I can’t pinpoint exactly when I realising that my Afro hair didn’t fit ‘professional’ look. But the pressure to shrink myself for those around me has been on my shoulders from a young age
I honestly couldn’t count how many times I’ve stood in the mirror asking myself: if my hair is too much? Too big? Too loud? Too … Black. And what makes it worse is this isn’t isolated – it’s a reality for many Black people, especially Black women.
Even now, all these years later, the thoughts still creep in. Whether I’m preparing for an interview or just planning my next hairstyle, the same questions come up; is this hairstyle acceptable? Will people see me as less professional if I show up with my afro hair in its natural state.
The harsh reality is that these insecurities start from young. According to the Halo Collective, 58% of Black students have said they’ve experienced name-calling or uncomfortable questions about their hair in school and 46% of parents say their children’s school uniform policy penalises Afro hair.
It’s deeper than just picking a hairstyle, it’s a mental checklist. Even though I know I have every right to show up as myself, I still second‑guess which version of myself feels safe enough to bring to the workplace and I still haven’t felt comfortable to wear my hair in its natural state.
My earliest memory was relaxing my hair; a decision me and my mum made. At the time, I thought it was just to make my hair easier to manage. But now, years later, I know it wasn’t about me at all. It was to make my hair easier to digest.
Speaking out for World Afro Day (September 12th) former Spice Girl, Mel B recalled being told her Afro hair had to be straightened, that her “big hair didn’t fit the pop star mould” but luckily, she dismissed the comment and wore her hair in a natural Afro anyway. This goes hand in hand with how Black and mixed race women are led to believe our hair needs to be manageable for others.
But while I notice how much this has shaped me, I still consider myself lucky my experience hasn’t been as blatant as some. At school I was never told my hair was ‘distracting’ or that it didn’t fit the rules. I’ve never been denied a job because of my hair; though I’ve always made sure to wear it in the most ‘acceptable’ way at interviews. And while that might seem like luck, I’m not sure it really is, or if it hurts less. But I know I still feel it and it’s a heavy burden to carry.
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That’s the quiet mental load so many of us carry. It’s not just hair – it’s how we’re perceived, judged, and treated differently just for wearing what grows out of our head. Every style feels like a choice between self‑expression and self‑protection.
I hope one day I’ll feel comfortable to truly be my full, authentic self – especially in professional settings. But knowing not much has changed since I was a child is daunting.
The Halo Code, launched in 2020, was a step in the right direction – but it’s not enough. It’s a voluntary code of conduct that schools and workplaces can opt in – but many still haven’t. There’s little understanding or training on how hair discrimination shows up, from blatant comments to microaggressions that might seem small but feel heavy to those on the receiving end.
One day, I hope the Equality Act is updated to list hair as a protected characteristic explicitly, instead of lumping it under race. I’m learning now that the problem was never my hair – it was how they chose to see it. It’s taken me 25 years and deep reflection to understand that. But that doesn’t stop millions of others with Afro hair from feeling like theirs is somehow less than.
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