Silky, long hair automatically inspires a cluster of preoccupied gestures that are considered sublimely feminine because they are sensuously self involved: an absent-minded twisting of a stray curl, the freeing of loose ends that get caught under a coat collar, a dramatic toss of the entire mane, a brushing aside of the tendrils that fall so fetchingly across the forehead and into the eyes.

                                    -Susan Brownmiller
                                    "Hair," Femininity, 1984

I grew up believing that grease grew hair and if I could just find the magic brand I'd be Rapunzel's twin sister.

                                    -Lonnice Brittenum Bonner
                                       Good Hair: For Colored Girls Who've Considered Weaves When the Chemicals
                                       Became Too Ruff, 1991

(The following is an excerpt from Chapter 3 of Divided Sisters.)

Hair Texture and Styles

A far more divisive issue concerns racial differences in hair texture. The hair follicles of women of African descent emerge from a slanted or oval shaft, which causes the hair to fold over and curl into a tight or loose spiral as it grows out. In most Caucasian women, however, the hair follicles emerge from a rounded shaft, growing flat or straight against the scalp. Although some White women have hair that is just as tightly curled as that of any woman from Africa, and many African American women, particularly those of mixed White or Native American ancestry, have hair as straight as any White woman's, there remain fundamental differences in the texture of hair of most White and Black women in this country. Unfortunately, in a society with a strong history of racial prejudice, such differences are not without social and even economic consequences.

Historically, within the African American community, hair texture was very much linked to the concerns about skin color. According to the standards of beauty set by the mulatto elite, who were in turn influenced by White society, a Black woman with straight or wavy hair was considered more attractive than a woman of the same color whose hair was tightly coiled, nappy, or kinky. Straight hair was declared "good"; nappy hair was deemed "bad."

As a result, hair products and techniques were developed to "fix bad hair." Even during slavery, women used to put hog lard on their tightly curled hair to make it lie flat like "Miss Anne's." Later, hot combs were invented, and various formulas, including that of Mme. C. J. Walker, were concocted to help tight curls relax. Until the sixties, it was assumed that any Black woman whose hair was "bad" would have to perm it straight. The Afro was the first natural hair style for Black women, but it was just a fad, and by the mid-seventies most women returned to routine processing of their hair.

White women's notions of good and bad hair have never been as clear cut, nor the consequences of "good hair" as important. To White women, good hair means hair that is thick (but not too thick), shiny, rich in color, long or short, but bad hair is either too thin or too thick, too curly, dull, and mousy brown in color. Good hair can also be naturally wavy or bone straight, depending on the style. Within the White community, however, hair is generally not categorized as "good" or "bad." Many White women may have "bad hair" days, but they do not have "bad hair" lives.

For most Black females, concerns about hair begin early. By the age of four or five, a Black girl typically knows how her hair is going to be. If she is "unfortunate" enough to be cursed with "bad hair," she learns what she must do. A Black girl also knows that her mother will strictly oversee what she does with her hair. Whether it's nappy or not, she will usually be allowed to grow her hair long. Black mothers almost never cut a daughter's hair short. Still, conflicts over hair style are common between Black mothers and their daughters. An African American woman named Dorothy recalls the hair battles she had with her daughter Lynn, now twenty-eight years old.

Today a growing number of African American mothers are determined to raise their daughters with a sense of pride in the texture of their hair. But even with the generally more positive messages about nappy hair currently circulating in the Black community, many girls with such hair still go through at least a phase when they secretly long to have hair that is straight and flowing, like the hair of models in beauty magazines.

For most Black girls, the fantasies begin when they see what the hot comb can do to flatten out their curls. Hot combing can hurt, leaving painful burn marks on ears, foreheads, and especially along the nape of the neck, known as "the kitchen." But the desire to have straight hair is so strong, and the pressure to conform to the White ideal so effective, that most Black girls learn to put up with the discomfort and inconvenience of hot combing. They know that having straight hair requires discipline. By the time she seven or eight, the Black girl is ready for her first hair-straightening perm; it is a big event, a day that will mark her entry into the world of adult women. The perm holds the promise of turning the young nappy-headed girl from what she considers an ugly duckling into a beautiful swan. As Caroline, a Black woman we interviewed for The Color Complex, recalled of her first perm, "It changed my whole life."

In order to maintain a perm's soft curl, every night the girl's hair must be put in rollers or wrapped around her head with a scarf. Also, once a girl gets a perm, it is hard to go back. Each six to eight weeks she will need a touchup to avoid having her hair begin to break at the point where the permed hair and new hair growth meet. Sadly, the end result of all this attention to hair maintenance is the girls do not feel good about their hair. As Black feminist bell hooks notes, "Most of us were not raised in environments where we learned to regard our hair as sensual or beautiful in an unprocessed state."

