Black Women vs. Long Hair
It's the last letter of 2024!
Hey y’all,
I’m typing this while in Nigeria after eating yet another bowl of rice for breakfast and waiting for my pocket WiFi to charge on our mini generator because NEPA hasn’t blessed us with our daily dose of 3 hours of electricity. “This Is The Detty December They Don’t Show You” head ass 🫠
While I wait, I’m smiling from ear to ear as I think back on Carefree Mag’s year. I want to express my deep gratitude for all the love and support you have shown. To be honest, the last time I felt this much love around this dear storyletter is back when I first launched it. I’ve finally learned that the phrase, “if you build it they will come,” is not entirely true. I’ve learned that no matter how great you think the work you’re doing is, you must must must share it. All the ships of instant notoriety have already set sail long ago, it’s up to you to believe in the work you’re doing and continue to put it out there.
I used to be complacent in this being an IYKYK spot on the internet, but that is such a disservice to not only myself, but to my writers and their words as well. So, I’ve started doing even more to promote: expanding on our story topics on TikTok/IG Reels, publishing more notes/threads, and attending more Black girl centric events to spread the word. And it has been working! This year, I hit a new subscriber milestone, got accepted in the Madame CJ Walker PACE Bootcamp Accelerator through New Voices, and published our most popular story EVER, written by
from .
It’s no surprise why this story became one of our most popular. For one, it’s the pinnacle of a Carefree story. Black women doing what they want on their own terms, taking non-linear paths, and divesting from conventional ideas of Black womanhood in favor of creating their own.
Top stories #2 & #3
But, it’s also a signifier of a larger trend. Peep this note, I shared earlier this month:
My inbox has been poppin’ with this grain of story pitches recently. And while I don’t have enough space in this letter to divulge on the myriad of reasons why (let’s be real, we all know why), I want to acknowledge that the girls are TiReD. However, as a believer in romantic love as a form of RESToration, I feel that I’d be doing a disservice for Black women if I continually linked the idea of being a carefree Black girl to one that doesn’t want love. Black feminism upholds healthy, romantic love as a form of attaining peace, and I’m a firm believer in that.
I digress, I’ll leave you with the last story of the year from none other than Winifred Òdúnóku on how Black women’s choice of hair strongly plays a role in other’s belief in their attractiveness.
Thank you for making 2024 Carefree Mag’s best year yet, we’re taking a break for a bit but we’ll see you soon.
With love,
Anayo Awuzie
EIC of Carefree Mag
The Case for Short Hair
by Winifred Òdúnóku
I can remember when I started my journey to rocking short hair; it was a low cut specifically.
On the day I asked my mom to get rid of my hair, I had been punished by a teacher for wearing unkempt hair to school.
"You had the entire weekend to do your hair and..." he said.
"I just got it done on Saturday sir," I tried to explain amidst tears, but they fell on deaf ears.
As far as he was concerned, the hairstyle I had on was almost two weeks old—a huge violation. There was no escaping the strokes of his cane.
I cried to class that morning, was sober throughout school hours, and when I got home, I couldn't wait for my mom to return from work.
"I want to cut my hair," I told her with a firm voice, my face showing no negotiation.
"Why?" I remember her asking. But my response was a repetition of my demand. So she cut it off, and I started following my brothers to the barbershop every other month. I was 12.
Soon, I became the girl who “looks like a boy.” Add a face that resembles my dad's and ears that bear no earrings most times because I’d always lose them… and you could imagine how boyish I really looked.
But I didn't mind.
A year later, we relocated down South and my new school conveniently didn’t allow girls to plait their hair, making it easy for me to blend in. Here, I didn't feel left out.
I had a low cut until I finished secondary school. And while my agemates were eager to start making their hair—an indication that they were now big girls and soon to be undergrads, I wasn't so keen.
This was when my mom started conversations about hair and why God who created females to have long hair knew what he was doing. Why do I want to keep trimming mine for so long a time? After all, "a woman's glory is her hair" and now that I had fully matured into a woman, I needed to take my looks more seriously.
At first, her admonishment fell on deaf ears. But later, I gave in. Truthfully, I had missed doing my hair—the interlacing of expert hands as they run down my scalp creating a beautiful weave, the application of oils and creams leaving a soothing feeling on my scalp, the hair wash days that make me appreciate the existence of water, the blow out days that make people look at my full luscious hair twice whenever I passed by them. Reliving these moments was enticing enough, but I also needed to start doing womanly things, as my mom advised.
In keeping up with the Joneses, I kept nurturing and growing out my hair, visiting the hairdresser every other week, and trying different products to know what works best. It all lasted until my second year in university. I cut my hair off again, much to my mom's surprise when I went home during the school break.
"You dis girl, you have cut your hair again."
It was more of a statement than a question. We laughed about it and I told her I wanted to try something else other than a boring low cut hairstyle. So, I resorted to Jheri curls and, girl, did I rock this hairstyle with all the femininity I got. Many asked to know what the style was called. Others asked for pointers on how to get started with it. As exhilarating as that experience was for me, it was short-lived. Subjecting my hair to chemicals that burnt my scalp became something I dreaded. I missed keeping my natural hair and loving it for what it was. And so I transitioned back to my natural hair: from Jheri curls to Anita Baker, then to mini afro, and a short stint at keeping long hair again. Sometimes I would keep my hair for a longer time, wearing bold and luscious hairstyles for special occasions. Other times, I would hate my hair for being so soft, so timid, so weak, and before you know it, I've gone to a barbershop to have it trimmed again. Low cut then became my signature for years after university. It was my way of hiding all of my hair's weaknesses, but also expressing my natural beauty as I feel more confident with short hair.
