davis’s choice to attend the Oscars with her natural hair in 2012. At the time, wearing our natural hair without wigs and weaves was seen as an act of bravery, somewhat revolutionary. Those of us who have gone out with our natural texture, have likely heard some variation of, “What are you doing with your hair?” Those of us who have locs (they are not dreadful) feel compelled to make monthly trips to the salon in a bid to re-twist our undergrowth. That is how much we hate to see our curls. It would seem as though seeing a thick mass of curls on a person’s hair evokes certain negative feelings.  

Running beneath the currents of our collective subconscious as a people, we have a desire to rid our hair of its blackness, its beautiful curls. Trichonoirphobia is deeply ingrained in our psyches owing to how all facets of society (family, media, school) teach us overtly or subversively that our hair is ugly - and ugly should be hidden. We are not comfortable with our hair, and we exude this hate energy in several ways:

• We shame people for rocking their afros

• We think braids or other protective styles are not fancy enough for important events

• We deem long, straight hair, or loose, wavy hair is better than cornrows or braids

• We think of afros as unkempt

• We shame ourselves for not having “neat” hair, also known as “good” hair

• We think our natural texture is unsuitable for professional spaces

• We say keeping our natural hair is a tell-tale sign of being irresponsible

• We ask people what they are going to “do” with their hair

• We believe we need edge control

• We “wig-up” to hide our cornrows

• We believe re-twisting our locs makes them more beautiful

• We apply toxic products to our hair to make it appear “neat”

The list goes on.

Trichonoirphobia perpetuates racism.

Then again, we are bound to consider black hair untidy when we hold ourselves to the Eurocentric beauty standard that lays emphasis on slick hair lying flat on the scalp. Thick, bulky, and lustrous was how Nature designed our hair. It has no business looking like Caucasian hair, which so many of us call “good.” In India Arie’s “I Am Not My Hair” she sings, “Good hair means curls and waves (no). Bad hair means you look like a slave (no).” 

The malicious erasure of blackness is obvious in how we use relaxers to tame our hair. Relax and control our hair as the white slave buyers subdued and tamed our ancestors, right? We should question ourselves on why we feel our oppressors’ hair is good, and ours is bad. Interestingly, we can draw a straight line between this way of thinking and how our people accepted the white god, while demonizing the gods of our ancestors.

Before white people ravaged the African continent, black people living in Africa had their own beauty ideals. Having thick, woolly hair was something to make one proud. Our ancestors could braid and twist their hair exquisitely into several patterns and designs. Hairstyles were a form of non-verbal communication. How one styled their hair was evidential of their social status. Our ancestors believed our hair connected us to divinity, seeing as it grew upwards to the heavens. They made sustainable hair maintenance products from the environment. 

Then slavery came, ushering centuries of intense hate of blackness and everyone who embodied it. 

Fast forward to the 19th century. Although black people were free, they were not free enough. Racial prejudice was rife. The premise of these biases? Our appearance. Our natural hair reminded freed black people of their painful past.  

Little wonder that black people saw it as a major blessing when hot combs came into existence in France, 1872. Garrett Morgan accidentally invented hair relaxers in 1909. This soon became a huge commercial success. The straightening comb, something like an improvement of the 1872 hot comb, was available to black people in America by 1915.

The black community raved about these inventions, owing to the belief they would help black people achieve straight hair, thereby facilitating their assimilation into predominantly white societies. Black artists such as Nat King Cole, Sarah Vaughan, Count Basie, Billy Eckstine, and Ella Fitzgerald relaxed their hair, to mention a few.

To a degree, our internalized trichonoirphobia is justified - white imperialism has conditioned us to see our natural hair as inferior. Our hair has garnered negative stereotypes through the centuries.  Knowing and accepting we have internalized hatred for our hair is the first step in reprogramming our minds to start loving our hair. This we can achieve by intentionally releasing toxic anti-afro messages and stereotypes.

This is not a call for us to get on the natural hair bandwagon. Women should present and perform beauty in ways we find comfortable. Whatever works for us is perfect, as perfection has no template. Then again, we should recognize the personal is political. What are the ways our personal choices affect the fabrics of society? Would it not be amazing to see younger black women feeling comfortable with their hair and loving how they look naturally?

If our workplaces are anti-afro, we are limited by dress codes (“Give to Caesar…”). Upending centuries of trichonoirphobia will not happen in a day.

As a people, we should lovingly embrace our hair. This means black-owned businesses should be at the forefront of accepting our natural hair, schools should not “felonize” young black children for keeping their natural textures

Media must be willing to represent beauty in any form. Black media, especially, must be intentional in producing content that validates black hair in all forms.

Our curls are beautiful.

Our edges are perfect.

Our hair is not an apology.

When are we going to start loving our hair?

about the artist

Cisi Eze works as a freelance journalist, writer, and comic artist. She uses art to express her opinions on social issues such as feminism, gender issues, LGBT+ rights, and mental health. Cisi’s art aims to challenge existing societal norms.