Didn’t Beyoncé Teach Us Not to Talk About Kids’ Hair?

“Take care of that kid’s hair,” someone commented on one of my recent posts. Their words stung. I, a proud mama, had just posted a video of my almost two-year-old daughter dancing. She was full of joy, smiling, laughing, and bouncing about to a song from her favorite shows. Their comment felt like an attack on that joy by attacking her appearance.

I could’ve shrugged their words off as “sticks and stones,” especially since there’s an unspoken expectation that social media users should be “used to” mean comments online. I am accustomed to negative statements when they are about me, an outspoken Black woman who can defend herself. I can always block the commenter if I don’t feel like engaging. However, none of that is true when it comes to my child. Criticizing a toddler is different. My toddler has a beautiful full head of healthy coils and curls that are occasionally styled, but, most days, it’s left out. Her hair doesn’t fit into the boxes of respectability that limit Black people. Instead, it’s free and doing its own thing, just like the free Black girl I am raising.

I responded, saying,“ Her hair is cared for. It’s healthy, she’s a baby, and it’s ok if her hair isn’t “done” all of the time. Stop being weird on the internet.” But I realized this comment offers an opportunity to discuss a larger cultural issue: We need to stop being “weird,” both on the internet and in person, about Black children’s hair. The criticisms or “weirdness” about Black kids’ hair is everywhere, especially online, but it is rarely discussed. I’ve created a list of a few things to consider before offering unsolicited comments on a Black child’s hair.

Black hair has always been policed as a form of control. 

Historically, to those outside of Black culture, Black hair was an affront. Black hair was often viewed as dirty, unkempt, unruly, something to be tamed or cut away. One of the first things enslavers would do to many of the enslaved Africans before trafficking them across the brutal, nightmarish Atlantic was to shave their heads.

This was a way to take away their identity and their humanity. They understood that making Black people feel ashamed of their appearance was an effective method of control. There was even legislation, like the “Tignon Laws” of antebellum Louisiana, that forced Black women, enslaved or free, to cover their beautiful coils and curls beneath head wraps.

The criticism and abuse Black people experienced around their hair had a long-term impact. It evolved into an expectation that “civilized” or “successful” Black people had straight, often relaxed tresses. Sadly, many Black people adopted this expectation too.   

Black children are especially vulnerable.

According to the website for The Crown Act, legislation that would protect Black people from hair discrimination, 1 in 2 children experience hair discrimination “as early as five years old.” But we know this starts even earlier. Most of us can remember the barrage of comments left on any picture of Beyonce’s then-toddler, Blue Ivy, an adorable child who, like many toddlers, didn’t always have her hair done. That fact left too many folks comfortable discussing and often insulting this little girl’s appearance. The pure condemnation from grown people over a very young child’s appearance was alarming.

One woman even went as far as to create a now-removed change.org petition titled “Comb Her Hair.” The petition insisted Beyoncé and Jay-Z have failed to “properly care” for their daughter’s hair and garnered thousands of signatures.

“It’s disturbing to watch a child suffering from the lack of hair moisture. The parents of Blue Ivy, Sean Carter, a.k.a Jay Z, and Beyoncé, have failed at numerous attempts of doing Blue Ivy’s hair,” she wrote. “This matter has escalated to the child developing matted dreads and lint balls. Please let’s get the word out to care for Blue Ivy hair properly.”

In the end, the Knowles-Carter family had the last laugh when we saw Blue Ivy standing, hands on hips, a halo of thick healthy curls and coils framing her face, in her mother’s “Formation” video as her mother sang “I like my baby heir with baby hair and afros.” 

But it shouldn’t have happened.

These negative messages about our hair can cause long-term trauma.  

Too many of us grew up with trauma associated with our hairstyles. We can remember being called tender headed and then threatened to be punished if we dared to complain, even if we were in pain. Many of us still cringe at the sight of a hot comb. 

Others grew up with the message that our natural hair was inappropriate for any special day. We knew that school pictures, church, recitals, or family gatherings weren’t a place to wear out hair in its natural state. In some cases, we learned that wearing our hair was never appropriate.

“The Doll Test” of the 1940s was one of the first to document how suggestions that lighter skin and loose hair is better impact children of all races and harms Black children's self-image. This continues today.

Black people’s appearances shouldn’t be up for public discussion, especially children.

Considering all the factors mentioned, our community should be kinder regarding our children’s hair. But we’ve seen too many examples of Black children’s hair being criticized or debated. Something about a free head of hair on a Black child does not sit right with many adults.

Perhaps it’s because free coils stifle respectability politics. Maybe it’s because it challenges expectations that demand every follicle on a child’s head be tamed. Or it could be internal bias that makes many cringe whenever they see a coil or curl instead of straight hair. Whatever it is, people need to do the work to consider the source and deconstruct their trauma before commenting on a child’s appearance.

We have the power to change our hair legacy.  

Do we want to pass down centuries of discrimination and years of our own personal trauma? Or do we want to free this next generation from this painful legacy? Our kids deserve to exist as they are, free from internal bias and commentary.

I want my daughter to love her hair and find joy in her texture. Just as Beyoncé affirmed her daughter’s natural hair, I affirm my daughter’s natural hair. I like my baby’s hair the way it is. It’s part of her, who she is, and I affirm that. I find no reason to force her or her hair to comply with rigid, rough—and, if we are being honest, racist standards—for Black hair. I still choose to lovingly style or not style my baby girl’s hair, knowing that each of those is our choice.

I want my daughter to love her hair and find joy in her texture. Just as Beyoncé affirmed her daughter’s natural hair, I affirm my daughter’s natural hair. I like my baby’s hair the way it is. It’s part of her, who she is, and I affirm that. I find no reason to force her or her hair to comply with rigid, rough—and, if we are being honest, racist standards—for Black hair. I still choose to lovingly style or not style my baby girl’s hair, knowing that each of those is our choice.