Review: Good Hair

I spend a lot of money on my hair. I was going to say comparatively speaking, but I realised that that was a bare faced lie. I spend a lot of money on my hair period. I was then going to say “spent” because I no longer have a weave habit but to be honest- remaining napptastic still requires a lot of effort and a lot of cash. You would be amazed. The price of being a weava-diva used to be high. Getting good quality human hair for a weave required at least two packets of extensions at £30- £60 a pop. Installation ranged from £40 (my homie Fulana in Peckham) to £90 (From the Root, Lewisham). Then there would be hair sheen or curl spray (another £10) to take care of the shedding, the shine and the matting that happens when the hair on your head doesn’t really sprout from your scalp. I must admit that I loved the glamour of it all but I decided to give it up once I decided to give up the “creamy crack” otherwise known as hair relaxer aka sodium hydroxide aka lye that can disintegrate a can of Coke. Now that my hair is natural, it is probably as expensive- £50 for each retwist every four weeks and then £40 to £100 for a “full head unit” for work. Compare that to a haircut every three months for my European friends and a colour and blowdry probably every six months.

Chris Rock’s Good Hair is erudite and candid in throwing up all these facts and more. Did you know that black people comprise 20% of the population but purchase 80% of all hair and hair products? That the hair industry is worth more than 9 billion dollars? That in spite of this, black people are disenfranchised and that the black chemical straightening industry is owned mostly by super corporates such as Revlon and L’Oreal? And that the Koreans have a monopoly on the hair extension industry; that they refuse to sell to black distributors because the profit margin on hair is so high? That human hair from India is worth more than gold, kilo for kilo? Rock brings to light all of these interesting facts and polemic discussions, via interviews with a diverse range of black personalities who offer special insight on all aspects of the hair industry- from Reverend Al Sharpton, the civil rights campaigner (who perms his hair) to poet and writer Maya Angelou (who didn’t have a perm till she was 70), self confessed weave addict and hip hop video-ho Melissa Ford, singer Eve and actresses Raven Simone and Nia Long.

This film is a must-see for all races as a study about race, gender and the perception of beauty. It will be informative for people who are not of colour to see why we explain going back to natural hair as a “journey”, why hair seems like an “obsession” and why a black woman’s hair is such a complex and contentious issue (for those who let it be that way). It was disturbing to see human hair being scraped of the heads of babies for the sacred ceremony of tonsure in India and the deep convictions that this was a holy sacrifice to the gods, only for these locks to be bartered over on shop shelves only a few days later. Chris Rock’s hilarious commentary made me realise that it was actually not that funny that ordinary working class people were not purchasing property and investing in education and were instead on “lay away” plans for hair units that did not look even better than their natural hair or the ordinary hair in the beauty shops. What a tangled web we weave! The expense of hair extensions for the average black woman ($1000 upwards) could put a black child through private school. It broke my heart when young people in Harlem still thought that an afro was not “groomed” enough for work. In 2010. No one put it better than Al Sharpton: “we are attaching our economic exploitation on our heads”.

On some levels, I wish Chris Rock could have focussed more on the facts instead of paying what I felt was disproportionate attention to a largely entertaining- but not much else- hair show in Atlanta. I wanted him to speak to scientists and research analysts about the effects of sodium hydroxide on human scalp over a sustained period of time and to investigate whether there had been any substantive studies on the health effects (I found only such one study that related to breast cancer only, and none in the EU). The production budget seems to have been strained- I would have wished him to not only confine his study to Los Angeles but also to visit Africa and the UK and the Caribbean to obtain perspectives on hair and attitudes to it. Maybe he would have encountered the natural hair movement and presented a different side of the coin. In that way, the documentary would have come across as more balanced- there are a lot of black people who wear their hair as is and who do not spend thousands of dollars on weaves and hair relaxers and straightening products. Where Chris Rock equates black with “weave wearing” he makes an expensive generalisation that risks pissing people off as not all black women eschew intimacy and swimming in favour of hair (I don’t give a rat’s arse) and spend hundreds of dollars to maintain it, or expect their men to take care of bill. This risked perpetuating a very dangerous stereotype.

Similarly, the interviews with the members of the community seemed to be based in only a few hair shops and barber shops- it would have been useful to obtain the view of a few professionals and their perspectives on hair in corporate America. His attempt to be funny in selling black hair fell flat but I felt that this could have been tackled as a serious issue: if Afro type hair existed on the scale that we see Indian hair and Malaysian hair and Remy hair,  would there would be a market for it for those of us who wish to embellish/lengthen our own tresses? I would have also liked to see him source and question the distributorship networks and the managers of the companies manufacturing “kiddie perms”.

