Though, there was one exception to my hairstyling rule. I didn’t do it when I went back home to see my family. There was such a dichotomy between my life in London and who I was during my trips up north: the me I thought I had to present to the world, and the person I was at my most comfortable. When I headed out of the city, I no longer felt the same pressure to style my hair. Washing it in that deliciously soft northern water allowed my (damaged, but still very much present) curls to spring back to life – much to the joy of my family. And, if I’m honest, me.
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Years of flitting back and forth between these spaces, and personas, gradually brought me back to my curly hair again (along with years of being locked down, in which the ‘need’ to do anything with my hair vanished). I was reminded of the freedom that comes with leaving your hair to its own devices; how it feels to not get up an hour earlier to start a long-winded styling process. It’s a quiet, almost subconscious, act of self-acceptance.
This led to two full years without me using anything but the occasional blast of a diffuser on my hair. Two full years of it being curly. My hair became shinier, bouncier, healthier as a result. My mindset changed, too.
For the first time, I wore curly hair on nights out; I dated guys for months who never even knew I owned straighteners; I sat in meetings at work, advocated for myself and got a promotion, all with my natural hair tumbling across my shoulders. Those two years helped to rewire my brain: how I saw myself; what I deemed appropriate, acceptable, attractive.
So why now, after all this, is my hair straight again? Why has it been like this for weeks? Why have I, slowly but surely, begun to revert back to my old ways – straightening it when I need a confidence boost?
Something has shifted. Not just in me, but in wider society: our role models, our ideals, in the media we consume. It feels as though all of the ‘positivity’ movements of recent years are beginning to dwindle. Take the incredible wave of body positivity that saw people of all shapes welcomed into the fashion space. That somehow now feels like an age ago. Thanks to Ozempic, online fitness influencers, a resurgence of ’90s ‘heroin chic’ on style moodboards and the looming toxic January diet culture, thin is very much back in.
And while the Black Lives Matter movement swept across the world in 2020 – bringing education, awareness and a seeming celebration of the cultures, traditions and identities of People of Colour – I can’t help but feel as though the focus on representation, particularly by the media, is no longer a true priority. The initial outpouring of content was, hopefully, well-meant – but at the same time it was evidently performative.
In a landscape that’s supposed to have come a long way in terms of inclusion, the dedication to destabilising Eurocentric beauty standards has wavered. Conversations surrounding diversity continue to be difficult to navigate, inclusion often feels like a second thought and, particularly when it comes to beauty, many major brands still have a long way to go to truly represent and cater to darker skin tones and textured hair. So it’s no wonder that many of us feel pressured to continue to follow convention and straighten every wave, curl and coil.