What historical biases against textured hair led to the CROWN Act?

Roots

Consider, for a moment, the very fiber of who we are, woven not just from bone and blood, but from story, from memory, from the very coils that crown our heads. For generations, the strands of textured hair have carried the weight of ancestral wisdom, whispered secrets of resilience, and sung silent anthems of identity across the globe. This isn’t merely a biological attribute; it is a living archive, a sacred inheritance.

Yet, this profound connection to our very being has, for centuries, been twisted, denigrated, and policed by forces seeking to impose a singular, narrow vision of beauty and acceptability. The biases that ultimately spurred the creation of the CROWN Act find their genesis in a deep, unsettling past, a history where hair became a battleground for dignity.

Before the harrowing journey of the transatlantic slave trade, hair in various African societies held a central, ceremonial place. It was a language spoken through intricate patterns and purposeful adornments. Hair could signify a person’s marital status, age, religious devotion, tribal lineage, wealth, or social standing. Skilled artisans, revered within their communities, would spend hours crafting elaborate styles, often using natural elements like plant-based butters and herbs to maintain the hair’s vitality and health.

These were not casual acts; they were rituals, communal gatherings that strengthened bonds and passed down generational wisdom. The physical structure of Afro-Textured Hair, with its distinct spiral-shaped curls and dense appearance, was seen not as a deviation, but as a natural manifestation of beauty and adaptation to intense sunlight, a testament to its evolutionary origins.

Then came the Middle Passage, a brutal severing from ancestral lands and traditions. Enslaved Africans were often subjected to forced head shavings, a deliberate act of dehumanization designed to strip away their cultural identity and sever ties to their homelands. This violent disruption marked the beginning of a systematic campaign to redefine Blackness, including its physical manifestations.

The rich terminology that once celebrated diverse hair textures was replaced by derogatory labels such as “wool,” “kinky,” and “nappy,” terms used to demean and establish an imagined inferiority. This linguistic degradation laid the groundwork for policies that would further oppress and control.

The historical biases against textured hair are deeply rooted in the forced erasure of ancestral identity during slavery, leading to centuries of imposed Eurocentric beauty norms.

One stark illustration of this deliberate suppression arrived in 18th-century New Orleans with the infamous Tignon Laws. These sumptuary laws, enacted in 1786 under Governor Esteban Rodríguez Miró, mandated that free Creole women of African descent cover their hair with a “tignon,” a scarf or handkerchief. These women, renowned for their elaborate and adorned hairstyles—often displaying their coils and curls with elegance and confidence—were perceived as a threat to the social order, particularly to the perceived status of white women. The law sought to visually mark them as subordinate, regardless of their free status, pushing them closer to the visual markers of enslavement.

Yet, even in this constraint, a defiant spirit arose. These women transformed the imposed tignon into a statement of style, choosing vibrant colors and intricate tying methods, subtly reclaiming a measure of agency and beauty. This quiet rebellion against oppressive mandates speaks volumes about the enduring spirit of Black people and their connection to hair.

Ritual

The echoes of that historical assault on textured hair continued to reverberate through generations, shaping the very rituals of care and community that define Black and mixed-race hair journeys. After emancipation, while physical chains were broken, societal pressures to conform to prevailing Eurocentric Beauty Standards remained a formidable force. The pervasive narrative suggested that “good hair” was straight, silky, and manageable, aligning with European phenotypes, while kinky or coily hair was deemed “bad,” “unprofessional,” or “untidy”. This forced many Black individuals, particularly women, to engage in practices that chemically or thermally altered their hair, often at significant personal cost and health risk.

The early 20th century saw the widespread adoption of tools like the Hot Comb and chemical relaxers, products designed to straighten textured hair. These processes, while offering a perceived path to social acceptance, often involved discomfort, potential scalp burns, and long-term damage to the hair shaft. The decision to straighten hair was rarely a simple aesthetic preference; it was frequently a calculated choice for survival, aiming to secure employment, educational opportunities, or simply to avoid public scrutiny and harassment. This struggle reveals the profound link between hair and socioeconomic mobility, a link that denied people the freedom to express their natural selves.

What forms of oppression followed the Tignon Laws?

Beyond the Tignon Laws, the policing of Black hair manifested in myriad forms throughout the 20th century. School dress codes, workplace grooming policies, and even military regulations often implicitly or explicitly banned natural Black hairstyles, perpetuating the notion that such styles were inappropriate for formal or professional settings. Children were sent home from school, adults denied jobs or promotions, all due to the texture or style of their natural hair.

The enduring struggle against hair discrimination stems from a colonial legacy that equated professionalism with Eurocentric straight hair, coercing Black individuals to alter their natural coils for societal acceptance.

This systematic bias extended to the very language used to describe hair. The Andre Walker Hair Typing System, while popular today, emerged from problematic origins. The original hair type categorization system, developed in the early 1900s by Eugen Fischer, a eugenicist, was used to determine “Blackness” based on hair texture during a period of genocide in Namibia.

While modern classifications aim for neutrality, this historical context underscores how even scientific endeavors were once weaponized against textured hair, contributing to the hierarchy of hair types that still impacts perceptions today. This system has contributed to Texturism, a form of discrimination where individuals with coarser, tighter coil patterns (often categorized as 4c) experience greater bias than those with looser curls.

