Why sebum, survival, and style tell a different story.
I was the tender age of 8 the first time I got my hair pressed. For those unfamiliar, that’s when a stylist takes a hot comb (heated on an open flame) to “press out” a Black person’s “kitchen” — the tightly coiled curls around the nape of the neck. It wasn’t until I was 48, when I went au natural, that I realized I had been sold yet another Black bill of lies — this one about my hair. Thanks, America. In truth, my so-called “naps” were tightly coiled, beautiful curls. Not rough, not raggedy, and no, not nappy — they were soft, like cotton, when nurtured lovingly, handled with care, and moisturized properly. Thick like a plush garden with the most luxurious thread count of cotton you could imagine.
“Black people’s hair is greasy because they don’t wash it,” I heard throughout my life. No, actually… that’s literally what happens to other races’ hair. All scalps produce sebum — the body’s natural oil. The difference isn’t how much is produced, but how easily it travels. In straighter hair, sebum slides quickly down the shaft, coating evenly, which makes it look greasy if not washed often. In curly and coily hair, the twists and turns slow down sebum’s journey. The scalp makes oil, but it doesn’t reach the ends easily, leaving the hair drier and more fragile. This is why many Black women wear wigs and protective styles like braids. It’s also why Black people don’t wash their hair daily. Too much washing strips away what little oil manages to reach the strand, leaving it brittle, parched, and breakable. So no, Black hair isn’t greasy. Actually… yours is.
In Africa, our ancestors moisturized hair with coconut oil, shea butter, and palm oil. Then came the Middle Passage. Enslaved people were robbed not only of freedom but also the tools to care for their crowns. Slave owners had neither knowledge nor interest in Black hair care. Without oils or combs, hair went unwashed, unmoisturized, and soon became matted and brittle. From this neglect came the derogatory term “nappy.” Braids became the best protective style with what little was given.
Did Hue Know? Braids were not just hairstyles. They were maps. Black women braided road maps for escape and tucked survival supplies into their cornrows.
Hair textures aren’t random; they are nature’s genius. In Africa’s sun and heat, tightly coiled hair shaded the scalp while airflow cooled the head. In colder climates, straighter hair helped sebum travel and provided insulation. Across the globe, every curl, coil, and strand reflects the environments our ancestors lived in. What may look like “difference” today is actually by nature’s design.
I graduated from getting my hair pressed to the Jheri Curl, a popular style in the 1980s. It required a heavy moisturizing spray called curl activator. Because it gave the hair a wet-like look, it also fueled “greasy hair” chatter. After the Jheri Curl, I went with a perm. For Black people, perms straighten the hair; for whites, they curl it. After years of chemical straightening, the more empowered I became with how I was born and who I am. In 2016, I made the “Big Chop” — cutting away (okay, shaving my head basically) chemically relaxed hair and returning to my natural state: curly hair. With care and patience, I discovered what many don’t want us to know: Black hair DOES grow. Once you learn your texture and how to care for it, you unlock its potential.
Another myth: “Black women wear wigs because we want to be white.” Wrong. Egyptians (3400 BC) created wigs to protect from sun and signal status. By the 17th-18th centuries, Europeans — guys and dolls — had adopted the trend. Today, wigs are worn by all races, genders, and ages. For Black women, wigs are protective styles — letting fragile hair rest while giving us versatility and fun. We’re not “trying to be white.” We are, quite literally, the origin.
Did Hue Know? In 2016, Mattel called me to review their latest — and most diverse — line of Barbies. None of the Black dolls had an afro. I advised my Mattel partners to give Barbie a fro, which resulted in Barbie Fashionistas Doll #59: Tropi-Cutie Barbie.
Did Hue Know? All modern humans can trace their DNA back to Africa. Because of this unmatched diversity, Black women carry the blueprint to birth every variation of humanity — from blue-eyed blondes to deep-brown curls. Black people hold the highest genetic diversity on earth. That means we can have dark brown eyes or crystal blue eyes, kinky coils or silky straight strands, and features resembling African, Asian, or European ancestry — all within one family tree. As descendants of the first modern humans in Africa, Black women are the only women who can birth all human variations — from the darkest Black to the lightest blonde.
So when you see us in wigs, braids, or coils, don’t assume we’re trying to be someone else. We are humanity. The mother of every race.
The moral of this dinner conversation? We are more alike than we are different. Hating on people like me is hating on people like you. I am that. You are that. All this is that. And that’s all there is.
Until next dinner conversation, play well with others.
#bwdollparty, #blackdollaffair, #mamadoll, #theblackdolls, #racialharmony
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