As a Black woman, haircare has always been a massive part of my story. Large chunks of my childhood memory are filled with recollections of my younger self crawling onto kitchen countertops to get my hair washed by my mom and auntie. Memories of my mom asking me to grab an old towel, so she could oil my scalp before bed, her directions to cover my ear so the hot comb wouldn’t burn my scalp, or eating Cheetos bags in the waiting lobby while my mom got her hair done.

I vividly remember when I learned that my white friends would get their haircare from grocery stores or large retailers like Walmart or Target. I explained to one of them that my mom and I were planning to visit “the hair store,” as we called it, before one of my braid appointments. My white friend’s response was one of confusi

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