By: Melissa Bronson-Tramel

In college, I styled my hair the way I wanted. I always opted for Rapunzel Brazilian bundles, but if I wanted to, I could’ve shaved my entire head and people wouldn’t have blinked an eye. The weird lumps in the back of my head prevented me from ever considering this but it was nice to take solace in knowing no one would judge me.

It wasn’t until I started my first corporate job that I realized the self-expression I took for granted I would soon appreciate. Especially those bold chicks who’d shaved their heads, rocked a puff, or two strand twists to class. I wish someone told me Corporate America didn’t appreciate hair versatility.

I strutted into the office on Monday with Poetic Justice braids down to my butt. Now, I was pushing it with the length for sure, but hey let me live. It was the first time I really tried something new with my hair besides weave and I loved it.

My co-workers invited themselves to touch my hair, lifting my braids and asking if they were heavy. One woman even asked me was it all my hair and kept going on about how it didn’t seem that long the week before.

Mentally I snarled, “you know damned well it isn’t. You saw my hair last week and it was to my shoulders. “However, physically I forced a smile and said, “Why yes, yes it is.” An ignorant question deserved a blissful response.

I walked away from her feeling incompetent- as if braids had no place in a professional environment., or as if people did not take women with corn rolls seriously. I hated how much attention they drew and how they became my identity. “Oh yes, just go ask the woman with the braids.” Well this woman with braids has a name, and more so I don’t identify you as the woman with the stringy thin hair, now do I?

I walked away feeling incompetent.

I couldn’t wait to leave work after all the unsolicited comments, fake smiles, and attempts to explain Black hair to White folks, I was ready to go back to my long, straight hair.

I took the braids out a week later.

I wondered for awhile after I went back to my weave, if I just wasn’t confident enough to rock my braids. What would they say if I rolled into the office with a kinky 4C afro? Was I not confident in my blackness?

It turns out, confidence had nothing to do with it, at least not in this corporate space. Instead it had everything to do with my coworkers’ lack of culture and forcing their ignorance onto me.

It was apparent that I was a confident woman, but the spectacle of my hair overshadowed what I was there for. My work. It made me think, when was the last time I seen a black woman CEO with braids in a headshot on anyone’s website? I will wait…

Confident or not, braids had no place in the workspace.

I am the only black woman, scratch that, the only black person on my floor. My race alone created a glass ceiling between my coworkers and I am sure most have never interacted with a black person other than during their commute to work.

While this doesn’t intimidate me, it does sadden me. It made me realize no matter how educated you are, no matter how many degrees you obtain, the quality of your work or if your last name is Obama, your Blackness will always be a factor, especially in Corporate America.

And yes, this includes your black hair.

But I’ve come to accept, I am my hair; Poetic Justice braids, Rapunzel weaves, kinky curls, or a nice silky blowout. And the next time someone asks me a question regarding my hair, I will simply reply: it’s that black girl magic.