I can’t even begin to count how many times in my life I’ve been told, “people would pay a lot of money to have your hair,” referring to the coco-colored curls that flow past my shoulders.
Family members adored my curly ringlets because they made me special and unique. Curls are proudly worn by many Jewish girls and women, but being one of a few Jewish students in elementary and middle schools, the last thing I wanted was to stand out.
It’s an age-old trope that Jewish Ashkenazi women have curly, frizzy hair, which often provokes comments to straighten it, reinforcing harsh beauty standards. Growing up in the 2000s and 2010s, pin-straight hair was trendy and very few of my schoolmates had curly hair, so, in a typical youth-minded fashion, I desperately yearned to fit in.
When I was a tween, I got so excited about my trips to the hair salon, where my hairdresser would use a blow dryer and a round brush to flatten the curls. It took what seemed like forever of asking for my mom’s permission for a straightener before I finally bought one: a black and purple Remington ceramic iron. She was concerned, rightfully so, I’d damage my hair.
I remember the first time I wore my straightened hair to school with a black Abercrombie & Fitch crewneck sweatshirt and dark-wash jeans — a staple for a chilly day in the seventh grade. I got so many compliments on my hair that day and those comments continued beyond that year whenever I would straighten it. I took a mental note that it seemed that people generally liked my hair better when it was straight — and I agreed.
Straightening my hair became routine in middle school, and I’d get upset if even the tiniest wave was visible while using my flat iron. If I needed a confidence boost, I relied on straightened hair to make me feel better and achieve what a middle school girl’s hair “should” look like.
By the end of middle school, I became exhausted by the constant, self-inflicted pressure of feeling like I needed to change my appearance every day. I finally decided it would be easier and more sustainable to learn to love and take care of my hair as is.
As I started to return to my natural hair, I found the springy ringlets of my youth were no more. The constant heat had — as my mom predicted — left my hair a lifeless version of what it used to be. I was disappointed that I took my natural, healthy hair for granted for so long.
I needed to start from square one both physically and mentally. I took time to understand hair-care routines and buy products like Garnier Fructis’ curl scrunch, a curl gel I still use religiously.
I let my hair air dry to avoid using heat until I learned from online tutorials about using diffusers, and heat protectants and drying it upside down to get maximum volume and definition. These practices helped rejuvenate both my hair and my confidence. By investing time and patience into self-care, I was finally learning how to appreciate my natural qualities.
As I got older and moved on to high school and college, I found that my individuality should be celebrated. I met other girls from different backgrounds and cultures, and we bonded through our curly hair and hair care products. My curly hair became a defining characteristic among my friend group and instead of feeling left out, I felt empowered by embracing something societal beauty standards deemed undesirable.
Now, I wear my natural hair almost every day. While it doesn’t look the same as when I was younger, I enjoy taking care of it and find the washing, drying and styling a truly therapeutic experience that calms me during times of low self-esteem. When I do straighten my hair, I view it as a creative expression, instead of something to mask my identity.
Through learning to love my curly hair, I have found that I truly don’t mind standing out anymore.
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