In contrast, a White girl is exposed to very different lessons about her hair. She learns that a girl's hair is something to fuss over- certainly more than if she were a boy-but whether it's straight or naturally curly, most girls enjoy playing with it, wearing it long and down, in ponytails or braids, or held back with barrettes, headbands, or bows. In the White community, where there is no history of class difference linked to hair texture, mothers tend to give their daughters more leeway in how they wear their hair. And for White females, a, perm usually means adding curls, rather than straightening hair, and it is something that can be done, or not done, at any point in their lives.

Unless they happen to have an interracial childhood friendship, White girls generally do not know that the feelings they have about their hair are any different from those experienced by Black girls. For Hillary, a White woman, it took having her hair braided by her best Black girifriend's mom to realize the difference.

It is during the teen years that race differences in hair texture and style also turn political. Among White girls, seemingly every major hair decision -whether to perm, dye, or cut-requires constant feedback and reassurance from closest friends. An unwritten social rule in the White community seems to be that whatever a White girlfriend does to her hair, however it may look, it is essential to tell her, "It looks great!" Privately, one may think the friend is vain, insecure, or silly for experimenting the way she does, but one must never question her decisions or motives. Among Black teenage girls, however, hair decisions are subject to more critical feedback from friends, because hair styles are laden with political overtones. Anxiety about differences in choice of style may cause rifts in friendship. One thirteen year-old Black girl, Janie, described her experiences this way:

Hair also has the power to create conflict between Black and White women. When Eurocentric standards emphasizing long, flowing hair are the cultural norm, it is difficult for African American women with short and nappy hair not to feel resentful. Some, not surprisingly, lash out against White women whose hair does fit the norm. They may feel that White women who wear their hair that way do so just to flaunt it. But most White women who keep their hair long do it because of the high sexual appeal placed on long, flowing, disheveled hair a la Farrah Fawcett in the seventies or Cindy Crawford in the nineties. White feminist author Susan Brownmiller mentions the "long hair mystique" in the epigraph to this chapter.

Actually, the constant hair stroking and head tossing of those whose hair is long annoys many women, White and Black alike. Columnist and author Erma Bombeck is among those who poke fun at women who can't keep their hands out of their hair. Secretly admitting to fantasies of wanting to do the same, Bombeck fears, after watching supermodels Cindy Crawford and Christie Brinkley push what appear to be pounds of hair off their face over and over again, that if she did have long hair, there would be no time to do anything else. She quips, "These people can't carry a package, eat hot dogs, wave, or shake hands. Every second of their lives is consumed with raking their fingers through their hair and getting their sight back." African American poet Gwendolyn Brooks similarly derides White women for not being able to "keep their hands out of their hair."

It especially bothers African American women, though, to see other Black women fall prey to the "long hair mystique," especially when they seek it artificially, with a weave or a wig. Whenever a "sister" is spotted in public with unusually long hair, she is scrutinized. If there is evidence that her hair is not natural, those around her may make derisive comments, such "That bitch has a weave." White women who get weaves-and more of them are opting to do just that-are never held politically accountable for the decision. However, for many African American women, it is a badge of honor not to attempt anything so obvious in pursuit of White society's ideal. Unfortunately, this leaves a Black woman whose own hair is short and nappy in somewhat of a dilemma. On the one hand, she knows that long hair in today's society has undeniable feminine appeal, but if she uses a weave or wig, she may suffer accusations of "selling out."

African American stand-up comedian Rhonda Hansome, better known to her fans as Passion, describes the complex psychology behind her own recent decision to "go long." Rhonda grew up with a light-skinned cousin who was constantly praised for having "good" hair and being pretty, while Rhonda, who had darker skin, was said to have "bad" hair. She was considered smart, but no one ever told Rhonda she was pretty. Rhonda was able to use her considerable talents and quick wit to make a successful career on stage and television, and, in doing so, turned her "bad" hair into a signature trademark-short, spiked, multicolored hair that sat on her head like a satellite dish. Then one day, to the enormous disappointment of her friends, fans, and family members, Rhonda abruptly switched from that distinctive style to hair that was long and straight, with bangs. She explained what had happened.

I was in L.A. and it rained. It ruined my hairdo, so I went to a store and tried on a wig. Then I decided to buy it, because I loved the way it made me feel. I felt so sexy and glamorous.

Whenever I see the ideal White woman with long blond hair and blue eyes, I acknowledge her beauty. And I say I am her equal and perhaps more extraordinary. I would say she is the prize, but I am the treasure.

