Nothing like a story about a grown woman attacking a baby’s hair to raise my ire for the day. I’m referring to gossip blogger Sandra Rose’s quick jab at Beyonce and Jay-Z’s daughter Blue Ivy’s soft poof of curls. From Beyond Black & White:
The day after her concert in Paris, Beyoncé had lunch with her husband and their 15-month-old daughter, Blue Ivy. Little Blue Ivy looked just a little girl should, all chubby checks and smooth, blemish free skin. But it was the little girl’s hair that made SOME black women stand up and take notice.
After seeing Blue’s hair, blogger Sandra Rose wrote “It’s a shame that Beyonce brought her daughter out in public with her nappy hair looking like Buckwheat. Bey doesn’t carry a brush in her purse for emergencies?”
Yes, a 15-month-old black baby was described as looking similar to Buckwheat because the child’s natural hair was doing what naturally curly baby hair does by forming a halo around the head.
This comment is from the same Sandra Rose who said Chris Brown was full of self hate after Brown wrote a series of tweets mocking Rose for her dark skin. So if Chris Brown is full of self-hate for mocking a dark-skinned woman, can we also say that a dark-skinned woman must also be full of self-hate if she dislikes the natural hair of black people so much that she would go as far as to mock a baby for having a head full of curls?
Do read the article for the hypocrisy. As I lay in bed this morning, I got mad. Not just annoyed, but actually mad. I’m not a member of the Bey-hive, nor have I sworn allegiance to Roc nation, so my anger does not stem from being a superfan of either artist (although I do have some of their albums in my iTunes). I’m mad that:
1.) a grown woman, even a gossip-monger, would go in on a baby. A BABY! A chubby faced, innocent to the world, BABY!
2.) Sandra Rose would refer to her natural hair as “nappy”.
3.) and compare her to Buckwheat. Buckwheat?!?
4.) grown people (because a lot of Sandra’s commenters agreed) actually think a 15 month old can have a “hair emergency”.
The BB&W story call this madness that pervades many Black folks a sickness and I have to agree. It is plain sick. And I refuse to have it infect my daughter.
A couple of days ago, K, Z and I headed out to enjoy some of this beautiful weather we’ve been having. K and Z ran back and forth, K doing a slow jog, Z pumping her little legs trying to keep up while not tripping (tricky since she’s pigeon-toed like me). Later, K coaxed her down an enclosed spiral slide, where I was waiting at the bottom. She laughed and screamed. We blew bubbles, or rather, I did, because Z wanted to drink the bubble solution. I pulled a carton of chocolate milk from my bag. She was happily satiated.
I looked at my daughter, a dead ringer for her father. Smooth brown skin and naturally shiny dark, soft curls. She’s a female K. Beautiful. And free. I left her hair unbraided and untwisted. Free like her.
When K and Z went off to explore some pebbles, I plopped on a swing and began flipping through the pics I had taken on my phone. Then I hit the little camera icon and looked at my digital image. The glare of the sun was far too bright to make a real inspection, so I just snapped a picture.
Later at home I stared at it harshly. “Look at my hair… is it too wild?” (This from a girl wearing a pink Beatles tee, bright green sweater, black surfer beads from Brazil and hot pink lip gloss, ha ha.) I thought about this past Easter Sunday lunch. My grandmother made repeated comments about how pretty my hair “use to be”. It was pretty when it was long, pressed straight or relaxed. It’s nappy now. I’m Buckwheat.
I went on Facebook and made the picture my profile pic. Yes, I am still dealing with the hair “sickness”. But I’m on my way to recovery.