Will Smith’s Oscars slap spurs needed discussions on Black women, alopecia and heartache

For many Black women, alopecia is no joke.

When I heard about the incident at the Oscars in which Will Smith stood up for his wife, Jada Pinkett Smith, a part of me was glad that someone stood up for one of us. I don’t condone violence, especially among Black men, but the altercation brings up an important discussion.

So here we are, talking about Black women and alopecia.

I don’t want to read another online commentary by a white woman stating that hair loss isn’t that bad and their mother, sister or cousin had alopecia and learned to live with it. Of course, everyone with alopecia learns to live with it, but for Black women, this burden is compounded with everything else that has been said about our bodies that we have been told to just live with.

Almost 20 years ago, I wrote my master’s degree thesis on the role of Black hair in African-American memoirs. Hair has always been an important part of our lives. It can determine how we feel about ourselves and how others see us — or if they even see us at all. Even now, long hair is still seen as the standard of beauty, with Black women wearing not only long flowing weaves but also long dreadlocks and braids.

Fake or real, long hair is still “in.”

Bald Black women are never seen on television, unless it’s a commercial for a cancer medication. I’m sure that I’m not the only one who watched Black Panther several times just to see the beauty of the Dora Milaje warriors, a rare celebration of bald, Black beauty.

I have had alopecia for 10 years. I wear a hat almost everywhere outside my door, even when I venture out only a few feet to take out the garbage. I wear a hat at home during Zoom meetings, so light doesn’t reflect off my head. I have tried to rock a shaved head several times, but I can’t face the world knowing that I can and will be the object of ridicule or pity.

I look in the mirror and wonder if there is anyone that would ever find me attractive again, or someone that would look at me with adoration in their eyes. I’m sure that even beautiful Jada, with her handsome husband, immense talent and amazing life, has looked in a mirror and found herself lacking. Then there is age. Being a bald, Black woman is a burden in itself, but being a bald Black woman over 50 in a culture that prizes youth and certain types of beauty can be unbearable.

Sure, your friends and family may say that you’re fine just the way that you are, but that is what they always say. On some days, you may think that you are fine, too. But to the world at large, you are so far removed from the beauty mainstream that you might as well be invisible.

Maybe the incident at the Oscars will become a teaching moment about Black women, alopecia and the heartache that some of us face. For every fierce Grace Jones, there are some of us who cry when we see a Black woman shampooing her hair in a commercial. When will I find a romance novel with a Black female protagonist that doesn’t describe her beloved running his fingers through her hair?

More than likely, it will be only a teaching “moment” — we’ll talk about the subject for a day or two and then it will return to the shadows. And I’ll buy a new hat to hide under this summer.