“The pandemic made me stop straightening my curly hair”: the social stigma of “bad hair” in the Dominican Republic

In Dominican Republic there are more and more girls with afro hair, but I did not dare to take the step until the beauty salons closed during confinement. Accepting my Afro-descendant roots has been quite a journey.

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“The one who wants pretty bows has to endure pulls”. That was a phrase my mother used to repeat to me as a child as she untangled my curls.

I complained because the toothbrush had firm teeth and she was pulling the hair to be able to flatten it.

It was the routine of every Sunday afternoon and could go on for hours depending on how tangled it was.

And the hair had to be long enough “manageable” for the school, where they considered a disciplinary offense for the girls to take him to the natural if he was “bad” or kinky.

Those who were already limp were left alone.

But 80% of the Dominican population is Afro-descendant, according to the study “Afro-descendant women in Latin America and the Caribbean”, published by the Economic Commission for Latin America and the Caribbean (ECLAC) in 2018.

And, therefore, most of my colleagues wore it braided or were forced to straighten it (or straighten it, as they say in the Dominican Republic). Some, permanently.

But my mother never wanted me to do a persistent straightening, because she said that my hair was not “so bad”, that, unlike my brothers, I had gotten hair “a little good” thanks to my dad.

So she would comb my hair, and if I didn’t have time, she would make me a simple ponytail.

Until one Sunday in December 2005, when I was 9, took me for the first time to a trusted hairdresser, who was also our neighbor.

Women drying their hair at a beauty salon in New Jersey. (Photo: Getty Images)

I did not want. Spend hours in the beauty salon undergoing the heat from the dryer in full tropical weather It seemed like torture to me. It was like being in the oven.

Once there, I first watched my mother’s hair being straightened. Then it was my turn.

I remember telling the stylist to lower the temperature of the dryer, because it was burning my ears and neck.

I also remember that he was pulling me hard. But as I had always heard: “The one who wants nice bows, has to endure pulls”.

I didn’t return to the classroom until I was 12 or 13, in my teens. By then the pressure of wearing your hair “perfect” it was huge.

All my friends had it and the artists we saw on television also had it straightened. None of them showed off with their natural curls and I wanted to fit in with that stereotype of beauty.

But the process to achieve it was not easy.

After drying and ironing, at the hairdresser they made me a doobie (o “tubi”, as we say in the Dominican Republic). It consists of brushing the hair in only one direction around the circumference of the head and securing it with bobby pins, like a turban.

On top they put a mesh cap on me, which at home I would wear again to bathe and sleep, in order to make the straightening last longer.

For important events I would straighten my hair with care, as for my graduation for example (photo from 2013). (COURTESY OF THE CORRESPONDENT)

That was my routine for over 10 years.

During all that time, that it rained was one of my biggest nightmares: a few drops or simply the humidity made my hair return to its natural state.

If I was sweating, something very likely in my country, too.

So I used to avoid going to the beach or the pool, because if I curled again, I would have to pay for another session at the beauty salon.

Basically I gave up certain experiences so as not to ruin my hair.

And the pressure to maintain that hair was such that if I was invited to a graduation, wedding, or other important event, I would go to the salon the night before and get a touch-up first thing in the morning to make sure I was still extra straight.

“You look crazy!”

The times I tried to curl it — during a summer — criticism from my colleagues at university or at work rained down on me.

“You look crazy!”, “comb your hair,” were some of the comments I heard.

When I smoothed it out, on the contrary, they told me: “You finally went to the salon!”, “You look like people!”

Picture taken in a beauty salon in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic. (EYEEM)

But in March 2020 the pandemic arrived and among the measures taken by the Dominican government was the closure of non-essential businesses, including, obviously, beauty salons.

To the general anxiety of living with a virus that was leaving thousands of infected and dead was added the particular one of what to do with my hair.

First I decided to order a dryer and creams to soften it online.

Since I didn’t know how to do my hair, I looked up tutorials on YouTube.

They didn’t do me much good.

Enter here workload from telecommuting and my lack of experience with hair tools, soon after I gave up.

For months I just washed her hair with shampoo and conditioner.

One and a half curly

In July 2020, both the hotel industry and some non-essential businesses had opened in the Dominican Republic.

So one day before moving to London, on September 26, 2020, I went to the same old hairdresser: she cut my hair and straightened it.

In the suitcase I made space for the dryer and the iron, in case in my new home I missed straight hair.

Both instruments have been in the drawer for practically the year and a half I’ve been in the UK. I’ve used them on a couple of occasions, like Christmas.

My mom still tries to convince me to “comb” it from time to time, because every day it looks “badder”.

On the contrary, many people tell me that I am happy to have curly hair, that they have never managed to have it that way even using a whole series of products, they ask me if they can touch it …

Soon I will return to the Dominican Republic, where the pandemic has so far left more than 410,000 infections and 4,200 deaths. 52.1% of Dominicans are fully vaccinated and the restrictions for covid-19 decreased and beauty salons are open.

So I wonder if I’ll be tempted to go back to my weekly routine or I’ll be left with my “bad” hair forever.

I suspect that I will keep the “greñas” no matter what they say …

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