Today, a growing number of African American women are deciding to throw away their wigs and weaves, and no longer manipulate their hair with chemicals or heat. It can be a big, even a traumatic, step, although the majority of African American women who do decide to go natural wonder why they hadn't done it sooner. African American author Lonnice Brittenum Bonner, in her book Good Hair. For Colored Girls Who've Considered Weaves When Chemicals Became Too Ruff, encourages Black women to move beyond attitudes about "good" and "bad" hair, and replace them with notions of "healthy" and "unhealthy" hair. Once the chemicals are out, Black women have the choice of keeping their hair short, usually in a short natural, or growing it long, either braided or in dreadlocks.

Short hair on women has a long history of being shunned, in large part because such styles were viewed as powerful political statements of defiance against accepted feminine appearance and behavior. Perhaps that's why some African American and White activists who have short hair are more inclined to feel unified by their shared style than divided by their different hair texture. It is curious to note, however, that many of today's leading White feminists, including Gloria Steinem, Germaine Greer, Betty Friedan, Andrea Dworkin, Catharine MacKinnon, Susan Faludi, and Naomi Wolf, choose to keep their hair long. Perhaps they do so purely out of personal choice, or, perhaps consciously, they realize that having long hair makes their radical words somehow more palatable to the mainstream society they knew they must impress.

Today, most women who keep their hair short do it more for convenience and fashion than for politics or homosexuality. Diana, a Black woman, confessed there were times when she had to sit for four hours just to get her hair "fixed." Now she proudly proclaims, "It takes me exactly five minutes to brush and lightly spray my short Afro with an oil sheen. I wouldn't change my new style for the world." Still, some women, Black and White, who keep their hair very short may have their sexuality called into question or find themselves perceived as trying to make some kind of radical statement when they are not. Jean Norris and Renee Neufville of the soul duo Zhane love their short hair, but complain that others often try to read something into it. Jean explains, "We just like short hair-it's easy to take care of on the road." And Renee adds, "As African American women in this society, we're told we need long hair to be beautiful. It's when we cut our hair, though, that you can really see our full lips, the strong cheekbones, features we were taught are so ugly." Interestingly, Susan Brownmiller also had a small revelation when she finally cut her long hair. She proclaimed, "It looks smashing! I now realize I've been a fool not to have it this short for the last decade. The heck with what men think."

Of course, it is much easier for White women to say "The heck with what men think" than it is for Black women to say "The heck with what all of White culture thinks." This is particularly true when it comes to some of the longer natural Black hair styles like dreadlocks and braids.

Traditionally, dreadlocks are associated with the Rastafarians of Jamaica, and for that reason alone have been viewed as vaguely dangerous by White culture. Because few White women know an African American woman with dreadlocks, most are too embarrassed or intimidated to ask how the style is created and maintained. White women can be kept at a distance by their ignorance or unease, but there is nothing inherently threatening or mysterious about hair fashioned in dreadlocks. Tightly curled hair naturally "locks" if it is left uncombed. It is washed just like other hair, only the dreadlocks do not come "unlocked" when wet. It doesn't smell any more than other hair. One common question is, How do you change the style if you tire of it? Usually the hair has to be cut off and grown anew.

Dreadlocks have become more acceptable in recent years as a growing number of African American celebrities have allowed their hair to grow that way, people like actress Whoopi Goldberg, singer Tracy Chapman, author Alice Walker, and former talk show host Bertice Berry. For many with dreadlocks, the experience is joyful and even spiritual, as Alice Walker wrote in her essay "Oppressed Hair Puts a Ceiling on the Brain." Walker confessed that for years she and her hair were not friends. Finally, she realized that the problem lay not with her hair, but with the way she was relating to it. She began to see that her hair was blocking her path to inner peace:

The other popular choice for Black women who wish to keep their hair both long and natural is braids. Elaborate braiding originated in Africa, but the style is now very much "In" as part of American hip-hop culture. One of the most popular looks today is long hair, or short hair made long with extensions, plaited into as many as fifty to four hundred tiny braids all over the head. Ever since Bo Derek wore her hair that way in the 198o film 10, even some White women have embraced cornrows and multiple braids, a fact that, not surprisingly, annoys many Black women. But on the whole, African American women view braiding as a positive reflection of their African heritage, and are glad to see the style gaining acceptance. The braids are easy to maintain and, according to the women who have them, just plain fun to wear. This is especially true for Black women who use extensions, of real hair or synthetics, to make their braids longer. Extensions for braiding are far more accepted by the Black community than extensions for making hair unnaturally long and straight.

