As a Black woman, I admittedly plan everything around my hair. If I have a vacation coming up, I schedule an appointment for crochet braids. If I’m going to a concert, I put on my lace-front wig. If I’m having sex...well, it’s complicated.
Sure, I could put my hair in two long braids to keep it from getting matted, style my Afro into twists or a tight bun or just put on my headscarf or bonnet so the moisture from my hair doesn’t absorb into the pillows. But the truth is, as much as I appreciate my natural hair, it hasn’t always made me feel my sexiest—that is, until recently.
In the formative years leading up to when I first started having sex, my sense of what was, well, sexy, was based largely on what I saw in pop culture. And what I saw was plenty of sex scenes of white women with straight, fine-textured hair that could get flipped and pulled without any second thought. (My kinky and coily textured hair could never.)
In the few sex scenes that did show Black actors having sex, the characters never really showed off their natural hair (ahem, Gabrielle Union in Being Mary Jane or Kerry Washington in Scandal). The message was clear to me.
But within the past few years, I’ve started to see more diverse and realistic portrayals of Black women having sex while rocking their natural hair. And yes, it’s made me so much more comfortable embracing my own.
So because it’s Black History Month, I’d like to honor the TV shows and Black actors who have paved the way and made me feel more confident in my natural beauty—especially when it comes to my hair. Because as we know, representation is vital for amplifying experiences from diverse walks of life.
Let’s start with Dear White People.
For anyone who has seen the show, I’m sure you haven’t forgotten about the scene where Troy accidentally pulls off Coco’s wig. (I can personally say from experience, this is one of the most awkward things that can happen during sex—especially if the person you’re having sex with isn’t already aware that you’re wearing a wig.)
And while, at first, Coco hides in embarrassment, Troy consoles her and expresses his awe for her natural beauty. This helped me realize that regardless of any hair-related mishaps that may come with getting down with my partner, what’s sexier than anything would be my ability to embrace my most authentic self.
Equally impactful, the scene from Game of Thrones where Missandei undressed herself in front of Grey Worm before he went down on her had me shook.
It was the first time I had ever seen a serious sex scene where a woman of color wore her natural hair, so I was ecstatic. It’s a powerful moment when you can feel personally connected to the depictions you see onscreen.
I saw the same confidence from Nola Darling in She’s Gotta Have It.
She continuously showed off her natural look, and her confidence was so sexy.
Then we have Sasha’s sex scenes in Sex/Life, which helped me see that sometimes “sexy” means letting my kinks and curls loose.
Because seeing her get so caught up in pleasure that she was only focusing on the sensations and not secretly worrying about whether being pinned up against anything besides a satin pillowcase would mess up her hair was sexy. If she could do it, I could.
But I also learned that “sexy” could mean protecting my hair by putting it in a slick bun and wearing it like Josie in Riverdale. Both equally valid and equally erotic experiences.
Now of course, my journey is still a work in progress. There will undoubtedly be times when I’ll feel the pressure to second-guess the way I wear my hair during sex.
But at the very least, I’m thankful that more mainstream depictions of natural hairstyles in the bedroom have guided my newfound sense of eroticism, confidence, and self-love. And I look forward to seeing more examples of Black women rocking their natural hair in the future too.
Because the more positive portrayals I see of Black women’s hair, the more I can see my uniqueness as a sexy strength rather than a stumbling block.
