India sung a song about it back in ‘06, but its 2014 and I still have to explain to people that I am not my hair. People tend to think they have me figured out just because of it. Because I wear my hair in locs people assume I’m this righteous, no-swine-eating, black soap using feminist who listens to Erykah Badu all day, every day. Okay okay, I won’t front…I listen to Erykah on repeat, but its simply because she’s a witty ass artist and she’s just dope. But I listen to Beyonce with just as much vigor and I can quote Lil Wayne like scripture, as I do with the words of Talib Kweli.

I won’t speak for all women with locs or natural hair in general, but I find that people seem to treat me differently or expect me to have a certain lifestyle just because I’m a woman who has chosen to wear her hair in its natural state. When I made the decision to loc my hair, it wasn’t political, social or spiritual. Honestly, I was a broke college student who did not have the time, energy, or money to sit in a hot ass salon every other Saturday. But I always knew I’d loc my hair. My older brother had done it years before and I always loved the simplicity of the style. When I moved to Philly it was only a matter of time before I chopped off my fried, dyed, unhealthy tress and joined the array of women with afros, twisties, braids, and locs. But like I said, I never intended on joining a movement — I just wanted to save my edges.

Just like a woman who wears a weave, sometimes I feel trapped in boxes that stereotypes tend to force people into. I feel as if I’m expected to be nice all the damn time, because sista’s with locs are supposed to be “positive” and say things like “peace”. No. I will cuss you out in the most righteous way possible and won’t bat an eyelash. I don’t join any of the black twitter debates on relaxed vs. natural hair. What’s the point? I don’t think a woman is any more or less desirable or intelligent based on how she wears her or the hair she buys. Those arguments are futile and that way of thinking is silly.

And men. They call me “Queen” before they even know if I’m worthy of the title. I’m hardly ever approached with “hey ma” or “what’s up shorty”, which is what used to happen. Now it’s “hey sis” “or “how are you today beautiful?” I’d like to think its all the “grown woman-ness” I exude and not my hair. I don’t mind it for the most part, but I sometimes wonder if my girl with an 18-inch Remy gets the same respect. I mean, ain’t she a woman?

At one point I did feel like I had to hide who I was in a sense because I didn’t want people to think I was being “deep.” But fronting for other folks ain’t never worked out for me. So I had to say, yes, I do enjoy poetry and I do have a preference for certain artists. But that’s not me being “deep” and certainly has nothing to do with my hair, I just like what I like.

I love my hair and I take pride in it now. But this hair doesn’t define me. It does not dictate what I listen to. What I read. How I eat. Who I love. Or how I dress.

It’ll never be that deep.

Ky

Image Source: Ronja Amanda Berg by Erwin Olaf for Vogue Netherlands March 2014