Our Stories

From getting into trouble in school for my afro, to seeing friends sent to isolation for how their hair grew upwards out of their Halo, I remember that feeling of hurt, pain, anger, and confusion as to why we were missing out on our education. I was furious at the scared stares, the stupid questions, and the prodding of my hair. The same way our ancestors felt when they were forced to shave their hair in captivity, stripped of their heritage and culture

I remember the names I was called like ‘tough head gyal’ or ‘mop head’ by family members who resembled the same curl patterns but had been shamed by society. I remember the disagreements I had with my mother about putting extension in my hair at seven years old. I ended up cutting them out myself. The trauma of having my scalp burnt from straightening started my natural hair journey. Cornrows, single plaits, twists, afro’s and my signature puff. It was the first time I looked at myself and felt like me.

Even with all this negativity around Black hair, I was one of the few lucky Black girls who grew up between their mother’s legs. It was more than hair now that I look back. It was about bonding - a tradition passed down from our ancestors, generation to generation. I also had a remarkable father who told me about Black hair and how it adorned Black people. He is the one who encouraged me to begin my dreadlock journey. He always told me that I didn't need to succumb to white beauty standards to be beautiful. Four years later, my locs are the longest and healthiest they have ever been in my life. I'm a part of Halo because it shines a light on the hidden experience of the Black hair journey. I want the same thing that once bound us to set us free.

Esther, Brixton

My hair has played a massive part in my life. Growing up in Brixton, I have always felt expressing myself was an important aspect of my personality, but my hair has also hindered my ability to freely express myself. In primary school, I was told “black hair is disgusting”. At 15, I wasn’t allowed to take my end of Year 10 exams because of my afro - my simple afro was labelled as inappropriate and too unconventional for school. Despite being brought up to love and embrace my identity, it made me hate the way I looked.

As an adult, I constantly see how anti-Blackness has impacted beauty standards in my community. Being forced to relax and straighten my hair to “fit in” is a constant reminder of how my future will be met with many challenges because of racist norms. However, growing up I have also been able to embrace my blackness and feel confident in my own skin. I've learned to live by my own standards and love my hair.

Shiden, Brixton

Growing up, my school’s dress code always explicitly stated - ‘no unnatural hair styles or colours’ which typically meant that girl’s who came in with protective hairstyles were told to either change the colour or take them out completely - completely disregarding the significance and effort that went into these hair styles. This made me feel like my hair was somehow unnatural, and I straightened and damaged it for years, to the point where my curls were almost gone. Even when I did start to embrace my hair, I was constantly told I wouldn’t be taken seriously in professional settings with my curly hair and that I should straighten it so that I’m more likely to be accepted.

Now I’m at a point in my life where I’m finally able to explore the products and hairstyles that work for me but microaggressions reinforce the structures that uphold hair discrimination. People commenting that my ‘dreads’ look good when I have braids just demonstrates the complete lack of education when it comes to Black hair. Until the intricacies and uniqueness of Black hair is understood and appreciated in the mainstream, hair discrimination will continue to affect Black communities.

Thalia, Streatham

Within my family and my community, male grooming is centred around hair. One of my earliest recurring memories from childhood is the highly-anticipated trip to the barbershop alongside my dad and two brothers. It felt like you could do anything in the barbershop - buy bootlegged DVDs, watch the football, argue about politics and, of course, get a fresh cut. Nothing could give me the same bounce in my step as a top-quality trim.

But as I got older, I began to notice that my hair wasn’t just something that impacted how I felt about myself, but also how others felt about me. I am constantly conflicted between what makes me happy and the perceptions others have of me. Do I look ‘unprofessional’? Will people make unwanted comments? Will they think I’m not capable? That’s why I joined Halo. We need to tackle the stigma around Black hair because we shouldn’t have to choose between being happy with our appearance and being able to live our lives free from society’s negative perceptions.

Aaron, Dulwich

Ever since I could remember I have been perming my hair. At first I thought that my decision was purely based on the fact it was easier to maintain.  As I grew older I realised that I constantly wanted my hair straight because otherwise I felt like I looked messy and untidy. I didn’t realise that I had internalised discrimination.

Earlier this year, I decided that I want to love my natural hair and if that meant having my 4c hair, then so be it. I stopped perming my hair for a while to allow my natural hair to grow freely. It was a weird time for me because I had two textures on my head which made it harder to care for my hair. So I decided on a whim one Saturday morning to cut my permed hair with my dad’s clippers.

As I looked in the mirror I felt so much better, both physically and mentally. Cutting my hair felt like I was starting anew, however, love towards my short Afro textured hair did not just appear out of thin air. After cutting my hair I would cover it as much as possible because I still felt insecure. It didn’t help that some people around me implied that they liked my permed hair better. Slowly but surely things started to change. Now, I think I am more confident in my hair and myself than I ever have been.

