Beyoncé Is Right: My Hair Isn’t Anyone’s Business

Between surprise album releases and avoiding most press interviews for the last decade, Beyoncé Giselle Knowles Carter typically doesn’t let us (the media or the Beyhive) know any part of her personal business until she decides we need to know it, if at all. Last Monday, in support of her new haircare line Cécred, the superstar and world’s most recognisable blonde (I said what I said) decided to let us into her wash day routine in a new post on Instagram, revealing her natural hair in the process. This rare look into her haircare routine immediately quieted 25 years of intrigue and speculation about what her natural hair looks like as a performer who (most assumed) regularly wears wigs. Over the decades we’ve come to associate Beyoncé with long, blonde hair and she revealed that underneath her premium wigs, she has… well… very long, blonde hair. I hadn’t expected the daughter of Miss Tina, who grew up dancing and performing in her mother’s beauty salon, to have anything but a head of gorgeous healthy hair. And yet, parts of the internet have treated the subject of Beyoncé’s natural hair as a conspiracy to deceive her audience or a mystery unsolved, until now. But, while I enjoyed Beyoncé’s candidness in her latest social post, is it anyone’s business what any Black woman’s hair looks like underneath her wig? 

“The stigma and misconception is that people who wear wigs can’t have long and healthy hair and that’s some bullshit because it ain’t nobody business. I’ll get back to my hurr,” Beyoncé says in the hilarious voiceover (she’s actually speaking to us!) whilst her hair is washed and pressed by hairstylists. I agree. As a Black woman who is no stranger to a weave, I am often pestered to do a big natural hair reveal to assuage people’s curiosity. The question feels loaded with preconceptions of what condition my hair is assumed to be in: do I have something to hide? Do I hate my natural hair? Am I bald? When strangers ask me whether my hair is real, I straight-up lie. Or if I’m in the mood, I’ll say “I paid for it so it’s mine.” In 2024, I shouldn’t have to justify my use of hair extensions. Take me as I am, with my Brazilian curly bundles and all. For me, the sheer fact Beyoncé has shared this sentiment on her platform feels like vindication for what I’ve always believed: My hair isn’t anyone’s business but mine. 

Beyoncé’s wash day routine video, which now has more than 42 million views, mainly acts as a promotional for the Cécred hair care line; she claims the range of hair products that include a hydrating and clarifying shampoo, treatment masks, hair oils and conditioner has helped her hair grow long and become “the most moisturised”. However, the video seems to also be a direct response to those who have criticised the singer for launching a hair care line for natural hair without showing the world her own. As Beyoncé explains in the Instagram caption, “Being disruptive and challenging everything people feel should be the process has always been exciting to me. My hair and music seemed to do that a lot over the years…” For the most part, the calls for Beyoncé to show her natural hair upon the launch of the Cécred line were somewhat warranted (some of the loudest naysayers had even remarked that she should have launched a wig line, instead of natural hair care). 

In the age of the professional beauty influencer-slash-beauty entrepreneur, brand ambassadors are expected to showcase a significant degree of transparency about the products they are promoting, as well as demonstrate how they work on themselves — celebrity brands aren’t an exception to this rule. Alicia Key’s skincare line, KEYS Soulcare, followed a public decision to ditch makeup altogether in 2016. Keys wore just her glowing bare face at high-profile events and photoshoots, helping legitimise the brand’s claims. Cay Skin, the sunscreen brand from Black supermodel Winne Harlow, was developed after Harlow reportedly experienced “a painful sunburn” that required emergency medical treatment and “permanently altered” the pattern of her vitiligo, a skin condition she says is “a treasured part of my identity as a woman, activist and model”. Meanwhile, Rihanna’s well-established Fenty Beauty makeup line comes with cute and relatable videos of her doing her makeup. Beyoncé and her brand are, evidently, following a reliable marketing strategy. Cécred has entered an oversaturated haircare market driven by highly knowledgeable consumers (Black women are the biggest consumers of haircare products in the world) and some had doubted whether the brand should rely solely on Beyoncé’s name alone to be successful and urged the private superstar to step into her influencer bag and give us a hair tutorial. And so she did. Complete with close-up shots of her scalp to prevent any allegations of hidden weave tracks. It felt like subtle shade to her haters — and I was here for it. 

Black women in droves have, naturally, had a huge response to Beyoncé’s video on social media — especially agreeing with the opinion that our hair, which is so often scrutinised, policed and politicised, is our business in a wig or not. “I love the video and how she said that’s her business because it is,” commented one Unbothered reader. Another said, “No one required any of the other owners of hair care lines to ‘show us’ [their hair].”  “Can we shut down the ‘bald Black women' stigma in 2024,” said another person on Instagram. 

It should go without saying that, like Beyoncé, long, healthy natural hair is achievable for Black women, despite long-held misconceptions about the capabilities of Black hair textures. It all comes down to genetics and healthy and consistent hair practices. However, we’re in danger of creeping back into the all too familiar territory of only associating long natural hair, especially looser curl patterns, as the only hair that is deemed desirable within the Black community. Beyoncé’s wash day routine video has triggered comments from fans talking about their own long hair lengths and not being “bald-headed” underneath their wigs and weaves.

I understand why this feels like something to shout about. Wearing wigs and weaves isn’t always born out of a need to hide hair but is a creative choice or considered a protective style. Wigs are fun! Weaves are convenient! However, at the same time, the reality is not all of us have hair that swims down to our backs when we remove our weave or wigs either (shrinkage, hello!).  And, I can’t stress this enough, we don’t need to prove to anyone that we can grow long hair. Some Black women use wigs and weaves to conceal heat damage, breakage, a bad relaxer and hair loss conditions such as alopecia. And yes, some of us aren’t necessarily caring for our natural hair in the way we know we should. We attribute far too much shame towards the latter. 

This strange fascination with what lies beneath a Black woman’s wig feels like another way Black women have to prove we are an exception to some of the most inane prejudices and stereotypes — in this case, that Black women can’t grow their natural hair. The bar for Black beauty is ridiculously high, and sometimes, beyond our reach. Wig or not, it can sometimes feel like we’re damned if we do or don’t. The stigmas concerning Black women’s choice to wear wigs and weaves predate all of us. Black women have used wigs and weaves to assimilate into the Western world that has openly discriminated against natural hair textures and Black hairstyles. Concealing kinks and coils was once considered necessary to be accepted — and depending on discriminative hair policies in schools or workplaces it may still feel necessary. While we didn’t create this problematic beauty standard, it’s one a lot of Black people struggle to shake off. As one person tweeted earlier this week, “If you truly want people to feel confident in their natural hair, you’d let go of texturism, stop overvaluing length, and stop calling everyone with hair that doesn’t go past their shoulders ‘bald-headed’.”

Considering the positive impact of the natural hair movement and the notable push towards promoting hair health rather than length over the years, the discourse about who can and can’t grow hair feels old-fashioned and boring. And in truth, I find it uncomfortable that Beyoncé had to prove she had natural inches to legitimise her brand in the first place. I don’t think a white artist with a hair brand would be asked to do the same, even though Black women are not the only ones who wear wigs and weaves and pieces. For me, the Black haircare space in 2024 is limitless and expressive no matter how we choose to present it.