Growing up, my natural hair felt like a stranger on my head—something I had to tame just to be accepted. Still, the only time I truly felt connected to my hair was when it was in its naturally curly state. But that connection was fleeting. From a young age, I was taught that I was born with “pelo malo”—bad hair.
That phrase carried more weight than I initially realized; it struck the heart of my sense of self. In the Dominican Republic, those words echoed everywhere—in beauty salons, on TV and family conversations—reminding me that my natural hair did not match what was considered beauty. Over time, I began to understand that these messages weren’t an isolated opinion but it was part of a culture deeply entangled with Eurocentric beauty ideas that quietly began to influence my self-image.
As these influences grew stronger within me, I drifted further away from my natural self. I began to see my hair less of a reflection of myself and more like something I could mold to fit in. Even though most Dominicans have curly, textured hair, long and straight hair still remains the ideal—a reminder that beauty, for many of us, means sacrificing authenticity for conformity to be socially accepted.
My struggle, I later realized, wasn’t mine alone. The pressure to tame or alter our natural hair echoes the experiences of many Black women across cultures. Like many of them, I gradually began to equate straight hair with beauty, and beauty with worthiness. To fit in, I straightened, pressed and styled my hair. But each time I did, I was not just changing my look—I was trying to erase a part of myself to resemble a standard that felt imposed on me.
My story is not unique—and that is the problem. It mirrors the experiences of many young women who were taught the same lessons about beauty. As a Latina with naturally curly hair, I recognized how my own struggle with “pelo malo” parallels those of Black women who have faced generations of pressure to change or hide their hair to meet Eurocentric ideas. Our experiences are obviously not identical, but they are connected by the same standards that often define beauty through whiteness.
I also know that not everyone who chooses to straighten their hair does so out of internalized negative perceptions of their natural texture. Still, the broader issue remains: society’s normalization of straight hair over natural hair. The tools may have evolved but the message hasn’t. Today, straight hair is still widely seen as the norm—and, by extension, desirable.
This persistent standard was explored in an article addressing Marc Jacobs’ controversial comments about Black women straightening their hair. The article featured insights from researcher Chanel Donaldson, who explains that many Black women straighten their hair or engage in other “whitening” practices as a way to conform to white beauty ideals. Yet, Donaldson notes that these alterations often reduce Black beauty to what is merely “adequate or sufficient” rather than “beautiful.”
While Donaldson rightly points out that this standard falls short of fully celebrating Black beauty, the desire to feel and appear beautiful remains a central reason behind this styling choice.
To better understand why straight hair became so deeply normalized in the U.S. too, I looked back at history. In precolonial Africa, Black hair was celebrated for its diversity and cultural meaning. Hairstyle varied across communities reflecting status, age, religion, and even tribal affiliation. In many societies, hairstyle was so close to one’s sense of self that an unstyled hair was often viewed as a sign of mental illness.
This celebration shifted drastically after Africans were forcibly taken from their homelands. Hair, once a source of identity and belonging, was turned into a symbol of inferiority. Enslavers shaved the heads of those they captured as a delivery act of dehumanization—erasing cultural ties to their past and humiliating them.
The brutal conditions of slavery left little access to traditional grooming tools or natural ingredients, forcing many to abandon some long-held hair care practices. Consequently, their hair often became matted, tangled, and damaged. Despite brutal attempts to erase cultural identity, Black communities preserved their heritage through enduring hair traditions like braiding—an act of cultural resistance.
However, their natural Afro-textured hair became stigmatized by European colonizers, who labeled it as “dreadful,” “unprofessional,” or “dirty.” To enforce European beauty ideals, enslaved people—and later free women of African descent—were often required to cover their hair with bonnets or scarves, as exemplified by laws such as the 18th-century Tignon Laws.
Over time, pressures to conform to Eurocentric beauty standards led many to adopt hair-straightening methods as straighter hair was widely deemed more acceptable. Today, these standards continue to exert influence, pressuring people with black hair to conform in societal and professional settings to Eurocentric beauty ideas. This often fosters internalized shame, driving many—especially young women in their adolescence—to rely on harmful chemical relaxers.
After looking deeply into the normalization of straightened hair over naturally Afro-textured hair, I couldn’t help but wonder how Spanish Imperialism in the Dominican Republic shaped the way I’ve been seeing my curls. I learned to admire a standard of beauty that didn’t reflect me—one rooted on colonial ideals like mejorar la raza (“improve the race”) rather than cultural pride.
Today, before accepting straight hair as the benchmark of professionalism and beauty, we must confront the painful history behind that standard. Only then can we begin to truly embrace the full spectrum of beauty—not by correcting our natural hair, but by allowing ourselves to honor it.
This MFP Voices opinion essay reflects the personal opinion of its author(s). The column does not necessarily represent the views of the Mississippi Free Press, its staff or board members. To submit an opinion for the MFP Voices section, send up to 1,200 words and sources fact-checking the included information to voices@mississippifreepress.org. We welcome a wide variety of viewpoints.