Despite these persistent challenges, the inherent pride in Textured Hair Heritage never truly diminished. The 1960s and 1970s witnessed a powerful resurgence of the Natural Hair Movement, deeply intertwined with the Civil Rights and Black Power movements. The Afro, in particular, became a potent symbol of Black identity, protest, and a defiant embrace of inherent beauty.

It was a visual declaration, asserting cultural pride and rejecting imposed standards. This period marked a critical shift, as individuals began to reclaim their ancestral connection to their hair, viewing it not as something to be tamed, but as a crown to be worn with honor.

Relay

The enduring struggle against hair discrimination, though rooted in centuries past, reached a critical juncture in recent decades, culminating in legislative action aimed at preserving the intrinsic connection between textured hair and cultural identity. Despite the momentum of the Natural Hair Movement, Black individuals continued to face widespread discrimination in schools and workplaces. This persistent bias prompted a concerted effort to codify protections into law, acknowledging that discrimination based on hair texture or style is indeed a form of racial discrimination.

How has hair discrimination shaped Black experiences in modern institutions?

The modern era has seen myriad documented instances where individuals were penalized for their natural hair. Consider the case of Andrew Johnson, a high school wrestler in New Jersey, forced to cut his locs before a match in 2018. Or Faith Fennidy, a young girl sent home from school in New Orleans for wearing braids. These incidents, alongside countless others, illustrate the ongoing policing of Black bodies and identities through hair regulations.

A 2019 study, the CROWN Workplace Research Study, revealed that Black Women’s Hair is 2.5 Times More Likely to Be Perceived as Unprofessional, and Black women are 54% More Likely to Feel They Need to Straighten Their Hair for a Job Interview to succeed. Such statistics lay bare the systemic nature of the bias, demonstrating its tangible impact on educational and employment opportunities.

This discrimination is not merely an aesthetic preference; it carries significant mental, emotional, and economic tolls. The pressure to conform often leads to feelings of marginalization, stress, and diminished self-esteem. The financial burden of chemical treatments or wigs, sometimes perceived as necessary for “professionalism,” adds another layer of inequity.

Black consumers spent $2.3 billion on hair care in 2022, making it their largest beauty and skin purchase category, with permanent straightening treatments ranging from $38 to $435 per session. These are real costs incurred in the pursuit of acceptance, a pursuit often driven by discriminatory standards.

• Chemical Relaxers ❉ Used for decades to straighten coils, often causing scalp burns and breakage.
• Thermal Straightening ❉ Hot combs and flat irons, providing temporary straightness but risking heat damage.
• Wigs and Weaves ❉ Often worn as a protective style, yet sometimes adopted to mask natural texture for perceived acceptance.

The impetus for legislative change gained significant momentum from this ongoing reality. The very title of the CROWN Act, standing for “Creating a Respectful and Open World for Natural Hair,” encapsulates its core purpose ❉ to affirm the inherent dignity of textured hair and protect individuals from discrimination based on their hair texture or protective styles, including braids, locs, twists, and Bantu knots. This legislation broadens the definition of race within anti-discrimination laws to include hair, recognizing that hair is inextricably linked to racial identity and heritage for Black and mixed-race individuals.

The CROWN Act emerged as a direct response to persistent hair discrimination, striving to legally safeguard ancestral hair expressions as fundamental aspects of racial identity.

California pioneered this movement, enacting the first CROWN Act in 2019, expanding protections in employment and education. This landmark decision ignited a wave of similar legislative efforts across the United States. As of June 2023, twenty-three states had passed similar legislation. While a federal CROWN Act passed the House of Representatives in 2022, it has yet to be enacted at the national level, facing obstacles in the Senate.

This legislative journey, though incomplete, signifies a collective societal shift, a growing recognition that hair is not “just hair” for Black communities. It is a profound manifestation of cultural identity, a legacy passed down through millennia.

The legislation’s aim is not to dictate style, but to ensure that individuals have the freedom to express their heritage without fear of professional or academic repercussions. It addresses a deep historical wound, validating the beauty and appropriateness of natural hair in all spaces. The passage of the CROWN Act is a testament to the enduring advocacy of countless individuals and organizations, including the CROWN Coalition, who have tirelessly championed this cause. This collective action underscores a societal awakening to the systemic nature of hair discrimination and the imperative to dismantle such biases, allowing every strand to speak its truth without fear of judgment.

Reflection

The story of textured hair, from its ancient roots as a profound marker of identity to its contemporary status as a symbol of resilience, is a living testament to the enduring spirit of Black and mixed-race communities. The journey towards the CROWN Act is but one chapter in this vast, ongoing chronicle—a chapter etched with struggle, yet illuminated by a fierce determination to reclaim and celebrate what was once systematically devalued. The very coils and spirals that have been deemed “unprofessional” or “unruly” are, in truth, an architectural marvel, designed by millennia of adaptation, carrying the ancestral wisdom of sun-kissed lands.

As we consider the path that led to this legislative moment, we are reminded that true wellness, for hair as for soul, flows from authenticity. It calls us to listen to the whispers of tradition, to honor the natural inclination of each strand, and to recognize the inherent beauty woven into every pattern of growth. The CROWN Act, while a legal instrument, also serves as a cultural marker, signifying a societal shift towards a more inclusive understanding of beauty and belonging. It stands as a beacon, guiding us toward a future where heritage is celebrated, not suppressed, and where every individual can wear their crown with unwavering pride, knowing its history, its science, and its sacred place in the tapestry of human experience.