Really, just having another person GO BACK TO READING THEIR BOOK should be read as “and we are done talking.”

Yes?

This. Oh god, this.

PS: LaDonna:
I’m married to a blond/redhead with the palest skin and freckles. You’re right, totally fascinating….

There has been far too little research done into the area of what drives white people to touch black hair. What are the origins of the strange compulsion that forces them to reach out to smooth, squeeze, pet, pat, bounce their fingers in the soft, resilient exuberance of an Afro, a natural, a just-doin’-its-own-thing jumble of black hair? It’s only hair — but try telling that to that specimen eyeing a seductive bonbon of black locks, as the sweat beads on their forehead and they tremble with the intensity of restraint: I cannot touch it, but I must. A black-hair fondler has a few favorite questions that they like to ask when they fondle. “How do you comb it?” “How do you make it do that?” “How do you wash it?” With a pick; just does it; shampoo. Jerkoff.

LaDonna

Vitamin A, you do a good job unpacking another part of what was icky about that interaction. To me it felt like the woman wanted to reap some of the rewards of being black without experiencing any of the drawbacks.

Here’s what I want to say now about what I said yesterday: it was the woman’s _decontextualizing_ of my hair by calling it “curly” that really upset me. I am a writer, and very sensitive to power plays people pull off (or try to pull off) using words. In calling my hair “curly” the woman was attempting to make its qualities more accessible to her without sacrificing any of her whiteness. She was denying any of the cultural history that is inextricably woven into my hair and my relationship to my hair. She was stripping it–or anyway trying to strip it–of intrinsic value.

Now, I’m not dumb, and I know that there are people who identify as black who have straight hair, blond hair, or no hair at all. And I’ve seen what Vitamin A refers to as a “Jewfro.” The one-to-one correspondence of black with crinky hair is imperfect. But. It exists, and this woman wanted to negate it.

Caryn, I’ll add one more thing that was obvious to me at the time, which may not be obvious to you or anyone else who wasn’t there: this woman was not acting maliciously. In fact, she probably felt she was bonding with me somehow, sharing a comradely moment, and according me coolness points by admitting I had a quality she desired. And you know what? The feeling of comradeliness was not mutual. And what she said was not evil, but it was still wrong. And I still couldn’t be bothered to tell her why.

But I don’t mind joining in to tell you why, along with a couple other clueful readers. Here’s one set of reasons: You visited this site, and you read what I wrote, and you asked civilly about what the problem was. These things make me think you actually might want to know. Here’s another set of reasons: Vitamin A and Bindicated. The fact that there are others who are willing to share the burden of explanation is enormously helpful and encouraging.

Thank you all.

Caryn and Vitamin A: I also do not want to speak for Nisi, but I took away a secondary point from Nisi’s post and thought it worth mentioning. In addition to what you said, Vitamin A, I took the message that it’s one thing to compliment a stranger on her beautiful hair, but another to venture unnecessarily into talking about race (although I do realize that blackness and hair are two sides of the same coin, particularly for women). But by bringing up her attempts to create an Afro out of her curly hair, the white woman took Nisi from a morning of going about her own business to a morning of being a Black Person. The white woman made what was to her a (probably) throwaway remark, but it sticks with Nisi because it made her angry, and that isn’t fair because Nisi bears the burden of the other woman’s cluelessness. Or at least that was part of what I got from the story, and I apologize, Nisi, if I’ve put words into your mouth.
B.