It’s Still Mine

It’s not your real hair

It’s from a store

It’s synthetic

It’s not your natural color

This triptych is a meditation on some of the commentary Black women receive when we refer to our protective styles (braids, faux locs, weaves, wigs, etc.) as our hair, without explicitly clarifying that yeah, sure, they’re extensions that we paid for. (I instinctively sing, You like my hair/Gee thanks/Just bought it when I explain this, even though Ariana Grande’s accusations of Blackfishing make her a controversial figure in conversations regarding Black beauty and styling.)

It’s fake

It’s not your natural texture

It’s not growing from your head

These rebuttals are common from all corners - from white folks who don’t understand the importance and necessity of protective styles (and who often claim to pose these condescending refutations as mere curiosities), to Black men who shame Black women for donning them (Project Pat’s “Chickenhead” lyrics come to mind - Bald-head/Skally-wag/Ain’t got no hair in the back/Gelled up/Weaved up/Yo hair is messed up).

… it’s still mine.

Transformed from a girl who tried to chemically straighten and flat iron her kinks into submission, into a woman who refuses to find fault with her tresses (even on their difficult days)… my journey to hair acceptance has been an arduous one. So when I confidently rock braids and faux locs and still encounter contrarian comments like the ones above, I am furious.

After 36 years, y’all still can’t just let my hair be?

The foreground lettering in It’s Still Mine is made from braids that I wore in October 2023, as part of my costume for yESteRDaZe*, and is hand sewn onto canvas. The background lettering is hand written in acrylic pen.