One White woman who recently decided to take the plunge was Siobhan R., a thirty-one-year-old woman of Irish descent with naturally wavy, long, auburn-colored hair, working in the music promotion business. For about a year and a half, Siobhan wanted to get multiple braids, but family members and friends kept talking her out of it. Finally, she went to the home of two African women and over the course of five hours had her hair carefully braided.

Siobhan experienced varying reactions to her new look. Some of her White friends liked it, but most were puzzled that she wanted to do something so extreme to what they thought was beautiful long hair. Siobhan found herself a conduit for White women's curiosity about Black women's hair styles. Strangers would walk up to her and ask personal questions about the maintenance of her hair. Among African American women, the reactions to Siobhan's braids varied. Some Black women, particularly those who had, or had once had, their hair in braids, respected Siobhan for having such "hair discipline." They knew how long it took to have one's hair fashioned that way. Siobhan also experienced some not quite so friendly looks from mostly young Black women, although no one was openly hostile to her.

Siobhan did find, though, that the new style was not appreciated at work, but for entirely different reasons. Although she was involved in promoting African American musical acts on tour, Siobhan had to meet occasionally with White executives to convince them to sponsor a certain concert event. In the weeks following her braiding, it dawned on Siobhan that she was no longer being introduced to the "stiff shirts," and was, in fact, being actively excluded from meetings that earlier she would probably have attended.

After about six weeks, Siobhan took out her braids, partly because the style was wreaking havoc with her hair. And once her braids were removed, Siobhan discovered the true extent of her all-White supervisors' disapproval. In retrospect, Siobhan realizes that she was naive to think that her employers wouldn't react politically to an ethnic hair style. But at least she did not get fired for it, something that has happened to some African American women who dared to show up at work with their hair in braids or other styles deemed "too ethnic."

Within the last few years, there has been a flurry of lawsuits against major corporations for hair policies that discriminate against African American female employees. In order to conform to corporate definitions of appropriate grooming, a Black woman must typically perm her hair straight, an expensive and time-consuming process for which she is not compensated. To keep the perm looking good, she must pay anywhere from $40 to $100 every six to eight weeks for a touch-up. In comparison, White women spend roughly half that much to maintain their hair. Given a choice, many Black women would prefer to wear more natural hair styles, like dreadlocks and braids, but in today's climate, their jobs could be at jeopardy.

In 1987, an African American woman named Cheryl Tatum (now Tatum-Tandia) worked as a cashier at the Hyatt Regency outside of Washington, D.C. After she showed up for work with neat cornrows, her immediate supervisor, a White woman who did not understand that cornrows are intended to last several months, asked Cheryl to take out the braids before work the next day. When Cheryl refused, she was told she was in violation of the corporate hair code, and was forced to resign.

The following year, another African American woman, Pamela Mitchell, was asked to leave her job as a reservation agent with the Marriott hotel chain in Washington, D.C., for refusing to remove her braids. And in i988,a nineteen-year-old African American woman named Renee Randall was fired from Morrison's Cafeteria, in Annapolis, for wearing a long multicolored braided ponytail. Randall's ponytail was said to be extreme; she, however, claimed that no customer had ever complained about her hair, and that she should not have to change her looks to satisfy a White employer ignorant of her culture.

These are only a few of the cases in which African American women have been either harassed or fired because of their "offensive hair." Fortunately, because of the lawsuits they and other Black women brought against companies, many major corporations have since modified their grooming codes to allow cornrows and braids at work-as long as they are "neat and professional-looking." It is hoped that this trend will continue, and that white women, especially those in executive and managerial positions, will support African American women who seek greater tolerance, recognition, and understanding of Black hair styles, fashion, and culture in the workplace.

Most African American women at the executive level would not dare to wear long natural hair, though. In the conservative world of business, it is widely believed that such a style would threaten a Black woman's job security or hinder her chances for promotion. An article in the Wall Street Journal, "Braided Hair Collides with Office Norms," confirms that only one percent of Black women managers currently wear their hair in braids. According to White 'Journalist Patricia McLaughlin, braids have an "in-your face" quality, in effect saying to Whites, "This is the kind of hair I have. Get used to it." It is exactly the sort of message that strikes fear into the hearts of many White managers, male and female, who would rather see ethnic differences in the workplace muted or glossed over.

