I Think I Need a Barber But This As A Man’s World

I prefer short natural hair. Very short.

Unfortunately, that means I’m dependent on someone else to cut my hair because I haven’t learned how to do it myself.

I’ve often turned to the universal experts on my kind of hair–black barbershops, but it’s clear that barbershop culture is not ready to embrace women like me.

In Hair Story, the most comprehensive account of black hair I’ve ever read, the authors Anna D. Byrd & Lori L. Tharps explain that there is indeed a culture built around black hair:

“The many aspects of human adaptation–including language, technology, traditions, values, and social organization–are all identifiable components of the culture of Black hair in America.” p. 134

The first time I went to a barbershop for a haircut, it was a culture shock. I felt like an utter outsider.

I didn’t know that there’s a certain way to request services in a barbershop, so I sat down and waited to be greeted or acknowledged, you know, like: “Hi. How’re you doing? What can we do for you today?” I just sat there feeling and looking out of place.

When I finally got in the chair, I didn’t know the proper lingo or understand the technology for describing the haircut I wanted. Brush length or comb length? A number 3 or a number 2? I didn’t know there were different kinds of fades. I had a picture of a beautiful model that I tore out of a magazine, and that was the best I could do.

Whereas the average man has long since been initiated into barbershop culture from the time he was a few years old, I had no such acculturation. When I was a young girl, I spent hours in beauty salons and never ventured into a barbershop unless I was with my mother to wait for my brother. Back then I could never even imagine that I might be in a barber’s chair someday.

Beyond my personal ignorance of barbershop culture, there’s something else at play, something deeper and more troubling.

From small towns in Mississippi to big cities in California, I read a distinct aversion in barbers when it comes to cutting this woman’s hair, and I think there are four main reasons why the aversion exists.

1) When barber’s see me, they don’t see a loyal customer that yields the highest profit margin.

This explains why I get handed to the newcomer without many clients of his own yet, or I get passed off to the guy no one else likes very much.

But worse than that is getting the barber who rushes through the process of cutting my hair so that they can get back to their “real” clientele or back to sweeping floors. Those barbers disengage. They sort of do what they want, never cut my hair short enough, and don’t even let me evaluate the look before they’re ripping the cape from around my neck.

Unfortunately, with such crappy customer service, they never give me the chance to become a loyal customer. Like I said before, I love short hair, so I would actually come back if my experience was at least decent, if I at least felt respected.

In Hair Story a barber explains that full loyalty comes from “the way I treat him and the service we provide.” p. 154

Isn’t the same level of respect required before a woman becomes a loyal customer?

Respect is the reason I stopped accepting discounts. If you charge less because I’m a woman, it might be chivalry, but it could also mean you do lesser quality work because I’m a woman. I pay the same as the guys so that I can expect the same service as the guys. A dollar is a dollar whether it comes from a man’s pocket or a woman’s pocketbook.

2) One of the things men love about the barbershop is the absence of women.

In Hair Story, the authors explain this concept and cite the experiences of various men:

“One of the most satisfying times in my life was going to the barbershop [and] bonding with the other brothers.” p.151

“The Philadelphia Hair Company is the type of establishment where Black men go to get pampered, watch the game, and while away an entire Saturday afternoon in good company.” p. 154

If the owners were ten year olds, barbershops would definitely have “No Girls Allowed” signs out front. This boy’s club atmosphere is most evident in the conversation.

Sports and politics I can handle, but when the conversation, as it always does, veers into the realm of women and relationships, I wonder if my cute cut is even worth it.

Many barber shops have televisions streaming hip hop videos or melodramatic reality TV shows. Though many women are into those things (even I’ve watched a few in the past) I’m now averse to them.

But the barbers don’t just let these shows play in the background. They have to start offering their commentary on the women’s bodies, on the relative worthiness of each female character in comparison to each other and to women in general, on the “reality” of relationship politics, and other distorted ideology.

Perhaps this doesn’t signal that no women are allowed, but it definitely signals that a certain type of woman will not feel comfortable, like any woman who’s sick and tired of the racist and misogynist portrayals of men and women in the media, any woman who laments the continuous brainwashing of both sexes, basically any woman like me.

I won’t go into detail right now about my last two reasons but they are essentially this:

3) Men still expect black women to be at the beauty salon getting perms and weaves to look good for men.
4) Men don’t like to see women cut their hair

I don’t expect barbershop culture to change for me or even for the growing number of women like me. But I do think it’s a relevant experience that’s worth sharing (especially when I get deeper into reasons 3 & 4).

I’ve tried going to unisex salons or female stylists, but my previous post on hair explains why that’s not much better.

Now you tell me what you think!

Do my observations seem ligit, or is it just me?

Should I just suck it up if I want my hair cut?

