By Munyaradzi Munaro
THE mirror reflects a powerful truth: beauty, in its most profound sense, is self-acceptance.
Yet, for too many African women, that reflection is clouded by a pervasive and deeply ingrained Westernised ideal of beauty — one that has created a multi-billion-dollar industry built on self-rejection.
African women spend an estimated US$6 billion annually on human hair products, including wigs, weaves and extensions ranging from affordable synthetics to exorbitant human hair from distant continents. This isn’t just a fashion trend; it’s a cultural phenomenon with profound implications for identity, self-esteem and economic empowerment.
The irony is, while we, as Africans, generally do not possess the naturally long, flowing hair celebrated in Western aesthetics, we diligently invest in hair sourced from Brazil, Cambodia, Peru, India and beyond. This insatiable demand for ‘foreign’ hair is not merely about personal preference; it’s a symptom of a deeper malaise — a collective aspiration for a look that is fundamentally un-African.
Dr Solomon Guramatunhu, a vocal proponent of African authenticity, poignantly highlights this disconnect. He observes that we readily discard our own cut hair, deeming it ‘dirty’ or ‘waste’, yet enthusiastically adorn ourselves with hair from Indian women, often shorn as part of rituals to cleanse negative energies or evil spirits.
The very ‘waste’ of another culture becomes our coveted crown — with our women wearing it as a badge of honour. This blatant juxtaposition exposes a disturbing psychological truth: we have internalised a devaluation of our own natural attributes.
In many African societies, a woman sporting Brazilian, Peruvian or Indian hair is often lauded as ‘beautiful’, while her natural hair, in its glorious African textures – kinky, coily, short or boldly shaven – is often deemed less desirable, less ‘presentable’. This twisted perception extends even to the most public platforms.
We see our representatives in beauty pageants, like Miss African Country X, no less competing with artificial enhancements against women whose hair is a natural extension of their heritage. How can an African woman truly triumph in such competitions when the very definition of ‘beauty’ being judged is alien to her natural being? It’s a rigged game, where authenticity is penalised and imitation is celebrated. We are, in essence, being encouraged to be fake, to conform to a standard that was never designed for us. Our women are fake, and our beauty is built on borrowed standards.
This pursuit of Westernised beauty standards isn’t just about aesthetics; it’s about respect. There is an undeniable correlation between embracing our originality and earning global respect. When we mimic others, we inadvertently signal a lack of confidence in our own identity. When we celebrate our inherent beauty, our rich skin tones, our diverse body types and critically, our unique hair textures, we project an unshakeable sense of self-worth that commands respect from others.
We do not need our women to emulate Western ladies to be beautiful. We love them as they are, in all their authentic glory. Our women possess an inherent strength, elegance and beauty that is deeply rooted in their African heritage. It is time for us to dismantle the mental chains that bind us to these imported ideals and to rediscover the profound beauty in our own being.
The year 2020 offered a powerful beacon of this liberating truth. When Limpopo-born Shudufhadzo Musida took the Miss South Africa crown with her natural, kinky, short hair, it was more than just a victory for her; it was a victory for every African woman yearning to see herself represented authentically. It was a resounding affirmation that African beauty, in its most unadulterated form, is not just beautiful, but truly regal.
Of course, the obsession with Western beauty standards is a consequence of decades of colonialism, which has instilled in us a sense of inferiority and self-doubt often driven by a deeply ingrained perception that equates these imported textures with beauty, professionalism and even social status. We have been conditioned to believe that our natural features are not beautiful, and that we must conform to Western beauty ideals to be considered attractive. This mindset has led to a multibillion-dollar industry that thrives on the insecurities of African women.
The economic implications are equally significant. Billions of dollars leave African economies annually, flowing into the global hair industry, rather than circulating within our own communities to support local businesses and artisans who champion indigenous hair care and styling. Imagine the economic empowerment that could be unleashed if even a fraction of this expenditure was redirected towards African-owned hair product lines and natural hair stylists. By relying on foreign sources for hair, African women become dependent on external markets, which can be subject to price fluctuations, supply chain issues and ethical concerns regarding the sourcing of human hair.
Beyond the economic, the psychological toll is immeasurable. When a woman constantly feels the need to alter her appearance to conform to external ideals, it chips away at her self-esteem and authentic identity. It fosters a sense of inadequacy and perpetuates the harmful notion that African hair, in its natural state, is somehow less beautiful or less desirable.
We must reject the notion that our natural hair textures are not beautiful and, instead, embrace our kinky, curly and bold hairstyles. We must recognise that our beauty is not defined by the length or texture of our hair, but by our confidence, resilience and originality.
Studies have also concluded that the use of foreign hair has great health risks as constant pulling, tension, and weight of weaves and extensions can lead to traction alopecia, a form of hair loss caused by prolonged tension on the hair follicles. Other issues like scalp irritation, infections and allergic reactions to synthetic materials or adhesives are also common. The origin and hygiene of some foreign human hair are often unregulated, posing potential risks of infections or exposure to chemicals used in processing.
It is time to unbraid ourselves from the economic and psychological costs of chasing someone else’s hair. It is time to embrace our ‘African kinky hair’, our bald heads, our unique styles. It is time for African women to be who they are, in all their magnificent, authentic splendour.
That, truly, is beauty.
That, truly, is respect.