By Marsha Gosho Oakes

Marsha Ambrosius wrote an interesting blog today initially explaining that she did not appear in Wales, Diary video simply due to scheduling issues and sparked by the songs subject, goes on to share her thoughts and experiences of the on-going, deep rooted battle with complexion.

Personally, I went to a predominantly white school – being one of the few children ‘of colour’ in all of my classes – and don’t remember experiencing any racism. Ever. Aside from my own coveting of the pretty girls’ straight hair. And one boy who called me a Black something-or-other — I kicked him in response. Very hard, as was my specialism in primary school.

Perhaps it was always there. Behind my back. Or in my face, unnoticed. Eitherway, it was never an issue for me. My parents would tell you a different story about their experiences of raising a mixed raced child, but that’s theirs to tell.

Now of course, in adulthood, I’m far more aware of institutional racism. Like the high school that suspended black boys for having their hair cut “too short”. For some reason, it didn’t click for me at the time how ridiculous that policy was. I wish I could go back eight years and really do something about that.

But I was pretty oblivious to racial complexities throughout my childhood – particularly pre-teens – aside from a strange memory of walking to the swimming pool [aged about seven] with my Dad and telling him I wished I was white, “so I could have nice hair”. He thought I was off my rocker – I always have been, a little. That must have been how I felt, to say it aloud – but my feelings would surely have been different had there been a figure in my life with the patience or interest to show me what could be done with my hair. The possibilities. The choices.

Things would also be different had the magazines I read at the time ever mentioned that the flowing, bouncy locks of the black singers and actresses we idolised in our youth were not actually their own hair. Perhaps I’d have saved myself several frustrated hours with the blow-dryer. One thing lead to another until, eventually, sitting in the salon seat at 14 years-old to get that “creamy crack” brushed into my lengthy curls was the moment I had looked forward to for years.

I’ll eventually write at length about my thoughts and observations on the impact of hair. We’re all thinking and talking about it anyway since Chris Rock’s documentary, but it’s always been an important subject. It contributes to the way we see and feel about ourselves as women – AND MEN. Remember when it was actually trendy for black men to perm their hair? Now that they have stopped doing so, a black man without relaxed hair is regarded as: Normal. Not “afrocentric”. Humm…

Externally, we are judged by our hair. I look forward to the day when a black woman wearing her hair naturally is seen as exactly that: Natural - rather than assumed to be making some sociopolitical “pro-black” statement.

When I started SoulCulture a few years ago [paired with my life-long tendency not to post many pictures of myself online] people who read my work but didn’t know what I looked like would eventually meet me and say, “Wow, I thought you’d be some afro-centric looking chic with a headwrap.” Ha…. No.

Coincidentally, I just stopped relaxing my hair a few months ago simply because I realised I love curls. There isn’t always a fist in the air.

Either way, what we do with our hair and appearance is a choice – I just wish it had felt like one at 14, rather than a need. Sometimes we are making a statement about ourselves with our styling – but we’re not all raging race campaigners. I look forward to a future where women can simply present themselves as they are; without being judged and pigeon-holed for it.