I don't think people realize why weaves and the cultural appropriation of black hairstyles are so sensitive. It's deep-rooted. For me, it goes back to high school: I wanted to have the long, flowing hair. So I got a weave. But then I didn't want guys to put their fingers in it - you don't want them to feel your weave.
My husband didn't want me to wear any black hairstyles. Nicole Kidman was his standard of beauty.
I see other black women imitate my style, which is no style at all, but just letting our hair be itself. They call it the Afro Look.
I think many people, especially from other cultures, just don't understand the role hair plays in black women's lives.
'Nappy' is a state of mind, not an appearance.
It's very hard to be a kid, especially in a predominantly white school or white town where other people want to police your body and hair.
When I grew up, you needed to have straight hair. It's symbolic of needing to be like everyone else, needing to look like everyone else. And what that meant was looking like the dominant ruling class in America.
It's amazing that it's considered revolutionary to wear my hair the way it grows out of my head.
That's the person I plan on being for a very long time: someone who stands up, someone who is an advocate for people, [even if it's for] something that some people think is only hair. I think it's more than just that. I want to be a spokesperson for self-love and for diversity.
In particular I want to talk about natural black hair, and how it's not just hair. I mean, I'm interested in hair in sort of a very aesthetic way, just the beauty of hair, but also in a political way: what it says, what it means.
If your hair is relaxed, white people are relaxed. If your hair is nappy, they're not happy.
I was getting frustrated with America. It's interesting how as simple a thing as, like, letting your hair grow longer changed in the world in those days.
I only get compared to women, which is crazy because often the women they compare me to... we just have a similar hairstyle. Whether it's Joni Mitchell or Florence and the Machine - our music doesn't always sound anything alike. But we just all have long hair.
I am a bit of a fundamentalist when it comes to black women's hair. Hair is hair - yet also about larger questions: self-acceptance, insecurity and what the world tells you is beautiful. For many black women, the idea of wearing their hair naturally is unbearable.
'Black Panther' has made me embrace my natural black hair. The representation of natural black hair in the film has made me reflect on myself.
Feminists were psyched that I had armpit hair.
A lot of people don't realize that hair is a big thing for a lot of people, not just African-American women. It's something to be aware of and to be cautious of.
Before the advent of the white man, black people were doing all kinds of things with their hair. The rejection of kinks and curls did come with the white man.
Wearing your hair natural is a positive statement about who you are. It's not a protest to somebody else. It's affirming you.
I fought for a long time on 'Battlestar' to let my hair grow out. It was very frustrating because every single person on the show was changing their hair. It was not fair.
When my hair is picked out, my whole aura is picked out, like, 'See this, see me.'
There are schools that have rules against afro puffs. They say it's distracting. But nobody is saying that about a little girl who has ponytails.
I get braids all the time. You can't tell me I'm acting black because I braid my hair. That makes no sense whatsoever.
I was like other teenagers in the late 1960s; I too was very interested in having an Afro and getting rid of the perm that was in my hair.
If you wear your hair straight or natural, it's all fine with me. It doesn't mean that you aren't politically conscious or that you don't have good thoughts about progress.
