Shout out to all the little black girls that were getting perms before they learned how to read because of ingrained social stigmas.
Shout out to all the little black girls that never learned how to properly swim because mama didn’t wanna fuck up that goddamn perm.
Shout out to all the little black girls that were never allowed to play TOO hard if at all because you just got your hair did and it had to last.
Shout out to all the little black girls that ended up in tears because you lost a barrette or two at the end of your plait so your hair unraveled and mama got upset because you messed it up.
Shout out to all the little black girls that had to be so hyper-aware of their hair as children because of beauty standards and respectability politics that they’re still neurotically attentive to it this day.
Shout out to all the grown black women who have to deal with the internalized “good hair vs. bad hair” mentality.
Shout out to all the grown black women who damn near have fits if that hair isn’t laid for the gods or was but got messed up and you don’t have the tools to fix it right then and there.
Shout out to all the grown black women who refuse to work out because it’ll mess up their hair because that’s what they’ve been taught since they were damn near babies.
Shout out to all the grown black women who were able to buck the mentality, who are working really hard to buck the mentality, or who have yet to try or can’t buck the mentality yet.
Shout out to all the black women who get treated like a petting zoo or who get told their hair looks prettier this way as if it’s not your choice but their choice.
Shout out to all the black women who get clowned for being natural, relaxed, bald, wig wearing, weaved up, because we can’t win no matter what we do.
With our gelled back baby hairs and nappy kitchens.
With our box perms and our hot combs.
With our satin night scarves/caps and silk pillowcases.
With our spending all that money on a do only for it to sometimes get ruined by humidity or rain the moment we walk out the salon.
With our chemicals that can eat through coke cans if given enough time but you have to leave it on the scalp even if it burns because it has to take before you can wash it out.
With the braids and weaves that are too tight but you can’t scratch so you gotta pat or pull your face into weird expressions to alleviate the ache.
With having to go to hairdressers you KNOW can do your hair because not all are taught how to do black women’s hair.
With struggling to do your own hair your damn self to the point of tears sometimes.
Shout out to black women for not ever being allowed to have it be “just hair”.