Fast forward to May 2023, I decided to love my hair in another way and try something new. I have a few friends who had locked their hair, and watching their short hair grow into long, strong strands appeased me. So I decided to join the bandwagon and stay locked in, literally and figuratively.
With locs, I thought my hair problems would be permanently solved. There would be no need to frequent a salon to take out a style and make another. There would be no need to worry about what hairstyle best fit my hair type. It would just be a routine of washing and styling my locs as they grew out. What a perfect plan, I thought. But 1 year & 4 months later, my hair still betrays me. The locs shred off, thin out, and cut off as they like. All strands just hanging in there, waiting for the right time to snap, leaving me with a full head of hair but with varying lengths and widths. On a random Saturday evening, a day after my wash day, I casually strolled into the barbershop down my street and requested a hair cut. The barber was flabbergasted.
"E never even tey wey you relock ham. E still new." (It's not been long since you’ve relocked your hair. It's still neat.)
I told him it was just last month that I went to my loctician. I sat down immediately, all too eager to go back to my comfort hairstyle—a low cut.
Is it possible to have perfect hair? I asked my reflection in the mirror as the barber started working, still maintaining that my locs were still in good shape. Why would I even think of getting rid of them?
For an answer, I got assurance. Looking at myself in the mirror, I realized I'm still that beautiful girl from secondary school, who got laughed at for cutting her hair really low like a boy's, but grew into loving her new look anyway. I watched as my locs fell off my head, one strand after the other. Watching them drop to the floor was more soothing than terrifying.
In all my years of having a low cut, I've had a plethora of questions thrown at me by people who seemingly cared.
"Why did you cut your hair? That long and full hair that some of us are looking for, ehn?"
"Don't you know that doing your hair will make you more attractive as a woman?"
"What if your husband doesn't like a short cut or allow you to keep it?"
"If you don't do your hair, how will people differentiate you from your husband?"
I often wondered why most of these questions revolved around a man that is yet to come into my life.
Why couldn't I make decisions that would benefit just me? Why couldn't I express my beauty in the way I am most comfortable with? Why should a decision that affects me personally be the concern of any other person? And who says I'm not attractive with my short hair?
Nowadays, my mom no longer bothers to give me a homily on how a woman's hair is her glory. She's seen that I am glorious even with short hair. While she is accepting of my preferred hairstyle, she finds it ironic that what I am "running away from" is what some men of this generation are embracing.
Once, I showed her a picture of my boss who has locs, and she went, "Ah ah, so men are now keeping long hair? Why will a man sit down in a salon for several hours when he could be out there making money?" I only chuckled and shrugged in response, because I believe everyone has the liberty to do whatsoever they wish with their hair, be it a man or a woman. To each his own.
Thinking about my mom's remarks about my boss's hair, I realize it's cultural conditioning or psychological warfare prevalent among people her age, and even ours too. This is how a man should behave. This is the kind of thing a woman should do. Long hair is linked to femininity. A study by Tamas Bereczkei and Norbert Mesko shows that these perceptions are shaped by cultural norms and evolutionary frameworks.
Unfortunately, due to the long standing societal perception that short hair is less attractive than longer hair for a woman, some women only feel attractive and sassy when they have long hair or extensions.
And while there may be a science behind why some men find long hair attractive, I believe that every woman should be permitted to express her beauty the way she wants to. I should be allowed to stand firm in my beauty with my choice of hairstyle, and not because I want to pander to the desires of the opposite sex.
Not many people noticed or made comments when I cut off my locs in October, but a male friend remarked that I looked better with a low cut and should stick to it.
I smiled because I already knew how great short hair looks on me. I'm no longer the 12-year-old who was forced to cut off her hair to avoid getting punished in school. Now, I keep my hair short by choice because it makes me feel bold, confident, and free. I love that short hair is versatile and can go with any style, and I am happy to rock my short hair without wigs or extensions anywhere I go.
I think as Black women, we need to accept that our natural hair is beautiful, however we decide to wear it. And without a doubt, short hair is just as feminine and attractive as long hair.
Winifred Òdúnóku is a Nigerian writer, editor, and brand strategist with a knack for storytelling. Writing, for her, is an art of self-expression, and she loves to explore different narrative styles while at it. She has written for publications including Paste Magazine, Smart Mouth, Kurating Magazine, and Introvert Dear.
I resonate strongly with this! Especially as a young woman who doesn't want long hair. People look at me and sigh when I say I want to go bald, they display pity for "my husband" or talk about how I'm making hair political, but the honest truth is that I cannot handle hair, sure I like a sweet bussdown every now and then but eventually the carrying tires me, the effort to style and maintain, the speed of its aging, how quickly it looks as though I have carried that hairstyle for 5 years annoys me and then above all else, I really just want some air on my scalp. So what if its political, being a woman is political.
When people comment on how I'm behaving "like a man" I find it extremely hilarious because at the end of the day, I don't believe that there is any definition of what a man or a woman should look like or act like, I am a woman because I was born a woman, because I was socialised as a woman, and breaking out of gender roles and heteronormativity has allowed me to express myself, as a woman, with or without hair, without or without earring, with or without dresses. Those are the external things, the metrics this society uses to make sense of gender and difference, those things do not make me a woman.
Thank you for this piece!❤️
What an interesting story. Being a Nigerian myself, I know how intrusive our society can be. It’s left for us to stand firm in our beliefs, and you sure did. Short hair is beautiful and sexy. Go girl!