“Her Hair Is Too Curly.”

“Her hair is too curly. The stylist isn’t comfortable cutting it.”

Picture of the author's daughter from her personal photo library.

The white, straight-haired receptionist said this to my biracial, bouncy haired daughter and I, as we sat in the waiting area. We’d arrived to the hair salon a few minutes before and hadn’t seen or spoken to the stylist with whom I scheduled the appointment. But somehow the stylist had seen us.

Let’s back up. All of us, in my mixed raced family, have curly hair. Hair is kind of a big deal. We research and test protective styles, have particular wash day routines, only use curly hair products, sleep in silk bonnets on silk pillow cases, and take extra precaution to safeguard our curls when swimming in chlorine or the ocean. Curly hair is a part of the family.

Other people make a ballyhoo over our curls too. They ask if they can touch it (you can read a post about that here). Some wonder aloud about how we care for or how we got such curls. They question how long our hair might be or how different we’d look, if we straightened it. There’s mystery and intrigue that appears to surround curly hair.

For a long time, my biracial daughter has wanted a haircut. A seemingly simple request, right? Not so for us.

Every curly haired person I know will attest, finding a stylist who knows how to cut and style curls, isn’t straightforward. I’ve made mistakes in the past, like ending up with hair obscenely shorter than I wanted because a stylist didn’t expect the curls to spring up so much. Or leaving the salon with soaking wet hair because, after seeing how the stylist cut my hair, I didn’t trust them to dry it. Then there was my son’s first hair cut. After the person finished, I cried because it looked so bad. And his haircut was done in an establishment specifically for children of color, with curly and textured hair. A place where our friends took their kids. We had to get a second haircut to fix the first.

The stakes were high with my daughter’s haircut too. This was the first time my girl wanted a style very different from every other one she’s chosen. Different too from the other curly haired kids that we know.

Our young one was taking ownership of her look and her dad and I were absolutely for it. She was stepping into the hope that we have for all three of our kids, that as much as the world tries to confine and define them, they remain free to be their beautiful selves. That their light and life won’t be dimmed. This haircut was about more than shorter hair.

I say she’s wanted this for a long time because scheduling it turned into an ordeal. In going about the planning, we encountered a couple challenges. First, we were unable to reach the trusted stylist we’d been to in the past and a second trusted hair professional didn’t have space to add us to her already overbooked schedule. Next, was finding that many curly hair service establishments won’t cut hair for children under age 10. Or, at least, they aren’t looking to take on new younger-than-age-10 clients.

After months of finding a curl specialist and being told again, and again, we don’t work with or aren’t taking new clients who aren’t yet 10, my girl and I were frustrated. She didn’t know the ins and outs of her dad and I contacting the shops and salons, but she let us know that she was starting to wonder if the lack of an available appointment was about her. That something about her hair was making it difficult.

Tired of waiting, feeling defeated by the process, and aware explanations weren’t landing well with my daughter, I took a chance. Against my better judgement, I made an appointment with a salon that has a good reputation. It was a salon that I’d been to, one where I’d gotten my own curly hair cut.

I hadn’t made an appointment for my daughter at this salon before now because, when I’ve gone, I didn’t like how I felt when I was there. This place felt exclusive, in a bad way. Also, I’ve never seen a client of color in the salon when I’ve gone. I only go back to this salon because the stylists do a great job with my curly hair and I have limited options.

I didn’t want my biracial kid in this mostly or all white space feeling like she didn’t belong. What adult wants to purposefully put a kid they care for in a place where they’re likely to feel unnecessary unease or rejection? I didn’t want anything to damper or mess this up for her.

But, I chose to assume it’d be fine. That the salon could easily cut her little kid curly hair. That we’d be in and out before my girl could feel people noticing her difference and that, if she sensed them doing so, the delight of finally getting her desired style, would eclipse all else.

I reasoned that she wouldn’t need a special sort of booking — I thought a hair salon that caters to curly hair, even if it’s white curly hair, could work out. Getting my own curls cut and styled here, didn’t require a special appointment. I ignored a lot — my intuition, the accrued skills and knowledge I had of curly hair, my discomfort with the place — and the appointment was set.

