What is the historical influence of colonialism on textured hair standards?

Roots

The story of textured hair, particularly Black and mixed-race hair, is not merely one of aesthetic preference. It is an enduring chronicle of survival, an ancestral memory etched into every coil and curl, a vibrant testament to resilience in the face of profound upheaval. To truly grasp the historical influence of colonialism on textured hair standards, we must listen to the whispers of generations, recognizing hair as a living archive of identity and belonging. This journey begins not with a lament, but with a deep reverence for what was—and what remains—a sacred aspect of self.

Ancestral Understandings of Textured Hair

Before the shadows of colonial ships stretched across the shores of Africa, hair was a profound symbol. In pre-colonial societies across the continent, hairstyles were not random choices; they were intricate visual languages, a rich form of communication. A person’s hair could convey their age, marital status, social standing, tribal identity, wealth, and even their religious beliefs (Byrd and Tharps, 2014). Elaborate styles, sometimes taking days to complete, signified the wearer’s dedication to community and tradition, reflecting a deep connection to lineage.

For example, among the Yoruba, hair was considered the most elevated part of the body, and braided styles served to send messages to the gods. Shaved heads, intricate plaits, and the use of natural adornments like beads, cowrie shells, and ochre were commonplace, each carrying specific cultural weight and artistic expression.

Pre-colonial African hairstyles formed a complex visual language, communicating identity, status, and spiritual connection within communities.

The very act of styling hair was a communal ritual, a time for sharing stories, building bonds, and transmitting ancestral knowledge from elder to youth. It was a period of intimate connection, a tender thread weaving individuals into the larger fabric of their collective heritage. This reverence for textured hair, in all its varied forms, was inherent and universally celebrated within these societies. There was no concept of “good” or “bad” hair, only the diverse expressions of a shared human experience, deeply rooted in specific cultural contexts.

The Unraveling of Heritage

The advent of colonialism shattered this rich tapestry of hair meaning. With the transatlantic slave trade, millions of Africans were forcibly removed from their homelands, their cultural practices brutally suppressed. Slave traders often shaved the heads of captives, a deliberate act of dehumanization designed to erase identity and sever cultural ties (Byrd and Tharps, 2014). This stripping of hair was a symbolic death, tearing individuals from their ancestral roots and forcing them into a new, brutal reality where their bodies, including their hair, were redefined as inferior.

European colonists, operating under a self-proclaimed “civilizing mission,” classified Afro-textured hair as closer to animal fur or wool than human hair. This racist categorization served to validate the enslavement and exploitation of African peoples, reducing them to subhuman status. The term “dreadlocks,” for instance, is said to have originated from slave traders’ descriptions of naturally matted African hair as “dreadful” during the Middle Passage. This derogatory perception created a racial dichotomy where “White” features, including straight hair, became the arbitrary standard of beauty and civility, while anything different, particularly Afro-textured hair, was deemed “ugly,” “unruly,” and “unprofessional”.

A powerful historical example of this direct imposition of colonial hair standards is the Tignon Laws implemented in Louisiana in the late 18th century (1786). These laws mandated that free Black women, who were increasingly wearing elaborate and eye-catching hairstyles, must cover their hair with a simple knotted headwrap, or “tignon,” when in public. The intent was clear ❉ to visually mark these women as racially inferior, to control their appearance, and to prevent them from “competing” with white women for social status or the attention of white men.

This legal enforcement of hair suppression serves as a chilling testament to how colonialism directly influenced textured hair standards, elevating European aesthetics while simultaneously degrading and devaluing ancestral practices. The Tignon Laws were not isolated incidents; they reflected a broader, systemic effort across colonial territories to dismantle Black identity, using hair as a prime target for control and oppression. Even after the laws faded, the underlying anti-Black hair sentiment persisted, becoming ingrained in societal norms and internalised by many people of African descent.

Ritual

The ritual of hair care and styling, once a vibrant expression of communal life and individual standing in pre-colonial African societies, underwent a profound transformation under the relentless pressure of colonialism. This period forced a redefinition of what was considered appropriate, beautiful, and even acceptable for textured hair, pushing ancient practices to the margins or forcing their adaptation into new forms of resilience. The impact stretched beyond aesthetics, reaching into the daily lives, social interactions, and very self-perception of Black and mixed-race individuals.

Shifting Styling Paradigms

In the tapestry of African societies before colonial intrusion, hairstyles were not merely for decorative purposes. They served as a dynamic record, a living history of an individual and their community. Think of the intricate cornrows in West Africa, which could tell tales of lineage, marital status, or readiness for war.