Are barbershops and hair styles so irrelevant that you don’t know why you bothered to read this post?

Clearly, I have my opinion, but maybe you can sway me.

Go ahead.

Give it a try.

Then come back later when I share more thoughts on reasons 3 & 4.

Peace & Love

Sarah L. Webb

Relax Your Hair and Get a Nose Job Too!

Plastic surgery, facelifts, boob jobs, but implants, collagen lip injections, Botox, skin bleaching, extreme tanning, tattooed makeup… All of these things are still kind of taboo for many African-Americans. We criticize people who resort to these methods of beautifying themselves. We condemn them as being shallow and fake. Michael Jackson is called a disgrace to the race for wanting to be white. We shake our heads when Asians complain about their eyes, and we ask, “Why can’t everyone just love themselves.”

But are we any different when we get addicted to hair straightening and extensions? If our natural hair is not good enough, maybe our natural lips, eyes, nose, skin, and breasts aren’t either.

I’ve come to the conclusion that chemically altered hair is no different from other forms of physical alteration. In each case, for whatever reason, people aren’t satisfied with their physical features, so they change them.

We as African-Americans fail to see the connection because the majority of us have been straightening our hair for so long that we’ve normalized it. For decades, the unnatural thing has been the natural thing to do. We believe we’re normal. Those other people? Well, they just need to love themselves the way God made them.

Peace and Love from Sarah L. Webb

What’s in your hand?

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Having Natural Hair vs. Being Natural: Are They Different?

Before I go any further, let me acknowledge that “natural” means many different things depending on the context and the person doing the defining. So to help you follow my train of thought, I want to be clear about how I define natural hair. These are my criteria for natural hair:

1) hair that contains no straightening chemicals, or chemicals that loosen the curl (or even tighten it), such as texturizers, relaxers, perms, etc.

2) hair that grows from the head of the person donning it (no wigs, weaves, synthetics, or the like)

Others may define “natural hair” differently, but the two criteria I’ve listed above is how I will use the term “natural hair” throughout this post, and in any other conversations until otherwise noted.

When I first “went natural” I labeled every woman wearing natural hair as a natural woman. Years later, I’m beginning to differentiate between women who merely wear their hair natural and women who are natural in many aspects of their life. I began to notice a lot of women going natural for a while only to revert back to unnatural hair styles when they got bored with or tired of “managing” their natural hair. I noticed women only agreeing to go natural if their hair could “look like that,” referring to a another woman’s style. These phenomena baffled me at first until I realized that not every woman with natural hair has embraced a natural lifestyle.

The woman who merely has natural hair but doesn’t have a natural life style might also wear makeup every day, wear false nails, wear 50% or more of her income in the form of purses and shoes, occasionally switch it up by wearing weaves or wigs, only wear her natural to achieve a certain look, or only go natural if her hair is “good enough.”  For this woman, the natural hair is only a part of her efforts to achieve a particular outward appearance. For this woman, natural hair is just a part of fashion, merely a style that’s cool for a while, something different to try. This is a valid approach to hair, and many woman take this approach.

Taking an equally valid approach, but perhaps less common, is the woman who embraces naturalness for it’s deeper implications. She may like her natural hair for aesthetic reasons, but those aren’t the only reasons. She would probably make comments like “it’s so much easier,”and “I feel so free,” rather than  comments like, “I just don’t know what to do with it.” She’s probably aware of, even want to rebel against, the historical pressure for black women to conform to European standards of beauty (or these days, the “anything but black” standards for beauty). She probably believes that natural hair is healthier. She’ll probably be comfortable going places without makeup. This type of woman is more likely to appreciate all hair textures, rather than elevating one type as “good hair.”

I used to be of the camp that said you had to be natural to be cool, especially when I was in high school. I soon learned that wasn’t correct, for as my observations show, what’s on the head doesn’t always correlate with what’s in the head. Michelle Obama, for example, is one of my favorite women, and no amount of hair straightening will negate how awesome she is, even though I dislike chemically straightened hair.

I don’t believe different automatically means better or worse, so by differentiating between women’s attitudes about natural hair, I’m not advocating that one attitude is better or worse. I might be implying it, but I’m definitely not advocating it, at least not here in this post, though I might in another post. As I get older (and after reading The Art of Happiness with insights from the Dalai Lama XIV and Howard C. Cutler), I hope that when I do judge, that I do so with compassion, understanding that we are all merely doing the best we know how at any given time.

So if you wear natural hair, why’d you chose to do it? If you would consider natural hair, what would your attitude be? Is it just another hair style? Or does it mean something more to you?

Another S. L. Writes post about hair:

Woman in the Mirror: A Reflection on Short Natural Hair

More about hair from Essence.com and one of my favorite contemporary writers, Demetria L. Lucas:

Viola Davis Wears Natural Hair to the Oscars