The Crown: Being Authentically You

This edition of Lessons From the C-Suite has everything to do with culture, race, equity and inclusion in the workplace. It’s about the crown, aka Black women’s hair. That’s right, our hair. And let me point out that it’s frustrating and unbelievable that after all these years it’s still considered a hot topic.

You see, our hair has long been a subject of?conversation?and?debate. It’s provided inspiration for an?award-winning film?and even spurred?legislation?across the country. For instance, did you know that in 36 states you can be discriminated against – yes, even fired from your job – for your hairstyle? I wish I was joking but I’m not. Because when a Black woman wears her hair naturally, it signals to some that she may not be an organizational or cultural “fit.” If she has it straightened then some see her as conforming to non-Black standards, while in reality it's sometimes a means of acceptance, survival or just personal preference. With each hairstyle choice comes a set of assumptions, stereotypes and biases.

"But why are we Black women so defined by our hair? Why does it label us?"

But why are we Black women so defined by our hair? Why does it label us? And what are the ramifications – the risks and rewards – of our hairstyles in the workplace and beyond? If you’ve never had to think about or struggle with how to wear your hair for fear of being seen a certain way or possibly even losing your job, then let me tell you about my personal and professional journey with my hair that began back in rural Indiana. I’m sharing some of my memories to honor part of my lived experience and to open up a candid conversation that for some is very familiar and yet foreign to others.

Like many young Black girls, my first hair stylist was my Mom. My hair was extremely thick, and she’d say I was “tender headed” and that doing my hair was a real workout. I recall how she lovingly braided my hair, crafted my all-time favorite Afro puffs, and used an old school hot comb and curler at the stovetop in the kitchen while she worked on my “kitchen,” nicknamed for the hair that resides at the nape of our necks. But truth be told, while sometimes I liked having my hair perfectly coiffed, I was just as happy not having my hair done at all.

Even now, I can still smell the products she used, whether it was the hair and scalp grease, the relaxer or even Jerry Curl of ‘80s fame. In fact, she did my hair until I saw a stylist in a salon for my high school graduation pictures.

My relationship with professional stylists grew from there, including my college stylist Arthur Harris, who taught me to experiment with how to express my style and confidence through my hair, like this up-do for the Alpha Kappa Alpha sorority ball. Fast forward a few years and I had just begun working at Marshall Field’s in Chicago, which was a division of Target. Shortly afterward, I was promoted to Target HQ in Minneapolis, which was a bit of culture shock for me. It wasn’t as diverse as Chicago, and I had to work really hard to build my community and create a sense of belonging. That, of course, included finding someone to do my hair.

After searching around, I learned of a stylist named Ms. Ruby, who I still see today. She’s an entrepreneur and small-business owner I’m proud to support. Black hair and beauty salons and barber shops have long been a cornerstone of the community and created economic opportunity.

Now, Ms. Ruby is more than JUST my stylist. She’s my sister, my therapist and friend. When Ms. Ruby does my hair, our conversations run the gamut, from current events and culture to giving each other personal and professional advice. We always spill the tea while listening to Gospel and R&B. When I’m in her space it feels like home.

For many years, I wore what many would deem a traditional corporate hairstyle. It was short and I loved it, although I did get feedback that a longer style would be perceived as more "professional,” which to me was micro-aggression code for more mainstream. But I disagreed with that perspective and kept it short because I liked it. No explanation or justification required.

Then in 2015, I asked Ms. Ruby to put in braids for an overseas business trip because they’re easier to maintain. I decided to keep them when I returned to the office and you wouldn’t have believed the response. Quizzical looks and curious questions were rampant from folks internally and externally. Some people touched my braids without my permission! Which unfortunately is a common experience for many Black women. Others asked if I was leaving the company because they couldn’t believe a C-suite leader who reported to the CEO could wear braids. That assumption alone spoke volumes.

And yet I was also struck by the leaders – particularly the Black leaders – who said they were inspired seeing an executive in a natural hairstyle. This simple choice – that some saw as a huge risk – had an impact and ripple effect far greater than I ever could’ve imagined. It opened much needed and often tough conversations on race, equity, culture and identity with people of all backgrounds. A reminder that even a C-suite leader can still face bias but can overcome it.

When people continued to ask if I was afraid to wear my braids at work in such a senior role, I said honestly, no. If my hairstyle is more important than my skill sets and contributions – more important than the reputation I’ve earned over an extensive career – then I’m not in the right place. I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t being defiant. Whether I had a short ‘do or braids, I was just being me. Authentically and unapologetically me. And I was glad to be working for a company that valued that.

There are trade-offs in the choices we make in life, even when it comes to our hairstyle. I’m inspired to see?the freedom and empowerment Black women have and are continuing to?embrace. And if you’re not a Black woman, we welcome you as an ally on the journey with us because I believe we all get better together.

I think it’s good for everyone?when we show up as our true selves in whatever form that takes.?And with each layer we reveal, we become more resilient, more powerful, more of the person we were meant to become.?Like I always say, the world needs an authentic version of you, not an imitation of someone else.

So it’s my hope that Black women and girls – all women and girls – will look in the mirror and love themselves just the way they are – and bring that version of themselves into the workplace and the world each day.

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A big shout out to my hair stylist Ms Ruby, photographer Stephen Allen and makeup artist Kimberly Steward. I see you.

And to see more photos of my hair journey, check out my Instagram (@Laysha.Ward).