The documentary is amiable, funny and incisive but I think that Chris Rock had the capacity to make it even funnier and even more incisive. Hair after all, is no different from any other beauty industry- it is based on an unattainable standard. My spirit soared when actress Tracie Thoms said just what I explained to a friend over lunch yesterday; it is a shame that “to keep my hair the same texture as it grows out of my head is revolutionary”.

Does Kinky Hair Bring the Boys to the Yard?

My early hair memories are painful. I recall hair washing days that were tinged with distress. I have memories from the age of 4 or 5 wearing a Mothercare apparatus so that soap wouldn’t tear my eyes but nonetheless, tearfully shrieking that washing my hair was not a good idea because I knew it would become brittle, dry and knotted. I feared the inevitable comb-out , which did not take place while my hair was still wet and soft, but occurred after all clothes had been hand-washed, the  Saturday meal of callaloo soup finished and the bread was in the oven by late evening. This meant that my curly hair shrunk and became an impenetrable mass of forest, that was hacked into with a pickaxe of a comb, the only other weapon being masses of petroleum jelly.


I was often told that my hair as a child, was the finest grade of “goo goo lamier”- a fruit that was tough and hard, rivalled only by the local “campeche” wood. My kinky coils broke Camel combs, combs that were especially made for tough, black hair- my combs always featured missing teeth like the old miserable  ladies who told me that my hair needed some “softening”. It did not help that my “douglah” cousin who lived with us had hair that was very long and soft, causing unfair comparison. It also did not help that I wanted my hair to form neat ringlets and bunches that my other cousin, who also had soft “mixed hair” had: my aunt always had to tactfully remind me that it was just not possible. My mother said she could not really manage my hair so many a Sunday evening was spent between the legs of aunts, neighbours and teachers, taming this wild hair into corn rows. At secondary school, I wore my hair natural but the hardness of my hair was notorious. I remember many a Friday spent getting my hair into an Afro puff or a bun- an ordinary brush just did not do the trick- my tools were hair grease and a scrubbing brush (used for getting stains out of heavy clothes like jeans and carpets).

I wore my natural hair until aged 16, and although I had my fair share of crushes and boys up until then, I was a book geek who was not really that interested. So, from the age of 17 onwards my formative men years so to speak, I wore my hair in a series of hairstyles that ranged from braids, weaves, and relaxers that led me to ask myself when I was transitioning to natural, would men find this hair that I find so free, attractive? My friend Makeda then floated the idea for this post, and I decided to do some preliminary research on the subject especially as many a time with a 16 inch Janet Collection weave, I would be propositioned by so many Rastafarian men with dreadlocs, which seemed almost akin to blasphemy. It’s amazing what some men will do when they encounter two packets of $59.99 Remy hair (another post).

A question posed on topix.com on whether men preferred hair either relaxed or kinky saw several men saying that they really did not mind, but they liked hair that was long. At least one man said he preferred natural hair but found that many black women did not choose to wear their hair natural. K is for Kinky’s blog actually had a post on how she found more and more white men (as opposed to black men) affirming her new look:

“I cannot tell you how often i catch white men looking at me when my hair is all out and about, blowing in the wind in all of it’s (sic) kinkiness. Actually, for every black man who tells me “I’m not into natural hair”, there are 2-3 white men who love it all”

Many African men seemed to encourage women with natural hair stating that “natural hair tells me that the sister is smart, prudent, and she believes in Afrikan aesthetics and consciousness”.

It was not all gravy though. A few people complained that men found that when they wore their natural hair, men instinctively judged them as pious, not up for a good time and definitely not a sex object (I wonder if that had something to do with the way they dressed cause trust me, I rock the hell outta my new hair with some gloss on my lips and a lil dress at my hips!). Other stories are truly heartbreaking. The Afrospear blog contains comments and stories of husbands and boyfriends who were so displeased with natural hair- they thought it was nappy and unkempt and unattractive and were displeased to the point of purchasing tubs of relaxers for their companions.

From my experience, kinky hair is a filter. Wearing your hair natural already means that you have a unwavering sense of self esteem and that you are confident enough to go against the grain. These qualities will exist in the kind of members of the opposite sex you will attract- persons who are confident, socially aware and more politicised. They appreciate depth and substance over veneer, and they are not afraid of a woman who is bold and proud with her own choices. Kinky hair has lots of personality and a sense of vah-vah-voom and I have rarely met weak, boring men since I started my locs. By contrast, my hair has now become a great talking point and an important way to affirm who I am and what I am about from the outset.

So no, kinky hair does not bring boys to the yard. It brings the men instead.