In The Chair - Curl Studio

Good hair, bad hair. Why do we call one type of hair ‘good’ and the other ‘bad’?

When I was still far too little to understand what it meant, my mother once said: “Unfortunately, you inherited your father’s bad hair, not mine.” From my father, I inherited my hair. From my mother, I inherited a judgment about it.

My mother once had curls herself. As a young girl, she wanted straight hair, so she laid hers on an ironing board and straightened it with a clothes iron. She, too, had once been taught that she had bad hair.

What is good hair, what is bad hair? Nobody explains it exactly, but you can pick it up from the comments. ‘Good hair’ is smooth and straight. Hair you can easily run a comb through, that blows in the wind. Hair that isn’t ‘difficult’.

‘Bad hair’ isn’t straight or smooth. It has a coarser texture and is harder to comb. It curls, coils and shrinks.

From the outside, they seem like ‘just’ words.
And it seems like ‘just’ hair. But when we straighten our hair, what are we really trying to change? Our hair, or the judgment attached to it?

Why words matter

Words assign value. When we call hair ‘good’ or ‘bad’, we’re passing judgment rather than simply describing a difference. And because hair is also connected to heritage and ethnicity, that judgment affects the people who wear it.

It’s more than ‘just hair’

Their natural features are portrayed as inferior, while those of others are seen as better. That judgment can become so deeply rooted that you want to change or hide what is naturally part of you. Like my mother, who spent her life straightening her curls. And later, me.

My mother once told me I had inherited my father’s bad hair. She was right: I did inherit his hair. But I’ve learned to let go of her judgment. My hair is anything but bad.
And so is yours.

Full article on Substack - link in bio 🩷

Why are curl specialists a thing? It’s actually pretty odd that we need them.

Maybe this sounds familiar: You always leave the salon with hair that’s way too short and frizzy. Or you go home with it blow-dried straight. Only when you wash it do you discover that your curls have been cut unevenly.

A quick detour to Rihanna’s Fenty Beauty. Remember when she launched her brand with forty shades of foundation? For someone who could always find their shade: a whole lot of bottles. For people who were always left out: finally, inclusion.

The brand took off. Other major beauty brands expanded their ranges. Dozens of shades became the new standard.

Why am I telling you this? Because I’m asking the same question about hair: what’s the standard? And does what’s available actually reflect the people who live here? In a diverse society, curls and afros are part of everyday life.

Do we see that diversity reflected in the services and products available?

Apparently not. So many people have wavy, curly or afro-textured hair, yet getting a good haircut still isn’t an option for many of them.

If we want to talk about a diverse, inclusive society where everyone feels welcome, that starts with the “small” things too. Feeling safe going to the hairdresser. Or finding something in the supermarket that works for your hair texture.

Does that mean curl specialists should disappear? Hopefully not. Otherwise, I’ll need to find a new job, and I actually quite like this one.

But I hope you come to me because you want to. Not because you have nowhere else to go.

And that you can feel comfortable in another hairdresser’s chair too, whatever your hair texture.

Full article on Substack, link in bio 🧡

sooo ready to cut these shapes, which one is your favorite? 💜

Deze week schrijf ik over de vraag die mensen met stijl haar nooit krijgen: “Mag ik je haar aanraken?” Volledige tekst vind je op Substack, link in mijn bio 🧡

PS: Heb je steil haar en dit wél al meegemaakt? Laat het me weten in de comments, ik ben echt benieuwd

Inspired by my own heritage, I wrote about hair, connection and hairitage on Substack. Read the full essay through the link in my bio 💛ⵣ