Olamide, Brixton

Hair relaxers, straighteners, and hot combs were the only things that were used on my hair when I was a child. I remember screaming in agony as the products burned away at my very curly Afro. I was so excited to have long, bone-straight hair.

Secondary school is hard for everyone. What made it hardest was feeling like the whole world was watching every single change I would make to my hair, even if it was minor. After getting a fresh set of box braids or cornrows or even weave, I'd mentally prepare myself for comments like: ‘oh my God your hair so exotic’, I couldn’t escape the looks and judgements - I never felt free.

"Office” is a word that still sends shivers down my spine. It haunted me every time I got a new hairstyle. Eventually, it caused me to straighten my hair every day for two weeks until it deteriorated, crisp to the touch. I didn’t care, I just wanted to avoid the office, the detentions, the shame.

I needed Halo back then. It took 17 years to get to a stage where I can not only accept my hair, but fall in love with it. Now I crave to run my hands through my 4c curls. I get excited to comb out it’s tangles and I want every single Black student to feel how I do now. To be in this campaign is the biggest privilege, it has changed my life forever.

Jane, South London

From growing up with natural hair in my childhood, to having chemically relaxed hair in my early teens, to transitioning back to natural - I have had quite a rollercoaster of a hair journey. In all those years, I’d never been one to leave my hair alone. In my early secondary school years, I really enjoyed trying new hairstyles with my natural hair. One of the many ways I used to experiment was through colour – by dying my hair different shades of dark browns, light browns, and auburns with cheap £5.99 box dyes I bought at the hair shop.

One day I came to school with a deep auburn red colour, and was stopped immediately at the gate, sent to the headteachers office and told not to return to school until my hair was a “natural” hair colour. I was baffled – all around me I could see other girls, with two-toned dyed ombre hair, red hair, blonde hair – so why was mine was deemed unnatural? It didn’t stop there – the school also suddenly decided that long box braids were inappropriate.

That’s why Halo is so important to me. Hair shouldn’t get in the way of valuable education time – and Black children don’t deserve to have their hair constantly policed at school. I really want to see a future where schools embrace protective styling, understand its roots, and never choose to prioritise hair over education.

Sarah, Brixton

I had no issues with my curly hair as a child. Every Sunday, my mom would wash and do my hair. The highlights: Dax´s green pomade, colourful barrettes and beads as well as braids and of course the brushing of my ears, forehead, neck and brain. I didn’t notice that my hair was different from my classmates. But my oblivion became apparent as I made the transition to secondary school. I started to feel that these hairstyles made me look childish and I was worried that people would laugh at me. So I let my unruly hair out - no leave in conditioner, no gel, just frizz. Unfortunately my mom had no idea how to deal with 3C hair and the natural Black hair business as we know it today wasn't available in Spain at the time.

Kids looked at me like I was crazy because of the volume of my hair and said things like “she done electrocuted herself!” As a result, I decided to ruin my life. I told my mom I wanted a relaxer. From then on, I spent every Sunday at the hair salon. My hair would be washed, put into rollers, burnt under a hood, blow dried and then straightened. I saw it go from long and full to short, greasy, and dusty.

And then in 2015 I moved to London. I found a vibrant community of Black women whom inspired me to transition back and so I watched hours of videos on how to go through the process. I indulged in protective styles and learnt so much about taking care of my hair, it’s history, and most importantly, I learned to love it.

Sara, South East London

Growing up I always wanted to fit in, but I knew my natural hair would make me different. Having to change the hair that grows out of my head makes no sense to me. And it makes me mad. When I think of hair discrimination I think of me and my afro sitting in an interview room, worrying there’s a large sign over my head telling people not to hire me. I want to be able to be myself on the inside and the outside. I don’t want to change my hairstyles to fit with a dress code that hasn't considered me. Watching my Black friends lose their confidence has changed me, and so now I’m going to change the dress code instead.

Michelle

Before the Halo Collective was formed, I was unhappy about the lack of Black hair care products and fearful of falling victim to exclusionary policies in school or the workplace. This fuelled a strained relationship with my hair, leading me to assimilate with a simple shaved hairstyle rather than explore the ability to truly express myself. I couldn't let this opportunity pass me by - I have the chance to make a change within myself and the community at large. To be able to feel like my hair is a halo rather than a crown of thorns is my dream.

Nimrod

I grow my hair now in a way that upsets a lot of people because I haven’t paid for it to be shaped. It suits me as an artists to let my hair do what it does. I do make concessions…I do shave my neck. Yes, it gets challenged, but but I want to experience what my hair does and that’s what I’m doing.

David