These braids were sometimes used by enslaved people to carry secret messages or even map escape routes during the Middle Passage, demonstrating how ancestral styling transformed into a tool of survival and resistance against colonial oppression (BLAM UK CIC, 2022). Other accounts suggest rice and seeds were braided into hair, a way to smuggle sustenance and cultural memory across treacherous routes.

The forced journey across the Atlantic, the Middle Passage, brought not only physical hardship but also a systematic assault on cultural identity. Hair, once a symbol of pride and communication, became a target. The unsanitary conditions on slave ships, coupled with the deliberate shaving of heads by enslavers, stripped captives of their personal and communal identifiers.

When hair began to grow back in the New World, the limited resources available necessitated adaptive care. Yet, even in this harsh environment, traditional protective styles persisted, now serving the dual purpose of shielding fragile textured hair and retaining a link to a fragmented past.

Colonialism disrupted indigenous hair practices, yet paradoxically, it also spurred new forms of creative adaptation and cultural preservation through styling.

The imposition of Eurocentric beauty standards did not cease with the abolition of slavery. It evolved, subtly and overtly, into a pervasive societal pressure. The ideal of straight, smooth hair became synonymous with “civility” and “respectability,” leaving textured hair, with its coils and kinks, on the unfavorable side of a newly constructed beauty hierarchy. This led to widespread adoption of methods to alter natural hair, including hot combs and chemical relaxers, which mimicked European textures.

Madam C.J. Walker, a pioneer in Black hair care, popularized the hot comb in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, and by the mid-1920s, straight hair was often seen as a prerequisite for social mobility and middle-class status. While Walker built an empire addressing a real need for hair care, her methods also inadvertently reinforced the colonial ideal of straight hair, a complex legacy that scholars continue to unpack.

Cultural Forms of Resistance

Amidst this systemic pressure, resistance brewed. The Black is Beautiful movement of the 1960s marked a significant turning point, a powerful cultural reclamation of textured hair. The Afro hairstyle became a potent symbol of Black pride, self-acceptance, and a direct challenge to the Eurocentric beauty norms that had dominated for centuries. Activists like Marcus Garvey encouraged individuals to “Don’t remove the kinks from your hair, remove the kinks from your brain,” advocating for an internal shift in perception alongside the external embrace of natural hair.

This movement underscored the deep connection between hair and identity, transforming personal style into a political statement. It was a refusal to conform, a bold declaration of inherent worth, and a celebration of ancestral aesthetics. Even today, the choice to wear natural hair, or traditional styles like braids and locs, often carries a weight of cultural significance, signaling a connection to heritage and a stand against prevailing biases.

A look at the contrast between pre-colonial and colonial-era styling tools and techniques further illuminates this historical influence:

The impact of this historical shift is still felt in contemporary society. Discrimination against textured hair persists in workplaces and schools, where natural styles are sometimes deemed “unprofessional” or “distracting”. This ongoing struggle has led to legislative efforts like the CROWN Act in the United States, which aims to protect against discrimination based on race-based hairstyles. These legal battles underscore that the hair policies of the past, born from colonial mindsets, continue to shape perceptions and experiences today.

Relay

The legacy of colonialism extends deeply into the daily rhythms of textured hair care, transforming ancestral rituals and introducing new challenges that reverberate across generations. Our understanding of what constitutes “good” hair care, and the very ingredients we seek, has been profoundly shaped by this historical imprint, creating a complex interplay between tradition, oppression, and contemporary reclamation.

Ancestral Wisdom and Its Interruption

Before colonial powers fractured societies, hair care was a deliberate, mindful practice, often steeped in the bounty of the earth. Ancestral communities across Africa utilized a rich pharmacopeia of natural ingredients, each selected for its specific nourishing and protective properties. For instance, shea butter, derived from the nuts of the shea tree, was a staple across West Africa, valued for its moisturizing and healing qualities for both skin and hair.

Similarly, various oils, herbs, and clays were meticulously prepared and applied, not only to maintain hair health but also for spiritual purposes and ceremonial adornment (Oforiwa, 2023). The concept of “clean” hair was intrinsically linked to its vitality and strength, often achieved through natural cleansers that honored the hair’s inherent structure.

The imposition of slavery and colonialism deliberately severed these connections. Enslaved Africans, stripped of their traditional tools and ingredients, were forced to improvise, often using cooking oils, animal fats, or whatever was at hand, which were frequently detrimental to their hair. This forced adaptation represented a profound break from ancestral practices and knowledge systems. The colonial mindset, which deemed textured hair as “uncivilized” and needing “taming,” paved the way for the introduction of harsh chemical treatments and products designed to straighten and alter hair texture to conform to Eurocentric ideals.

