4 Year Loc-a-Versary: Black Hair in a White Corporate America

In celebration of having locs for four years, I thought it completely necessary to share my unique journey of making this bold decision while being a full-fledged corporate gal. Some of you may be thinking, “you changed your hair, what’s the big deal?” Others, upon reading the title of this post, were immediately engaged due to the (unfortunately) controversial topic that is black hair in the workplace. For African Americans, the way we choose to wear our hair in professional settings has led to unfair discrimination, humiliation, and conformity. To accurately express the series of events that lead up to and surrounded my decision to get locs, I’ve broken this post into four sections: The Decision, The Rebuttal, The Response, and The Resolve. It’s in these four segments that I’ll fully address the implications that surrounded my controversial decision.

Side note: Some of you may be reading my use of the word “locs” and may be thinking “why doesn’t she just say “dreadlocks”? The reason is because dreadlocks was the name given to people of African descent wearing locs in Jamaica. Some people considered the hairstyle to be dreadful and therefore referred to people wearing locs as someone with “dreadful locks”, which over time shortened to “dreadlocks”. There is nothing about locs, or black hair, that is dreadful. Therefore, I do not participate in, or conform to the use of the word “dreadlocks” in reference to locked hair and you shouldn’t either 😊.

The Decision

My decision to lock my hair began while I was in undergrad. One semester I wore box braids and enjoyed the convince of the hairstyle and how well it fit my lifestyle. At the time, I was an avid runner and triathlete. Most black women neglect working out for preservation of their hairstyle alone. We don’t want to “sweat out” our perms and have all of our hard earned money go down the drain after one workout. I’ve been apart of this group so I have no room for judgement. Because of my active lifestyle, hair maintenance was a constant issue for me. Wearing box braids made me appreciate the look of long locks on black women and naturally led me to considering locs. I’d never given locs a second look and especially never thought of embracing the hairstyle for myself. In fact, I’d go as far to say that I thought they were for a specific type of black person. You know, the neo-soul, burning-incents-at-every-corner, Erykah-Badu-listening black folk. Oh, and football players.

Right before this semester I decided to start “transitioning”. Transitioning is a term used amongst black women in reference to the process of growing out your hair to get rid of the permed (chemically processed) parts so that the natural hair texture will emerge. I started transitioning because I was tired of the cycle of getting sew-in’s, wearing bundles (weave), and paying over $300 for a nice hair style. I began to slowly fall in love with the look of locs on black women and desperately wanted to be a part of this group. I dreamed of the different, versatile styles, and having hair down my back. People like Chole x Halle became a great source of inspiration to me. However, it wasn’t until over a year later that I mustered the courage to move forward and start the process of locking my hair.  

The Rebuttal

Before officially starting my locs I shopped the idea around to my close friends and family. My friends were very supportive and thought it was a dope decision. My family on the other hand were diametrically opposed to the idea of their daughter wearing dreadlocks. My mother has unfortunately subscribed to the mainstream standards of beauty that is defined by Eurocentric straight hair. She’s openly scoffed at and opposed the natural hair movement in the black community. Locs was the ultimate defiance to this world-view. The day I started my locs I did not tell a soul. This was a personal decision and wanted to carry it out privately. I was a bit nervous but more excited than anything. I’d stopped talking about getting locs a few weeks earlier to limit outside influences. The decision, I decided, had to be my own.

The day I started my locs was a Tuesday. Please note: I do not live with my parents. I have my own home and my parents only visit on weekends or when I specifically invite them over. This Tuesday, around 9pm, I heard my doorbell ring. It was my mom. This was unprecedented. Popping up at my house? Since when?! I pop up to yall’s house, not the other way around! Who’s the mother and who’s the daughter here?! Don’t you have work in the morning? What the hell is going on?!?!!!!

Her spidey-mother senses must have went off because this woman stood on my porch and said “Oh I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by!” At 9pm?! I reluctantly invited her in (who turns away their mom?). As soon as she stepped into the light she saw the decision I’d made. In her stern, black mama voice, she nearly screeched

“WHAT did you do to your hair?!”

