If you’re interested in sharing your opinion on any cultural, political or personal topic, create an account here and check out our how-to post to learn more.

____

When I was on tour with Beautiful: The Carole King Musical, I got my hair flat-ironed every other week.

“Hey girl, can you go over this piece again? I want it bone straight.” Those were words frequently leaving my lips. The hot comb was a drug and I was a junkie. The feeling of my hair cascading over my shoulders and down my back with a fresh blowout made me feel unstoppable. My curls were getting very heat damaged, but I didn’t care. And then, I discovered wigs.

Of course we wore wigs in the show onstage, but off the stage I discovered I could buy a wig and pass it as my own hair. I eventually fell so deep in love with the idea of never having to do my own hair. I had my real hair tucked away in a wig prep for my 8 show a week schedule as well as for my everyday life. My real hair was hidden on such a consistent basis, that my own cast members had no idea what my hair looked like. And then one day, the lady who put my show wigs on during performance told me one night, “Salisha, when was the last time you washed your hair? It stinks.”

I had stopped taking care of my hair. I despised it in its natural state, so I pretended like it wasn’t even there. I wanted to be like the celebrities on television. But when it dawned on me that many celebrities rock fake hair, I realized I too could outsmart the system by rocking fake hair instead of damaging my own.

And then one day, I was singing the national anthem for a Giants vs. Dodgers game at AT&T Park for opening weekend. I threw on my favorite curly wig, walked out onto the field, sang a capella for the first time in front of 45,000 people and had a blast. The rest of the game, strangers were high-fiving me and complimenting me in the hot dog line. My ex was randomly even there and all of a sudden he wanted to be my man again. (Boy, bye.)

While I was in the stadium, I went into the restroom, and while I was washing my hands, there was a little brown girl who was also washing her hands in the sink next to me. She looked at me and quietly said, “Your curls are so perfect. I wish mine looked like yours.”

My heart broke because this child had a perfect head of curly hair. It was awesome and real. Mine was a wig! I was a total coward and did not tell her that my hair was fake. I thanked her for the compliment and told her how beautiful she was, but it haunted me for years for not being transparent with her. I had done to her what the celebrities I looked up to had done to me, which had ultimately sent me on an unachievable journey for years of trying to beat my hair into submission.

It wasn’t until I joined the Broadway company of Beautiful that I even slightly considered going natural. Hair was a daily part of dressing room discussion, and I wanted in. So in 2018, I decided I wouldn’t straighten my hair for a year. Not only that, but I would take care of my hair. A handful of the girls were going to this guy named Joseph at Curls on 5th and would come to work looking the bomb. I went to him and he educated me about my hair, chopped off the damaged pieces and made my curls pop. Sometimes I would wear wigs while it was growing out. I gradually started to love my hair and became more comfortable with how it looked.

I had been so accustomed my whole life to try and look like the white girls on TV, but now things were changing — more and more natural hair was starting to spring up on television and even in Broadway shows. I believe that whatever the media is projecting, it normalizes it for the masses (for better or for worse). So the more natural hair you see portrayed positively on screen and in magazines, the more acceptable it becomes in everyday life. It’s one of the reasons why representation matters.

It’s been almost three years since I’ve straightened my hair, and it’s huge now. I’ve embraced my curls. I’ve embraced the frizz! I enjoy wash day. I look forward to giving myself scalp massages in the evening and trying new hair techniques.

Hearing other people’s hair journey is what has really inspired me to test the waters and explore my own. On my podcast, Black Hair in the Big Leagues, I interview a bunch of badass Black women on Broadway (and others at the top of their professions) about their own hair journeys. What’s inspiring is to hear that some of my hair idols didn’t always have the gorgeous locks they’re known for today. It’s also a healthy reminder that we are all in different points of our hair journey and that it’s OK to rock locks, wigs, a weave or straightened hair.

One of my guests on the show and a friend of mine, Joanna Jones, who stars in Hamilton: An American Musical, said it best: “All of us are on this natural hair journey and it looks different for everybody. I don’t think we should be encouraging a culture of shaming each other for where we’re at in our journey and for wanting to change it up now and then.”

But this journey is about more than just hair. In the wake of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor, there is a huge doorway for BIPOC to open up the conversation and tell our stories. Talking about hair is a gateway to how we are showing up in this world. It’s about telling our stories so the next generation can see themselves represented and know that texture is beautiful. It is my mission to cast a gorgeous halo of love, light and beauty around the Black image because it’s what I wish I grew up with more of.

To me, there’s nothing more empowering than Black souls embracing themselves — from the skin they’re in, to the hair on top of their head. It’s past time to “boy, bye” the old narrative and embrace the reality: Black men and women are kings and queens. Our melanin is poppin’ and our texture is beautiful. If there was ever a time for radical self-love, it’s now and forevermore.

Black Broadway

Get relevant content delivered to you once a week