I can’t necessarily remember the first time I ever told someone, “don’t touch my hair.” I can’t necessarily remember the last time either, but I’m sure I could paint a scenario of how it probably went: Specimen A sees my hair in some unaltered or altered state of itself, becomes intrigued, oohs and aahs at it before (quite possibly) reaching to touch it without prior permission. With a neck snatch reminiscent of a rewind of a snake snapping and coming back within itself, my eyes, facial expression and mouth would all say, “don’t touch my hair.”
I find it interesting that hair’s been on our radar so often. First, hair was being taken “too seriously” when Marc Jacobs sent faux dreadlocks down the runway of New York Fashion Week, causing us to once again open our dictionaries and pinpoint our discussion of cultural appropriation. Then the fight only added more dogs into the ring when Jacobs himself made a statement of women of color and straightening their hair. When I wrote my responsive thoughts to that…yikes.
Then we found out that legally, it’s okay to fire/not hire someone for having dreadlocks, a style predominately found in African-American, West Indian, and Asian subcultures. All of a sudden, hair wasn’t just hair anymore.
The unlikely turn of events happened this week, when none of than everyone’s spirit animal Solange released a beautiful song entitled “Don’t Touch My Hair,” appropriately named under the title of her album, A Seat At The Table. Every person whose ever had to be on the defense of their hair; whether from family, friends, cultures who just don’t understand how your hair “does that”, or even to yourself as you figure out what the hell you’re doing with it, could relate to a song and title that seemingly for ONCE, articulated what so many of us have said for years and come to grips with as being fiesty.
The beauty and magic of this song not only proves its an educational tool for the masses, but it’s a harrowing look into what we all constantly think: our opinions and feelings, even when it comes to our own body, don’t matter. As magazines, newspapers, and publishing companies tackle the “gravitas” of Solange’s music and proclaim that it’s not really about hair…well, they’re sort of right and wrong. It is about hair, but it’s about the fact hair is not just hair. I’ve always grown up with an almost supernatural connection with my hair.
My moods, life changes, and image to who I was was always tied to my hair. In the African-American tradition, your hair was your gem, and you protected it. Even to this day, I don’t let just ANYONE twist my dreadlocks, afraid that whatever energy they’re bringing in with them can be transferred to me. Think that’s crazy? How many times has a negative person come into a room and the energy has been sucked away? Exactly. Touching my hair almost is like touching my soul. And that simple declaration, knowing others feel it and finally are saying ENOUGH, makes all the difference.
As I delve more into this album that seeks to liberate the black mindset for the world to see, I am forever grateful and reminded to know that I have a crown upon my head that is to be treasured. I am not the angry black woman if I roll my eyes or smack your hand away or jerk my neck. Invasiveness of mind, body and soul have occurred long enough and a new era of thought provoking content, from music to video to art, is coming. Godspeed to us, and for the last time…don’t touch my hair.
