蜜桃传媒

You begin the book with your own personal “hair story,” and describe how hair care connected you to your mother by giving you all quality time spent together. How did your personal hair journey inspire you to pursue the research for Natural? 

My personal hair journey is the backbone of my research for Natural. 

Growing up, hair wasn’t just about aesthetics for me鈥攊t was how I bonded with my mother.  Whether she was braiding my hair, or I was adorning hers, those moments weren鈥檛 simply grooming routines; they were expressions of connection, care, and creativity. However, along with the warmth of those memories came pain鈥攆rom chemical burns to stinging sores left behind by relaxers kept on too long to achieve the straightest hair possible.

In my household, we didn鈥檛 question the pain that came with beauty; it was part of the deal. But those hair rituals were rooted in something deeper: the pressure to conform to beauty standards that didn鈥檛 celebrate girls like me. My mom, too, faced these challenges as a professional Black woman working in predominantly white spaces. She knew what it took to navigate those environments, and I observed that straight hair seemed to be part of the equation for success.

It wasn鈥檛 until I got to Spelman College in the late 2000s that I started reflecting critically on my hair journey. At Spelman, like at many historically Black colleges and universities (HBCUs), we were taught that presenting ourselves “professionally”鈥攚hich often meant straightened hair鈥攚as a key to navigating the world we鈥檇 graduate into, which wouldn鈥檛 always value our Blackness. But through my studies in sociology and what I began to see online from Black women digital creators who were publicly experimenting with their natural kinks and curls, I began to question those standards. I stopped relaxing my hair and observed how that felt personally, and socially. This transition paralleled the rise of the natural hair movement, as well as my own intellectual growth in understanding how beauty norms connect to larger systems of power and control.That personal and academic journey fueled the research for Natural. It was always about more than just hair鈥攊t was about how Black women use beauty as a tool of resistance and self-expression in a world that often tries to police our bodies.

In your book, you describe a brief history of Black hair politics in politics and pop culture, invoking influential figures from Angela Davis to RuPaul Charles. How does the history of hair relate to a broader history of Black political movements? 

In Natural, I trace the history of Black hair politics because you simply can鈥檛 talk about the natural hair movement today without understanding the deep roots it has in our broader struggle for freedom, identity, and self-determination. Hair has always been political for Black people, whether we鈥檙e talking about the intricate hairstyles worn by our African ancestors or the straightened hair we adopted to navigate white-dominated societies. Figures like Angela Davis, with her iconic Afro, show how natural was used as a powerful symbol of resistance a half century before the natural hair movement of today. During the Black Power movement, Davis鈥� natural hair became a visual shorthand for Black pride.

Even in more recent decades, icons like RuPaul Charles challenged and expanded the boundaries of Black beauty and gender performance, showing us how hair can be both an act of personal expression and a form of political commentary. RuPaul’s drag persona highlights how Black hair and beauty standards have always been fluid and complex, constantly evolving alongside our movements for racial justice and equality.

Including this history was crucial to grounding readers in the fact that what鈥檚 happening today with the natural hair movement isn鈥檛 new鈥攊t鈥檚 part of a continuum. From slavery to civil rights to Black Lives Matter, Black hair has always carried layers of meaning. This historical context helps us understand why today鈥檚 naturalistas are doing more than just embracing their curls鈥攖hey鈥檙e continuing a legacy of using hair as both a personal and political act of resistance.

Can you define the term “misogynoir”? How do eurocentric beauty standards influence Black identity politics, and how do Black women use natural hair to combat it? 

Misogynoir, a term coined by Black feminist scholar Moya Bailey, describes the unique intersection of racism and sexism that Black women experience. Eurocentric beauty standards are a prime example, where features like straight hair and lighter skin are prioritized, forcing Black people to conform or be seen as less professional or attractive. Because women are disproportionately judged by their appearance, these standards hit Black women hardest. As a result, many Black women have been taught that in order to be seen as professional, attractive, or even acceptable, they need to alter or augment their hair.

This form of misogynoir is evident in institutions like the United States Army, where until recently, grooming standards long banned natural hairstyles like locs and Afros. Though framed as neutral by not explicitly referencing race, these rules disproportionately affected Black women and sent a clear message: Black hair is unprofessional. Many school policies around the world have the same effect, where primarily young Black girls are punished for wearing their hair naturally, reinforcing harmful stereotypes from an early age. 

Using natural hair as a symbolic protest, women push back against these norms, reclaiming their identities and challenging systems that police their bodies and appearance in deeply racialized ways. In the book, I describe how Black and Coloured girls at South Africa鈥檚` Pretoria Girls鈥� High School were able to dismantle a range of apartheid-era policies through their defiant embrace of natural hair. In this way, the natural hair movement is, at its core, about rejecting racist, sexist standards and embracing the beauty, versatility, and power of Blackness.

