Don't Touch My Hair
The connection of my hair and my spirit.
Solange Knowles deserves to receive her flowers every day she opens her eyes. Huge bouquets of the most exquisite petals that fills her nose and heart with so much joy. I pray that she’s always reminded of how important her work is for Black girls and women all around the world because Lord knows how many times she has saved me in the trenches of turmoil. Her album, “A Seat at the Table”, is a staple piece in my opinion. It opened my mind to many things, such as my power as a woman whether I’m sane or insane. It taught me what it means to love myself despite all of the pressure that the world is crushing me under.
Track number nine, “Don’t Touch My Hair”, is a song that serves a testament to how I feel in my heart and the things that play in my mind on a constant repeat. Over a mellow beat with a smooth cadence, Solange sings about the things that belong to her. She’s setting limits and boundaries of just how far she’ll go to satisfy others and people please all while speaking proudly of what is hers. The title of the song speaks in the literal sense of the physical act, but the lyrics transcend the physicality of the coils on my head, erupting into an array of spiritual and emotional greatness. She’s telling people–the world–to not touch her hair, her soul, her crown because of what it means to her. Solange sings about her feelings, a figurative way to say that she is protecting herself. I see it as her letting us know that her hair is her barrier of protection, to keep herself whole.
Don't touch my hair
When it's the feelings I wear
Don't touch my soul
When it's the rhythm I know
Don't touch my crown
They say the vision I've found
Don't touch what's there
When it's the feelings I wear
– Don’t Touch My Hair x Solange Knowles ft. Sampha (2016)
Growing up, hair has always been taught that it is an extension of who I am as a person. In the Black community, whenever you step out of your home, your braids better always be tight, your weaves better be snatched, and your line up and haircut better be crispy. It’s been ingrained in us from birth that we never step outside of home without looking our best.
I remember the days of hot combs, bow knockers, plastic clip bows, hair grease, beads, and biweekly appointments to the braider. Perms were always the worst. Yet, my mother never let our heads go untouched for too long. And even with that, boundaries were crossed because we all have had our times where we didn’t want our hair to be touched. We just wanted to exist in our natural design without our scalps being pulled, tugged, nor fried, dyed, and laid to the side. I like to think that hair dos were probably the first times we ever experienced something that we didn’t want.
I see hair as being a symbol of what it means to be your own person. To have the ability to dictate things for yourself. To be able to say what you want and don’t want regardless of how others may feel about it. But the truth of the matter is that even then, there’s a sense of falling short in that. Since I was young, it has always been a struggle to put myself first in most instances. Mainly because I was too worried about hurting people or coming off as mean. That right there was the bane of my existence. I just could not do it. At the age I am now, the need to please people is shedding like snakeskin. I am finding the light and the pleasure of my autonomy. I’m taking back control of me and caring for myself more.
Self love is an ocean that fluctuates with the tides of life. I’ve had moments where I had loved myself endlessly and others where I despised myself like an enemy. Is that something that’s a result of the world’s view of me? Or how I view myself? As a Black woman, we’re always expected to be strong, to be the one that’s palatable to the world, but who does that for us? We must smile, joke, dance, and sing to the comfortability of those around us. We must make everyone feel welcomed and never show our resting “bitch” faces, even when we’re not feeling the scenery around us. We aren’t given the freedom to just exist without someone wanting to perform. Not allowed to explicitly say no because that kind of action can lead to the possibility of our demise.
“I believe that hair is incredibly spiritual, and, energetically, it really encompasses and expresses who we are. Obviously, my relationship with hair, being that I grew up literally in a hair salon, is very deep and very complex. I think that one of the things that I’m also trying to communicate through that song is the way that people see us through our hair.”
– Solange Knowles, Saint Heron
My relationship with my hair has taught me to honor myself. From braids, to wigs, to various haircuts, and now locs, my hair changes just as much as I do as a person. As an evolving woman, someone who has grown from tangled roots, my hair has given me the space to decide for myself. To speak for myself. To tell the world who and what I want them to see. Ridding myself of those nasty people pleasing tendencies, I started to blossom and it showed in how I changed my appearance. Confidence in my thoughts grew the more I took chances with my hair. My mood was brighter when I successfully tried a new style. Hell, even when I had no hair, I felt untouchable. Cutting my hair was a ritual that I think the majority of Black women go through at least once in their lives. Erasing all of the weight with the snipping of the lovely tresses catapults all of us into a level we probably believed we could not reach (that’ll be a post for another day).
“Don’t Touch My Hair” taught me the art of preserving who I am. How I need to protect myself in order to keep myself. How loving myself goes beyond just my physical appearance. Emphasizing the importance of reclaiming myself and my being as a Black woman. Telling people to keep their hands to themselves and not to touch my hair is more than just a physical command. It is a way to demand that they respect my boundaries and wishes. Not allowing anyone to rattle my mood or vibration simply because they want to overstep a boundary.
My hair has been a tool, a superpower, a stepping stone in elevating, connecting, and healing my spirit. It holds my feelings. It carries my visions. It tells people who I am before I even open my mouth and speak out loud. My hair helps me figure out who I am. And there is no one on this planet that can touch it without my permission because it is mine and mine alone.