In some fields, such as journalism and academia, where the expression of personal freedom is valued, attitudes toward natural hair styles, including braids and dreadlocks, have become far more tolerant. But as recently as the early eighties, when bell hooks was preparing for a job interview at Yale, she recalled a White female adviser suggesting that she take out her braids. The message was clear: her ethnic appearance was not appropriate for an Ivy League university. Fortunately, hooks did not take out her braids and did get the job. Today, in fact, ethnic styles like braids, dreadlocks, and short naturals are practically de ri'gueur for radically chic African American female college professors, especially those teaching Black or women's studies. Ironically, it is White feminists who sometimes erroneously believe that African American women who don't wear a natural style are somehow lacking in Black consciousness. Pamela, an African American psychology professor at a large urban university, after cutting her shoulder-length, processed hair and getting a short, natural "finger wave" style, recalls just such a comment from a women's studies colleague:

I have yet to see a Black woman who I would say really had blond hair. It always seems more gold. Next to dark skin, real light hair takes on another look. It's not really blond, though. So if two women walk in a room, one Black and the other White, and they both have "blond" hair I don't see that as any real competition. So-called blond hair just doesn't create the same effect for Black women as it does for White women. I think it looks rather weird. I really wonder why they do it.

Social psychological research on how White women are stereotyped by their hair color reveals that, while brunettes are seen as more intelligent, ambitious, and sincere by men and women, blondes are thought to be more beautiful, delicate, dangerous, and unpredictable. Blondes are also thought to be dumber, a stereotype buttressed by the recent rash of "dumb blond" jokes. Cultural critic Camille Paglia believes that the enormous popularity of these jokes can be understood as a political effort to rectify the many social advantages and privileges conferred on the blond-haired woman today.

Not all White women who go blond do so to attract men, though. Hair experts believe that blond hair softens the face of White women, thereby reducing the aging effects of fine lines, small wrinkles, and slight complexion flaws. Thus, many White women begin to dye or streak their hair lighter as they get older, at a time when they first feel the need to mitigate the effects of aging. Older women with blond hair are rarely accused of cashing in on the privilege of youth, though. In fact, a White woman today can generally dye her hair whatever color she wants, and few will question it. Such is not the case for the African American woman who dares to color her hair
lighter; her motives are nearly always suspect. Predictably, the main accusation hurled at a Black woman who dares to dye her hair blond is that she is trying to be White. Erica, an African American art student at a Chicago suburban community college, lamented after she went blond:

The Black community is not very accepting of change. If you change your eye color or your hair color, it always means you are trying to deny who you are. But I'm not. This is just about fun, about fantasy. I know that dyeing your hair blond is not embraced by my community, and that other Black women look at me and sneer or make snide remarks, but it's my hair and I like it. That's really all that matters to me.

Certainly not all the African American women who dye their hair blond cite such obvious reasons as Erica. Nor do all Black women with blond hair project the same sort of image. An African American furniture designer, Cheryl Riley of San Francisco, readily admits to dyeing her very short natural hair blond for the "vanity" and "drama" of it, but she defends her choice by pointing to the ancient practice by African women of manipulating their hair color with ocher and wax. Cheryl views her near-platinum hair, which she pays $65 twice a month to maintain, as a positive expression of her ethnic pride. Mentioning Africa is, of course, a common means for some Black women in this country to counter the "wannabe" accusation. But whether Cheryl's real reason for going blond is ethnic pride or not, there is no denying that she looks striking. Had her hair been long, and especially if it had been processed, the blond effect would have been entirely different.

Negative attitudes about long blond hair on African American women stem in large part from the association with prostitution. It used to be that a Black woman standing on a corner with a big, blond wig was selling but one thing: her body. Even today, one of the hazards for African American women who dye their hair blond is that they may be propositioned while just walking down the street.

Insulated from the hazards of the street, African American celebrities are better able to "get away" with having long blond hair, even weaves and wigs. The practice became popular during the seventies, when top recording artists, including Aretha Franklin, Donna Summer, and Tina Turner, began wearing blond wigs on stage. Selling sex appeal is a far more legitimate enterprise than selling sex, and a blond wig has come to be viewed as just another playful accessory for Black female entertainers. The blond wig may even enhance their crossover appeal for White audiences. For whatever reason, the trend remains. Among the current generation of African American celebrities who have, or have had, long blond hair are rapper Yo-Yo, actress Toukle Smith (from the Sitcom "227"), and supermodels Naomi Campbell and Shari Belafonte.

Why do so many women of European and African descent continue to dye or perm their hair? The answer is that we are a hair-obsessed society, and the way a woman wears her hair says a great deal about who she is and what she believes in. Women are bombarded with commercials and print ads that not only prey on their insecurities about their hair, but also promise "good things to come" if only their hair looks better. These campaigns are highly effective. In 1991 alone, Americans spent more than $16 billion on hair products and at beauty parlors. It is estimated that Black women spend as much as three times as much as White women on their hair care.