My hair is none of your concern
Growing up in a predominantly white suburb of Birmingham, surrounded by my white, middle-class family, I’d never been particularly concerned with matters of skin tone. I have a sharp, slim nose, inherited from my mother, as well as her eyes, lips, teeth, chin, cheeks, ears and pretty much everything other than my forehead, caramel skin and hair. I love that I never have to tan, I adore the shape of my bum and my natural ability to sprint, but my hair is something which always troubled me.
I was always afraid to wear my hair in its natural curls. Because I’d never been taught how to care for Black hair; it was an unruly mess of fuzz which I scraped into a pineapple to keep out of my face. It was a choice between having an untamed mass of curls o...