Colonialism disrupted ancestral hair care practices, forcing adaptation and introducing chemicals that caused generational harm.

One poignant consequence of this colonial influence is the widespread use of chemical relaxers. These products, containing potent agents like lye (sodium hydroxide), were designed to permanently break down the hair’s natural curl pattern. While offering a path to societal acceptance in environments where natural hair was penalized, their use often came at a severe cost. Research has pointed to potential health risks associated with the long-term use of such products.

For instance, a study published in Cutis (Douglas, Onalaja, & Taylor, 2020) reviews ingredients in hair care products used by women of African descent, noting the historical prevalence of lye-based and no-lye relaxers and their potential adverse effects. Furthermore, research suggests a possible association between the use of certain hair products, including chemical relaxers, and increased breast cancer risk, particularly among Black women (Coogan, et al. 2017; Rosenberg et al. 2019). This medical evidence underscores a deeper layer of colonial impact, revealing how historical pressures for conformity led to choices with enduring health implications.

Reclaiming the Regimen of Radiance

The modern textured hair movement represents a powerful reclamation of this disrupted heritage. It involves a conscious return to practices that honor the unique biology of textured hair, often drawing directly from rediscovered ancestral wisdom while integrating contemporary scientific understanding.

• Shea Butter ❉ A rich, nourishing balm derived from the shea tree, traditionally used across West Africa for its deep moisturizing and protective qualities, now a staple in many natural hair products.
• Coconut Oil ❉ Historically used in parts of East Africa and the Caribbean, lauded for its ability to penetrate the hair shaft, providing moisture and reducing protein loss.
• Aloe Vera ❉ Used for centuries for its soothing and hydrating properties, finding its way into traditional remedies for scalp health and hair growth.
• Chebe Powder ❉ Originating from Chadian Basara women, this powder is a blend of herbs prized for its ability to strengthen hair, reduce breakage, and promote length retention when used in traditional hair masques.

Nighttime rituals, too, carry the echoes of resistance and care. The use of bonnets and silk or satin scarves for sleep protection, for instance, has practical benefits in reducing friction and preserving moisture in textured hair. Yet, their use also has a historical resonance.

While often associated with the post-slavery era as a means of managing hair, head coverings also have a deep African lineage, where elaborate headwraps were symbols of elegance, status, and cultural identity. The adaptation of these coverings for nighttime wear speaks to an ongoing need to protect and cherish hair that was once devalued.

Solving problems associated with textured hair today often involves recognizing the historical roots of these issues. Dryness, breakage, and scalp concerns, often exacerbated by past chemical treatments or inappropriate care methods, are now addressed through a holistic approach. This approach synthesizes traditional knowledge with modern trichology, emphasizing gentle cleansing, deep conditioning, and protective styling. It means looking beyond a “one-size-fits-all” approach to hair care, acknowledging the vast diversity of textured hair types, and understanding how historical trauma has shaped communal hair experiences.

The journey to hair wellness, then, is a journey of healing—healing from the physical damage, but also from the psychological wounds inflicted by centuries of colonial messaging. It is a process of reconnecting with ancestral self-worth, celebrating unique beauty, and passing on a legacy of pride and informed care.

Reflection

The legacy of colonialism, a shadow cast across centuries, undeniably shaped the standards by which textured hair came to be judged. It introduced a jarring dissonance, replacing ancestral reverence with notions of inferiority and requiring constant adaptation from Black and mixed-race communities. Yet, within this narrative of suppression lies an equally potent story of tenacity. Textured hair, in its myriad forms, has remained a steadfast beacon of cultural memory, an unwavering link to an enduring heritage.

Each strand holds a story, a vibrant thread connecting us to ancient rhythms of care, to acts of quiet defiance, and to bold declarations of self. The journey from pre-colonial celebration to colonial subjugation and, ultimately, to contemporary reclamation is a testament to the profound spirit of those who held fast to their identities. The current wave of natural hair appreciation is not a trend; it is a profound historical reckoning, a collective act of remembrance.

It is a conscious choice to honor the wisdom of those who came before, to reclaim the right to define beauty on one’s own terms, and to ensure that the soulful narrative of textured hair continues to be written, unbound and radiant, for generations to come. This living, breathing archive of hair, its heritage, and its care continues to unfold, revealing lessons of resilience, beauty, and unwavering spirit.