I’ve spent more time and money on hair than I’d even like to recall. As a child, relaxers transformed my thick, coarse hair into something straight and manageable, but they turned my shoulder-length hair into a short, brittle, hot mess. As a teenager, I transitioned to weave and extensions and I would spend hours in the salon or my cousin’s kitchen getting my hair done. Later, working in corporate America amplified this pressure to show up every day with an “acceptable” hairstyle. And after years pouring hours into presses, braids, perms, sew-ins, and detangling, this process became break-every-damn-comb-and-scream frustrating. For many Black women like myself, that experience was the norm.
My frustration reached new levels while I was a student at Harvard Business School (HBS). During that time, I would travel from Boston to New York City just to get my hair done. Mind you, I was also the sole caregiver of my sixteen-year-old sister. Despite what I was juggling in my personal life, fitting in those 207 miles was just a part of the routine.
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