2-BSide
Our culture is one saturated
by
antiquated,
sexist
and
Eurocentric
perceptions
of
female
beauty.
Intertwined
with this conception of physical
perfection
is
hair,
more
specifically straight hair, which
has
prompted
generations
of
African-American
women
to
alter
their
unique
frizz
and
curl
patterns
to
fit
the mold of silky locks. With its
well-constructed
protagonist,
engaging character relationships
and
profound,
relevant
reflections about skewed societal
guidelines for beauty, “Nappily
Ever After” simply cannot be
passed off as just another chick-
flick, even though it abides by
many of the rom-com genre
conventions.
When Violet (Sanaa Lathan,
“Love & Basketball”) was a little
girl, she quickly learned that
the only path to perfection was
through straight hair. And she
never forgot it. As an adult with
a thriving career, a doting and
sexy boyfriend and long, relaxed
hair, Violet’s life is nothing short
of perfect. However, when an
eagerly
anticipated
proposal
from her hunky beau Clint (Ricky
Whittle, “Austenland”) turns out
to be a false alarm and leads to a
messy breakup, rainclouds begin
to form over Violet’s flawless and
straight-laced world. Struggling
to get back into the dating pool
and navigate lingering feelings
for her ex, Violet, in a drunken
craze,
makes
a
hasty
and
emotionally-charged decision to
shave her head. At first regretful
of her rash choice, Violet’s
definition of beauty begins to
re-shape itself when a trip to the
salon to salvage her hair-troubles
leads to an unexpected friendship
with the sassy yet sweet Zoe
(Daria Johns, “Animator”) and
a tentative romance with Zoe’s
down-to-earth father Will (Lyriq
Bent, “She’s Gotta Have It”).
Part of what allows “Nappily
Ever After” to find success is its
ability to balance heftier topics
with lighthearted moments. At
the surface level, Violet’s search
for “the right man” can be passed
off as akin to any female lead’s
journey to love in
any other romantic
film.
However,
what sets “Nappily
Ever After” apart
is its dissection of
the impact of the
male gaze on women’s choices
regarding
their
appearances.
All her life, Violet was taught,
both by the beauty industry
and her mother, that men only
want women with long, flowing
tresses, not afros and dreadlocks.
Thus, she styled her hair straight,
altering herself with the end
goal of presenting herself the
way she thought men found
desirable. Through her dramatic
hair transformation and healthy,
blossoming
relationship
with
Will, Violet finally starts to
grasp the notion that a real man,
or at least any
man worth her
time,
will
see
her for who she
is,
regardless
of what does or
doesn’t grow out
of her head.
Violet’s
transformation
by the end of the
film is clear. Once
insecure
about
her natural hair
and
allegiant
to the flat iron,
Violet is no longer
the same woman
by the end of the
film. For so many
years, water was
Violet’s
enemy,
as
it
had
the
power
to
ruin
her painstakingly
pressed locks within seconds.
Newly
empowered
and
unchained
from anyone’s standards, Violet
lets it all go through her symbolic
leap into a swimming pool,
literally drowning out years of
lies that she has been told about
her frizz, her
curls
and
her
texture
not
being
beautiful
enough.
On
its
own, straight
hair isn’t the
problem. As is
emphasized
in the final
moments
of
the film, it
is
not
that
women
should
feel
guilty
or
wrong
for
wanting
to
switch
up
their natural
hair,
but
rather
that
all
women
should feel confident in their
choices to alter their looks with
the knowledge that they are
worthy of love and respect no
matter what.
6B — Thursday, September 27, 2018
b-side
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
I have frizzy hair. This is an
indisputable fact.
My
hair
best
resembles
a
bush
of
black
ringlets
springing
from
different
angles across my head. The
strands in the front are shorter
and bounce up if you give them
a quick tug at the ends. When
I reach behind my head I feel a
mass of uneven curls; the tips
are frayed even after a recent
haircut and the outer layers
are always softer than the
inner sheets. I
envy those that
can run their
fingers through
their hair and
change
their
part in seconds,
because
mine
just
doesn’t
move like that.
I
love
my
chaotic
hair
to
death.
But
there’s
one
issue. My whole
life, I’ve been
told that it needs
to be tamed.
Summer
2006:
I’m
standing
by
the entrance to
the
bathroom,
watching
my
grandmother
plait her waist-
long
hair
in
front
of
the
mirror.
Her
red and white
sari is loosely
wrapped around
her frame and
gold
bangles
jangle
against
her wrists with
each movement
of her delicate
fingers. The rich
smell of coconut
oil saturates the
air;
the
scent
irritates
my
seven-year-old
nostrils
and
I take a step
backwards.
Finishing
her
braid, my grandmother dumps
some coconut oil into her
hands, rubs them together and
makes a beeline for my head. I
scream.