She stayed for the next half-hour explaining how terrible of a decision I’d made and how I needed to wash them out immediately. She warned me that if I kept this hairstyle in, I would be passed over for promotions at work and eventually fired (dramatic I know). At the time I was a travelling consultant and her exact words were “Those white people are not gonna put you in front of those clients with that black hair”. I was hurt. She left when she realized I wasn’t budging and decided to pick up the argument another day.

FYI: Hair does not lock up immediately. Locs take time to materialize. For some people it takes months. For other people, with naturally straighter hair (like me), it can take years.

Shortly after she left I received a phone call from my dad. He was more sympathetic but echoed the same sentiments. My dad, who’d been an engineer in Corporate America for 30+ years, wanted me to see this from the point of view of being black in a predominately white work force. “Baby girl you don’t want to give them any reason to be reminded of your blackness. White people are intimated by black people and black culture. This hair style is militant. They might think you’re a Black Panther or something. They will punish you for this. I want you to be able to express yourself but you have to think about the consequences. Trust me, I know.” Again, I was hurt.

The Response

Braced with the defeat already projected onto me by my parents, I went into work the next day anxious. I didn’t know what to expect but was prepared for the worst. The day passed by pretty uneventfully. A couple of my white guy peers made comments that made me smile, “Hey, cool hair!”. It wasn’t until the end of my work day that a friend (a fellow black girl) shared with me a manager’s (a white woman FYI) comments. She gossiped to my friend “Did you see her hair? It looks like she did it herself!” I was not saddened by this comment but instead angry. The nerve of her, I thought. I wanted to walk over to her desk and say “Oh your hair is so flat, it lacks body, and does the same thing every day!”. But that would be petty. I didn’t have a problem with Caucasian hair and was not about to formulate one to strike back. Fortunately, I made the decision to be Michelle-Obama-black that day: “When they go low, we go high.”

The Resolve

That weekend I saw my mom at a family party and she spent the entire time trying to talk me out of my hair. I was exhausted from the conversation and genuinely exasperated that she’d managed to make my personal decision about her. I left the party early and went home and cried to God. I went into my prayer room and expressed my frustrations in prayerful tears. It was then that I received insight on God’s perspective regarding my hair. God made black people and He made black hair. It genuinely breaks His heart to see His creation conforming to societal norms and suppressing the attributes about themselves that make them unique. He lead me to Colossians 2:20, which reads:

“Since you died with Christ to the elemental spiritual forces of this world, why, as though you still belonged to the world, do you submit to its rules?”

What this verse, and God, was essentially saying was –

“Camille, why are you conforming to societal norms? Society says black women must perm their hair and make it straight like white women to be accepted professionally. But what do I say? You have already accepted by me. I am your Lord, Savior, and Provider. It is not white or black people that keep you employed and determine your promotions or well-being. I give and take away. I promote and demote. Black people have conformed to society because they believe it’s the only way to succeed. I am the way to success. The doors I open, no man can close.”

After this time of prayer I realized I not only wanted to keep my new hairstyle, but that I needed to. I could not be another black person that bows down to the unspoken, discriminatory, rules of society. No more. Change was here, and I embraced its implications fully. Now it’s four years later and it’s still one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. Oh and that job? I went on to be promoted from Analyst, to Consultant, and eventually landed a role on an overseas project in Rome, Italy. Turns out, my hair didn’t ruin my professional life. Whatever discomfort my professional peers may have experienced was forced to dissimilate over time. I lived, they lived, the world kept spinning on it’s axis, and we all saw another day.

If you’ve read up until this point, thank you. This has been a journey I’ve wanted to share for some time and Dresses and Blazers finally gave me the opportunity. If you enjoyed what you read, leave me a comment below. Share this with your peers and coworkers. Let’s keep the conversation going!