I Let Go of “Sleek” Hair for Natural Afro Styles – and People Treated Me Very Differently
By Precious Adesina
At the start of 2023, fresh from a trip to Jamaica with friends where we’d spent hours discussing our hair, I made a resolution for the first time in over a decade: I was going to experiment with new hairstyles. For most of my 20s, I’d kept things simple – mostly long, dark, medium-sized box braids, and occasionally a weave. But that year, I decided to branch out. Different colours, lengths, styles – I wanted to try it all.
It may sound like a small thing, but for me, it represented a deeper change. Hair has never just been about fashion. I realised that, for years, I’d internalised negative stereotypes about Black women – learned from microaggressions, casual comments about how “good” my English was, or being shadowed in shops. Without knowing it, I’d been managing how others perceived me through my hair and appearance, trying to neutralise assumptions before I even spoke.
Growing up in the UK, my hair was a tool to protect myself – a way to avoid being seen as “messy” or “unkempt”. Black women already face so much: more than two in three Black professionals in the UK report experiencing racial prejudice at work, and dating apps consistently show us as the least desirable group. Why give people another excuse to judge me unfairly?
Irish academic and author Emma Dabiri knows this dynamic well. She’s written about the stark contrast in how she’s treated depending on her hairstyle – from aggressive behaviour when wearing straight-back cornrows to gentler responses when wearing goddess braids, which align more closely with Western beauty norms. “Natural Black hair grows outwards and upwards,” she says, “which doesn’t fit into traditional ideas of femininity.” It’s a subtle but powerful way our appearances challenge the status quo.
The natural hair movement, which started in the US during the 1960s, encouraged Black women to embrace their hair texture rather than altering it with chemicals. In the early 2000s, with better products and YouTube tutorials, the movement gained momentum again. But even within that progress, challenges remain. A 2023 study found that 93% of Black people in the UK have faced microaggressions related to their afro hair.
According to St. Clair Detrick-Jules, author of My Beautiful Black Hair, texturism – discrimination based on hair texture – still runs deep. “Even within our communities, looser curls are often seen as more attractive or professional,” she says. Dabiri agrees: “We need to love hair that’s not long, not curly, but tightly coiled.”
As a child, my mum celebrated my natural hair. But once I hit my teens, that encouragement dried up. I remember hairdressers refusing to do my hair, saying it was “too afro-y” – too difficult. Even in diverse east London, I had a white male teacher call me into his office to tell me my bun and fringe didn’t look “nice.” I never forgot that. I started relaxing my hair and settling for “neat” styles that felt safer.
Then, in 2019, I saw Emma Dabiri in a TikTok video, wearing Fulani braids in golden and brown hues. I was captivated and tried the style myself. That same year, she published Don’t Touch My Hair, exploring the historical and cultural power of Black women’s hair. Her words stuck with me: “The beauty regime is an oppressive construct designed to keep women in a state of heightened insecurity.”
There has been positive change. Michelle Obama has embraced more Afrocentric hairstyles since leaving the White House. Viola Davis removed her wig on How to Get Away with Murder, revealing her natural hair on-screen. These moments matter. “It’s not about celebrities being better than us,” says Detrick-Jules, “but their influence shapes how we see ourselves.”
Brands like Cécred by Beyoncé and Pattern Beauty by Tracee Ellis Ross are breaking into the mainstream, showing that hair products for Black women are finally being taken seriously. “When I saw Dabiri’s hair, it unlocked something for me,” I now realise. “It just takes one person who looks like you doing something bold to make you reconsider what’s possible.”
Community is just as powerful. Charlotte Mensah, founder of Hair Lounge in west London, recalls seeing a Black woman at Google wearing vibrant auburn faux locs – and how much it meant. “That style would’ve once been seen as too much. Now, it was worn proudly in one of the world’s most high-profile workplaces.”
As salons closed during the pandemic, I learned to do my own hair again – and saw how much had changed. I even tried wigs for the first time. At A-list Lace Hair, whose clients include Naomi Campbell and Solange Knowles, I found one that felt right: a brown wavy mid-length wig that let me protect my natural hair underneath.
Founder Antonia Okonma Shittu puts it beautifully: “Wigs have become a tool of self-expression, not just a necessity.” They’re not just styles – they’re statements. Later, I began wearing afro-textured extensions from Ruka Hair, created by and for Black women. The hair didn’t mask mine – it enhanced it.
Reflecting on my journey with my hair has helped me unlearn the shame I once carried about my Blackness. The pressure to appear more “professional,” more “desirable,” more “acceptable.” I still love my braids and weaves – but now, they mean something different. They’re not about hiding or conforming. They’re about choice, beauty, and freedom.
When I recently got my hair done, I returned to the same braids that once felt like a compromise. But now, they feel like power.