The day of the haircut, my girl shook with excitement. We made a thing of it — leaving early to enjoy a quick coffee and hot chocolate date. We celebrated her style and self-determination. I wanted her to take pleasure in her ability to choose what she felt was best for her hair — to joyfully experience a bit of autonomy.

I soon learned that my assumptions and decision to set aside what instinct and experience taught me, was the wrong choice. The stylist I scheduled with, couldn’t cut her hair — as the receptionist pointed out upon our arrival. After almost a year of waiting, I didn’t want my kid to leave this place without getting what we came for. I didn’t want my mistake to ruin what my daughter saw as a momentous event. More than that, my girl heard the receptionist say, “her hair is too curly” and I didn’t want my kid to feel like we had to leave because this place rejected her.

Now, I definitely don’t want someone who isn’t comfortable with curly hair, touching the head of anyone in my family. But this stylist hadn’t seen my daughter’s hair up close. They didn’t know I’d carefully gotten all the tangles out. They hadn’t touched her hair to see that it’s silky soft, softer than my own white girl curls. They didn’t know what sort of haircut she came in for. Was it my daughter’s hair or her brown skin that led the stylist to conclude they couldn’t do it? Was my daughter wondering the same thing?

And as the words “too curly” were spoken, I saw my daughter’s shoulders droop, her head hang down, her smile vanish. I saw disappointment take the place excitement just held. I saw something else come over her too… was it humiliation?

My daughter glanced around. The salon was full of clients getting fresh styles, several with curly hair, just like hers, but with white skin, like mine. She knew that this place works for me and my hair. Tears began to form in her eyes — was she questioning what makes her so different, so troublesome? Could this add to an already present doubt she holds of her beauty and worth? My heart sank.

I had gotten us here and it seemed things would only get worse. Why had I assumed it would be ok, that the professionals, in this white hair salon, could cut her biracial hair? I should have trusted my instincts more. I should have looked out for my little one better.

I put my arm around my daughter and gave her a squeeze. I needed to act. “Ok. What are our options?“ I asked. The receptionist told us that she’d check and walked away.

Then I saw her — the woman who’s cut my hair in this salon several times. She walked over and greeted us. I realized that she had been standing nearby during our conversation with the receptionist. I’m sure she heard that bit about my daughters hair.

Attempting to salvage whatever positivity remained, I proudly explained to the stylist how we were here to get my daughter a new style that she had picked herself. I introduced my daughter. I told the stylist how I appreciate my daughter’s self-confidence. How’s she’s creative, artistic and clever. Trying to help my girl feel more at ease, I told her that this is the person who cuts and styles my hair when I come to this salon.

Similar to the first stylist, I don’t know exactly what this one saw when she looked at us. But anyone who looked our way, could probably tell that my daughter was about to cry. Maybe they could see my panic too.

The stylist asked what kind of cut we wanted. I showed her a picture of the look. “That’s gorgeous!” she said. “I know the other stylist isn’t able to do that sort of cut, I can do it for you, if you like.”

The stylist said she just had a spot open up in her schedule, something that seemed untrue as I watched her work on my daughter and assign a second client to her assistant. She told us she thinks the style suits my girl. Said her hair is amazing and that she loves curly hair the most.

And that’s it. My disheartened little girl brightened. The sincere and simple kindness the hairstylist showed, the way she made the problem about technique and stylists being differently trained and not about my girl and her curls, the way she reassured my daughter throughout the entire time as she did her work, turned it all around. My little girl beamed. My heart was full.

As we left the salon my daughter said “I love it. I love my hair.” Her head held high, a wide smile on her face.

It’s amazing what new hair and a little kindness can do. This day and this salon, provided another lesson in how there’ll be some times where I’m going to mess up. But, there’ll also be some, where I get it right. For today and everyday, and for all of us, I wish grace and self trust easy to come by. I hope too for kindness to show up for each of us, because, I’m sure, we could all use more of it.