Love In The Time Of Malaysian Remy
Pop culture fronts like black women can’t love both a partner and our hair extensions, but it’s really not that deep.
http://www.buzzfeed.com/hannahgiorgis/best-believe-i-sweat-out-weaves#.awe3q6M55
To conflate any woman’s ability to fall in love — or worse yet, to be deserving of it — with her hairstyle is always harmful. Indeed, all women have long been subject to an impossible bodily scrutiny that at once demands we adhere to specific ideals (long hair, feminine presentation, thin bodies with the acceptable curves) and chastises us for working to achieve them. Lots of men profess to prefer the “natural look,” but regularly underestimate the amount of labor that aesthetic might involve.
For black women, the stakes of slippery beauty standards are even higher, and the stigma of not achieving impossible ideals is even more layered. Countless song lyrics have derided women with extensions for being “fake” or “not loving themselves.” In the chorus of the recent magnum oafus “Ayo,” human garbage dumps Chris Brown and Tyga brag that “all [their] bitches got real hair.” The song’s music video features mostly non-black women, except for one wig-wearing presumed sex worker, who’s only depicted fellating a police officer. (That both men’s rumored real-life girlfriends do in fact sport extensions is, again, apparently irrelevant.)
These unimaginative references and imagery come laced with anti-black sentiment; after all, women of all races get hair extensions, but movies like Chris Rock’s Good Hair only focus on (and stigmatize) black women. And yet it is wholly possible to love oneself, to love one’s hair, to love a partner, all while loving the versatility and styling options that weaves can offer. They are fun; flipping your hair takes on a whole new meaning when there’s 22 extra inches to toss around. They protect your own hair from the elements, helping it to grow longer and stay healthy even during adverse weather conditions (looking at you, Polar Vortex). But most important, they are a choice, just like any other. The decisions a black woman makes with her body are hers alone, not necessarily reflective of a man’s influence.