Her reasons were well thought out, methodical and hilariously funny, with an undercurrent of feminist seriousness to it. I don’t want anybody touching my hair either. That’s like asking if you can cut me and see if I bleed red! My hair texture is not your goddamn anomaly! Okay, rant over. 🙂
Last week an art exhibit opened in NYC called “You Can Touch My Hair.” It featured three black women, all with different hair styles, standing in Union Station with signs featuring those same words. It was not intended to be the start of a hair touching movement, but a social experiment to explore the widespread tactile fascination with black women’s hair. This exhibit has opened up a floodgate of controversy, debate, and counter-exhibits.
But this isn’t about the exhibit. This is about why, although you were perfectly welcome to touch those three women’s hair last week, you cannot touch mine.
1. It’s weird.
Like, why? Why do you want to touch my hair? I implore you to deeply ponder this every single time you are about to ask to touch a black woman’s hair.
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