Crown Talks 001

My hair story begins in the laps of the women in my village.

As a child our coffee tables were stacked with Essence, Ebony, and Jet magazines. We shopped Macy’s for our Fashion Fair makeup and perused the Mac trays lined with lipglass. Weekly, without fail, I went to get my hair done at what I lovingly remember as ‘the shop’ for what I knew would be an all day excursion. One of my first hairstylists was Ms. Shahona. Her hair was always laid, she wore the most fashionable outfits and felt like the cool big sister who put you up on game. 

The smell of hair sheen and spritz. Scissors and combs dangling in blue barbicide. The stretch of wrap styling strips placed across my head as I patiently waited for my hair to dry under those hot…hot, hooded dryers. Fond memories of my granny wearing mink furs for Sunday best. The singe of a hot comb warming up on the stove. The elegant french rolls, side swoops, and banana peels that my mom, aunties, and cousins all wore. 

As I would later learn, Black hair salons not only served as places of beautification and community, salons served as safe spaces for literacy, economic mobility and activism. Such ancestral ingenuity undoubtedly runs through my veins. Beauty shop lessons that continually teach me the act of haircare as self-expression, building friendship and community amongst women, and ultimately that my hair is worthy of care. 

-Quani