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Aharoun: My Hair Was Constantly Policed Growing Up

Aharoun describes how different hairstyles he tried growing up had implications and consequences, and why that was wrong.

The first thing I can remember is the Nike tick. That hairstyle was a signature look of my youth. If you had the logo etched into your haircut you were THE GUY. But in order to keep the style fresh you had to cut your hair incessantly, which wasn’t cheap.

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My next phase was wanting to have my hair like David Beckham. He was (still is) an icon on and off the pitch. I loved how he would change up his style and could seemingly rock any look. I particularly remember one spiky look he had and how it would make the girls swoon. Obviously I knew I was black and my hair couldn’t do that, so I had to look elsewhere for hair models.

My mum, for an African mother, is quite liberal. I mention this because after Beckham the next look I wanted was Lil Bow Wow. The combination of braids and beads looked awesome, and when I told her that I wanted to grow out my hair she didn’t bat an eyelid. My father, on the other hand, did not like the idea. I remember him saying it would make me look like a girl and that it wasn’t proper. This was the first time I hit the political minefield that is black hair but at the time I just thought it was my dad showing his African upbringing (I mean, this was the same man who had an earring, but I digress).

Unperturbed I kept my resolve and grew out my afro long enough for it to be braided.I can still remember the first time I had it done at a saloon in Paris. It was horrific. I had long viewed my sisters as drama queens for the way they would fuss and squirm as their hair was braided but with hindsight, I was an idiot. Beauty can be pain but braiding was torture, especially the first time as my hair was just long enough to braid.

Key word - ‘just’. This meant I had to use extensions and had to have my hair blow-dried to maximise its length. Detangling and straightening hair is not a pleasant experience for black hair that in its natural state likes to curl. Add to that extreme heat close to the scalp and you’ve got a recipe for disaster. Now I can’t be sure but I fervently believe the first woman who braided my hair must have been a sadist because that is the only explanation I have for why she proceeded to blow dry my hair by way of running the lava-like hot comb against my scalp. For reference, that is not proper technique and so my head was even more sensitive and thus the actual braiding hurt more. I can still remember crying myself to sleep in my aunt’s apartment in Paris.

It wasn’t all bad. Some styles hurt less than others, the pain lessens with time and (sans the first time) the discomfort was usually outweighed by how much I liked the look. People did say I looked like a girl but I credit my mum with giving me the confidence in myself to take those comments in my stride and wear my hair proudly - at least, most of the time. I remember when I was applying for secondary school and went for the open day of one prestigious school in particular. I wore a hatbecause even though I didn’t really believe itI had internalised the narrative that my braided hair wasn’t proper. It took seeing another boy with braids to give me the confidence to take off my cap.

I did continue to rock braids atthe secondaryschool I attended in year seven up until the day my mum informed me and my sisters that we were going to Nigeria. That’s a whole other story by itself but I do remember almost instantly coming to the realisation that I needed to cut my hair. Again this is significant because I did not believe there was anything wrong with my hair but I knew it would not be tolerated, and although it’s easy to blame that on the cultural norm in Nigeriait speaks to a wider issue. People like my dad were brought up thinking there was a set way to be, a standardto live by in order to conform to western ideals. It’s the reason that in a country where temperatures average in the mid-20s you have people wearing suits.

For a black man in the west, the most acceptable hairstyle was a number one with a fade. So while in Nigera I toed the line, with my wildest style being a mohawk that took two attempts to do as my barber shaved my hair clean down the middle on the first try (facepalm).

As soon as I returned for A-levels however I went straight back to growing it out and had started braiding it already by the time I reached uni. But by this point, I had started to conform. I hadn’t even started my second term by the time my dad started asking me about internships, which lead to advice about putting my best foot forward, which landed us ondiscussions about my hair. The language he used had evolved, the hair was now 'unprofessional'. And it was at this point that I could no longer argue.

Let me be clear, I don’t think braided hair is unprofessional, but the world does. How else can you explain a boy being sent home from school because of it? With that in mind, regardless of how I felt, I realised one of the first lessons of ‘adulting’: compromise is a part of life. So I cut my afro into a more acceptable style, the high top. It's more palatable and I do love my high top, but along with a full beard I feel like I’m pushing the absolute limits of black male hairstyles. Which is sad when you think about it. I have colleagues with quiffs and man buns but I was deadly afraid when my blonde tips hadn’t quite faded out before I started work. Thankfully no one said anything (probably because I’m tall so it was often obscured) but the fact I am still fearful of hair tips of a lighter shade is telling.

I often admire artists like J Cole, Kendrick Lamar, Wretch 32 and Childish Gambino who have seemingly reached a level of success where they have moved beyond hair policing and thus have the freedom of expression. Black men are often lazily portrayed as hyper-masculine and aggressive and almost never as complex, three-dimensional individuals. These stereotypes are often then internalised and lead to generations of men that grow up thinking there is a set way or ideal of what a black man is.

It may seem silly but something as simple as a hairstyle could encourage honest expression and help us get to a place where we all feel free to express ourselves honestly and start to be seen as individuals rather than a monolith. And for me, that day cannot come soon enough.

- Aharoun Adeniyan

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