That
dreadful
summer
afternoon was my earliest
notion that something wasn’t
right with my hair. Many
Indian women have similar
frizzy hair types, but their
locks are always oiled and
braided,
tied
up
instead
of
bouncing
against
their
backs. Short hair is seen as
unfeminine.
The
strands
frame their faces, not cover it
like mine. The picture of the
happy woman plastered on the
front of the coconut oil bottle
is clear in my head: Her hair is
soft, silky and oiled. This was
the ideal, and I didn’t fit the
norm.
Part of this standard for
female hair is perpetuated by
Bollywood, an industry that
capitalizes on rigid gender
stereotypes. I have yet to see a
Bollywood heroine that wears
her hair like mine — curly and
loose. Silky and straight hair
isn’t realistic for the majority
of Indian women. But because
of Bollywood, it’s what every
Indian woman aspires to have.
Spring
2012:
My
clash
with hair standards reached
their height in Kathak, a type
of Indian classical dance I
pursued in my pre-teen and
teen years. Typical Kathak
dancers tie their hair up in
a bun and decorate it with
jasmine flowers. Their hair
is pushed aside
to
display
their
face,
accentuated
with a tikli —
an
ornament
resting
on
the top of the
forehead.
A
deep red bindi
is pressed onto
the forehead for
the same effect.
When I tied my
hair for Kathak
dance
recitals,
gravity-defying
strands
of
hair
shot
up
at the root of
the
bun
and
near my ears.
It looked like
a lion’s mane,
an
obvious
anomaly
on
stage.
My
teacher
and
fellow
dance
students
had
effortlessly
neat
buns
on
their
heads.
When I looked
in the mirror
minutes before
showtime,
I
forced
myself
to
ignore
my
hair and focus
on the rest of
my appearance
instead. But the
shame
burned
at the pit of
my
stomach,
a
constant
reminder
as
I
performed
that
I
was
different.
Years later, I’ve realized
why my culture’s ideas about
hair never fit my own. I chose
to keep my hair down all
those years because my hair
was an integral part of my
personality; it typefied my
energetic and happy persona.
I didn’t mind the frizz, even
though society had always
told me to tuck it away. Hiding
my hair made me feel naked,
as if I was missing a part of
who I was.
I haven’t been near coconut
oil in years. I wear my hair
the way I like it: always loose,
always frizzy, but always me.
I still don’t understand the
antipathy to frizzy hair I see
when walking the streets.
What’s wrong with frizzy?
Frizzy
is
different
and
diverse, fun and sassy. And it’s
beautiful.
A case for frizz
TRINA PAL
Daily Arts Writer
The graceful ‘Nappily Ever After’
triumphant with self-acceptance
SAMANTHA NELSON
Daily Arts Writer
The picture
of the happy
woman
plastered on
the front of
the coconut oil
bottle is clear
in my head:
Her hair is
soft, silky and
oiled. This was
the ideal, and
I didn’t fit the
norm
FILM REVIEW
NETFLIX
NOTEBOOK
Roughly a year ago, rapper
Young Thug was charged
with eight major felonies,
including intent to distribute
methamphetamine
and
hydrocodone. This headline
came and went, and the
Atlanta star seemed to be in
the clear. Two weeks ago,
while on tour with J. Cole,
Thug posted an Instagram
picture of a notecard that
read, “On The Rvn,” implying
a
soon-to-come
anti-
authority album and bringing
to the surface his legal issues.
Just days later, he turned
himself in to the authorities,
delaying the release of the EP.
Now released on bail, Thug
finally dropped the project.
The 6-track EP is limited
in features and primarily
showcases
beats
from
London On Da Track, the
same formula used for Thug’s
most
impressive
mixtape,
Slime Season 3. After the
release
of
the
mediocre
full-length
album,
Slime
Language, which seemed to
reflect a regression in the
rapper’s ability, On The Rvn
is a redeeming return to what
works.
Unlike on Slime Language,
Thug is not fighting for space
with featured artists who
sound just like him; the only
guests are 6lack and Jaden
Smith, and their contributions
are limited and very well-
suited. Additionally, London
On Da Track’s beats make
the project an easier listen
overall,
as
he
provides
dynamic sounds that stray
from the hackneyed trap of
Slime Language.
To cap it all off, the EP ends
with an official release of
Young Thug’s remix of Elton
John’s “Rocket Man,” a track
that has bounced around
SoundCloud for a few years.
With a gorgeous falsetto that
slides to trembling baritone,
Thugger reminds listeners
why he is one of the most
innovative
rappers
alive,
an
important
move
after
his prior release left fans
doubting his relevance.
— Mike Watkins
Daily Arts Writer
“Nappily Ever
After”
Netflix
NETFLIX
“Nappily Ever
After” simply
cannot be passed
off as just another
chick-flick, even
though it abides
by many of the
rom-com genre
conventions
ATLANTIC RECORDING
EP REVIEW: YOUNG THUG’S ‘ON THE RVN’
On the Rvn
Young Thug
Atlantic Recording