Issue 04, Chronicles
De-Racing Hair
This isn’t a sob story or coming-of-age tale about hair. It’s not the familiar arc of rejecting one’s natural curls in pursuit of an imposed ideal, only to later reclaim them in an act of self-acceptance. If anything, it challenges that trajectory entirely.
As a teenager in the early aughts, I never understood the craze around straight, silk-pressed hair. It seemed like everyone was chasing that look. My friends and I even tried ironing our hair on an actual ironing board, inevitably ending up with burnt foreheads and singed earlobes because none of us had the dexterity—or common sense—to avoid mishandling the tools or each other’s hair. I tried it twice before showing up to a house gathering, forehead half-scorched, in front of a crush. I thought, Nope, not for me.
From an early age, my goal was never to tame or flatten my curls—it was the opposite. I wanted more volume, more curls. I wanted to embrace my East African heritage, to make it evident in my appearance rather than fade into an ethnically ambiguous look. Thicker, bouncier, bulkier curls were the ultimate dream. I kept my hair mostly natural, never experimenting with harsh chemicals or excessive heat.
Fast forward to my 30s, and suddenly everything changed. My once-thick, defined curls began to thin, transforming into limp waves. For years, I chased every hair trend on TikTok, hoping to revive my bounce, but nothing seemed to work. The more I tried, the frizzier and more unruly my hair became. I couldn’t bring myself to accept that hormonal changes could affect my hair texture at this stage in life, so I continued searching for a solution. My hair stayed heavy, though, and whenever it grew past a certain length, I’d develop neck pain that made me want to shave it all off.
So I began researching bobs, desperate for a change. My past experiences with hairstylists had left me wary, like the time a stylist loudly exclaimed, “J’en reviens pas de ton épaisseur ! Eille, la gang, venez voir ça !” as I sat with my head in the sink, the thickness of my locks becoming an unintended spectacle for every Vanessa and Isabelle in the salon.
This time, I decided to seek out a salon that specialized in curly hair. My first question was “How short can I go?” Instead of an immediate answer, I was referred to Michal Harewood, their top expert. With nothing left to lose after years of fruitless efforts, I agreed to book the appointment.
I arrived at the salon with little hope—so little that I didn’t bother taking before photos. I was convinced there wouldn’t be an after, that I’d just see the same undefined curls staring back at me. But from the very first minute of the appointment, Michal proved me wrong.
Before even picking up the scissors, she took the time to listen to my concerns. After hearing me out, she revealed things about my hair I had never noticed myself. She broke down my hair’s porosity, texture, and structural needs, pinpointing the missteps in my care routine. She even pointed out that I had more hair on my left side than my right, which finally explained why one side always took longer to detangle. She didn’t just cut my hair—she took the time to educate me.
More importantly, Michal unpacked the myths and biases baked into the hair industry. She’s a powerhouse of knowledge, with over a decade of study and writing about curls, cuts, and patterns. One of the most enlightening concepts she introduced me to was the idea of “de-racing” hair. According to Michal, race should be removed from the conversation about hair types and textures. The notion of “straight hair,” often associated with specific cultures, is a misconception. Nothing in nature is entirely straight or flat—not even hair. Every strand exists somewhere along a spectrum of curls.
Over the decades, straight hair has been venerated and sought after. Michal explained that within the world of haircuts, the “quadrant” style—characterized by cubic, linear cuts—has dominated the field. This doesn’t follow the natural flow of hair, which tends to form more organic, rounded shapes, like the petals of a flower. Instead, quadrant cutting forces hair into rigid, geometric forms. Achieving this artificial look often involves the use of chemical treatments and heat, both of which damage hair over time.
Three hours later, my skepticism gave way to shock. My curls were back—bouncy, healthy, and more vibrant than I’d seen them in over a decade. I couldn’t stop laughing at my own reflection, hardly believing the transformation, all while showering Michal with endless thank-yous. I may not have taken any before photos, but you can be sure I made up for it with plenty of after shots.
For years, I’d tried replicating techniques from online tutorials, but none of them compared to the hands-on guidance and personalized advice Michal provided. She didn’t just restore my curls; she introduced me to a version of myself I didn’t know existed. Not the version I’d wanted back, but better: one with a deeper, more attuned understanding of what I needed to be myself.