Natural hair care has become an issue of environmental justice for many women. How have activists and entrepreneurs tackled the toxic chemicals in many Black beauty products? 

I remember one of the first natural hair YouTube videos I ever watched鈥攁 tutorial on how to create hair gel out of flax seeds and shampoo out of bentonite clay. The natural hair movement鈥檚 do-it-yourself ethos responds to the beauty industry鈥檚 failure to treat Black women鈥檚 bodies as environments worthy of care and consideration. For decades, Black women have dealt with toxic chemicals in hair relaxers, perms, and other products marketed specifically to them, which not only damage hair but have been linked to serious health issues like aggressive forms of cancer and fibroid tumors. I interviewed several women navigating these challenges through the course of researching this book, who consciously redefined 鈥済ood hair鈥� as healthy hair in order to feel more confident on their path to wellness.

Entrepreneurs and activists alike have taken up the cause, calling out harmful ingredients used by industry titans while creating solutions rooted in Black women鈥檚 needs. In the chapter 鈥淕reen is the New Black,鈥� I interview  women like Sheila, a small-business owner who developed and launched her own lines of organic, fair trade, eco-friendly hair products on the course of her natural hair journey. More recently, I鈥檝e been inspired by companies like Rebundle, which creates plant-based hair extensions, and is part of a growing wave of Black-owned businesses that prioritize both beauty and wellness by offering alternatives to synthetic and chemical-laden products. These 鈥渘aturalpreneurs鈥� are redefining what “natural” means鈥攏ot just in terms of hair texture but also product formulas鈥� and are pushing the beauty industry at large toward environmental justice.

How did the expression, “Don’t Touch My Hair” become a rallying cry for activists protesting anti-Black racism? 

The natural hair movement emerged around the same time that the Black Lives Matter movement raised awareness and concern about racially motivated violence against Black people. While Black Lives Matter largely foregrounded the physical violence experienced by Black men at the lands of police and vigilantes, Black women鈥檚 experiences of gendered racism were often rendered invisible or marginal. The natural hair movement brought these experiences into sharper focus though rallying cries like 鈥渄on鈥檛 touch my hair,鈥� which captured the emotional weight of everyday physical violations of Black women鈥檚 bodies, like petting hands from strangers and TSA security checks of Afros, wigs, and weaves at the airport.

鈥淒on鈥檛 touch my hair鈥� is not just a demand for respect; it is a claim to bodily autonomy, challenging the notion that Black women鈥檚 bodies are available for public consumption and turning a personal boundary into a public protest.

You ask the question, “who can be natural, where and why?” in your book; what’s your answer? 

While anyone who does not chemically alter their hair texture is 鈥渘atural鈥� by common definition, at its core, the natural hair movement is about reclaiming the beauty of kinky and curly hair in the face of anti-Black racism. 

Despite cultural and historical differences among women I interviewed in Brazil, the United States, the Netherlands, and South Africa, the natural hair movement created shared spaces and cultural material for people across the African diaspora to reclaim pride in their beauty and connection to African ancestry. 

What are the key takeaways you want readers to get from your book? 

For scholars, especially sociologists, I hope Natural highlights the importance of the body in racial formation theory, which has often been overlooked in favor of focusing solely on social constructionism. While it’s crucial to understand race as socially constructed, it鈥檚 equally important to recognize how our bodies鈥攈ow we present them and how they are policed鈥攕hape racial meaning. Hair, in particular, becomes a visible and tangible site where race, gender, and power intersect. By centering the natural hair movement, I aim to show that Black women’s embodied experiences provide critical insight into how race operates on both personal and systemic levels.For everyday readers, my biggest hope is that Natural encourages reflection on what their own beauty practices say about them and the social hierarchies they live within. I told the story of the natural hair movement to inspire critical thinking鈥攂ecause everyone has a hair story, whether you realize it or not. As a mother to a young daughter, this has been my most personal takeaway: being mindful of the messages I send her about beauty and hair, so she grows up feeling confident in exploring her creativity without thinking there鈥檚 only one right way, whether that鈥檚 natural or straight. I want readers to feel empowered to leave behind the beauty standards that don鈥檛 serve them, while also understanding the historical context that has shaped these choices. It鈥檚 about finding freedom in how we express ourselves while staying aware of (or dismantling!) the larger forces at play.

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Chelsea Mary Elise Johnson is a sociologist and user-experience researcher specializing in trust and inclusive design in technology. She is the co-author of two critically acclaimed sociology books for children: IntersectionAllies: We Make Room For All and Love without Bounds: An IntersectionAllies Book about Families. Her work has appeared in Women鈥檚 Review of Books, Sociology of Sport, Ms. Magazine Blog, and Teen Vogue.