When Our Kids Inherit Our Own Insecurities: My Daughter Hates Her Curly Hair

I was getting my daughter Bina ready for preschool the other morning, when she burst into tears. “I don’t like my hair,” she said. “I want it to be straight like Ava’s!” Ava, my boyfriend’s seven-year-old daughter, has enviably straight and thick hair, the kind any woman would love to have. Any woman, including my four-year-old.

“Your hair is beautiful!” I responded in what I hoped was a natural voice. “I love your curls!” But my daughter, who already has a no-bullshit stance on life, was not having it that day.

“Well I don’t like them!” she responded. “When can I make my hair straight?” I looked at her, with her hopeful eyes, and sighed.

“You can make your hair straight when you’re older, in a few years,” I said, hoping that answer would suffice as I put a bow in her hair. And for that morning, it did.

This wasn’t the first time we’d had this conversation. The topic comes up regularly, usually in the mornings when I am doing her hair for school. Without warning, she’ll start crying or complaining about her hair, asking me when she can straighten it like I do. In response to this, I’ve intentionally started wearing my naturally curly hair in its own texture more often, and I repeatedly point it out to her, saying, “Look at us, we are two curly girls!” with a smile on my face. Does she see through me? I don’t know. She’s only four, but she’s wise, her soul is old. There’s no fooling her.

A little while ago, after months of her crying and begging, I actually caved and straightened her hair for her one evening. She was so happy, and I was speechless and confused. On one hand, I’d brought a lot of joy to a little girl who is unhappy with her appearance. On the other, I felt like I was feeding into her insecurities by agreeing to do it. When I told her that we didn’t need to straighten her hair again because her curls were so beautiful, she looked at me and said, “But you straighten your hair.” What could I say? She had me. How could I tell her to enjoy the natural texture of her hair when I don’t do so myself? But something in me did not feel right about straightening her hair at such a young age, and I vowed not to do it again until she is older. I can’t help but want her to remain an innocent child, unaware of the world’s judgments, for just a little longer.

The thing is that when my daughter tells me she doesn’t like her hair, it hits close to home, because I know exactly how she feels. My own curly hair has been a constant source of distress to me for as long as I can remember. I know how that sounds (“source of distress,” how dramatic), but hair matters to girls. We see it every day, we carry it with us, and to look in the mirror every day and not like what you see is nothing unimportant. There is an entire hair industry out there based on the premise that women do not like the hair they were born with. And this importance that is placed on a woman’s hair is something that is clearly communicated to our daughters from a very young age, via their dolls, characters in movies and television shows, and most importantly, through the examples their mothers, stepmothers, older sisters, and other female role models set for them.

I can remember hating my hair as young as first or second grade. Already at that age, I had accepted that I had “bad hair.” I suffered from major hair envy, and I dreamt of having long, straight, blonde locks, rather than the curly mass of brown hair I had inherited from my Russian ancestors. Over the years, I’ve learned how to manage my hair (somewhat), both in its curly state and by straightening it. I’ve also dyed it many different colors, worn many different cuts, tried different products and hair treatments, and in general have sunk a lot of time and money into something that should be trivial.

My hair. It has finally begun to approach becoming a feature that I am sometimes happy with. And just in time. Because my beautiful daughter has inherited this hair, and while everyone else loves her curls, she decidedly does not.

And so, in addition to choosing not to straighten her hair for school, I have begun to make a concerted effort to not only not speak disparagingly about my hair in front of her, but to also be more aware of the way in which I talk about myself in general. Where will she learn to love and accept herself, if not from her mother? As terrifying a thought as it is, I know that so much of my daughter’s self esteem is wrapped up in her interactions with me, and I am the person who is likely to make the greatest impact on the woman she is to become. It is my responsibility to teach her to love herself, curls and all. And one day, when she’s older, if she still wants it, I’ve promised to buy her a straightener, a good one like mine. And I’ll teach her how to use it.