2-BSide

4B —Thursday, September 27, 2018
b-side
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

Breanna Cross is an LSA 

Junior 
double 
majoring 
in 

Communications and Spanish. 
Originally 
from 
Southfield, 

Mich., Cross has been doing hair 
ever since she was a young girl. 
She loved the creative agency 
that braiding gave her in how 
she chose to present herself. 
Presently, Cross has made a 
name for herself as one of the 
key stylists specializing in Black 
hair and braiding on campus.

Smiling, Cross reflected on 

the success of her business, 
Bre Natural Beauty, and her 
love for Black hair. However, 
she remembered a time when 
vehement love for her hair didn’t 
exist, and she isn’t alone in her 
experience.

“When I grew up, starting 

when I was really young, I 
lived in a predominantly white 
neighborhood,” 
Cross 
said. 

“All of my friends had straight 
hair, my mom had straight hair, 
even the Disney princesses had 
straight hair. They were the only 
girls that had influence on me. I 
hated my hair and I wanted my 
hair to be long and flowy like 
everyone else.”

Due to white supremacy and 

Eurocentric beauty standards, 
Black women from a young age 
are conditioned to internalize 
negative attitudes about their 
hair 
texture. 
Messages 
of 

unkemptness, unattractiveness 
and unprofessionalism permeate 
descriptions of Black hair. To 
assimilate, many Black women 
resorted to straightening or 
covering their natural hair.

Since the mid-2000s, Black 

women around the world have 
become advocates of the Natural 
Hair Movement, a movement 
for Black women to celebrate 
and to indulge in the uniqueness 
that comes with having kinky-
curly hair. The natural hair 

movement is about more than 
hair; it’s a radical movement of 
self-love. It is is a movement to 
reclaim agency — to reclaim the 
lost love for yourself your hair, 
your roots, in a way that society 
historically has tried so hard to 

discourage.

Cross claimed that having a 

good relationship with your hair 
is crucial for its vitality. Through 
her business, she hopes to not 
only create a good hairstyle, but 
to also teach Black women how 
to healthily maintain, grow, 
treat and love their hair.

“If you don’t have a good 

relationship with your hair, 
you are going to do harmful 
things to it,” Cross explained. 
“It’s changing with the natural 
hair 
movement, 
thankfully. 

However, when I was younger, I 
didn’t know anything about my 
hair, and that’s why I hated it.”

The Natural Hair Movement 

is, in essence, a love story, and 
Cross’s work is a testament 
to the recovery process Black 
women around the globe are 
having with their hair. Styling 
hair gives Cross the agency to 
invest patience and care into 

Black hair, allowing her to fall 
in love with her own hair and to 
help others cultative that love 
for themselves.

“Some of the most rewarding 

things is being able to create 
relationships with my clients 
and to be able to constantly learn 
about different textures,” Cross 
continued. “Black hair is so 
amazing to me because you can 
do so many things with it, and 
everyone has a different texture. 
I love the people and I love 
learning more about Black hair.”

“I love talking to people and 

I love Black hair, and I love the 
Black community. That’s why I 
do what I do, and why I love it.”

Though Cross recognized the 

unique significance of hair for 
Black women, she warns about 
viewing Black hair as more than 
exactly that — hair. Just as some 
Black women choose to identify 
closely with their hair, Black 
women should also be afforded 
the same agency not to.

“I’m totally not attached to 

my hair. I would cut it off the 
next day with no worries,” she 
laughs.

Cross’s 
business 
is 
just 

beginning to pick up momentum, 
and she has no plans to stop any 
time soon.

In the future, she has plans 

to create a blog, a YouTube hair 
channel, natural hair workshops 
and natural hair organization. 
She 
also 
wants 
to 
expand 

her hair services to include 
custom wigs and clip-ins. Cross 
remains optimistic about her 
business, and she looks forward 
to learning more about herself 
and the community through the 
process.

“I can control my own destiny, 

and I can control what I want to 
do, or how, when and with who I 
want to do it with. I have choice.”

Anyone 
interested 
in 

contacting Cross can do so via 
Instagram @bre.natural.beauty, 
the Black Umich or Black hair 
group chats, or email.

Breanna Cross on beauty, 
boldness and Black hair

NA’KIA CHANNEY

MiC Editor

VH1

ARTIST
PROFILE

IN

‘I Wore My Blackest Hair’

Katelyn Mulcahy / DAILY

TV NOTEBOOK

“I am a lion with a black mane, 

tearing my teeth on the piano 
bench,” writes Carlina Duan in 
the opening poem of her 2017 
collection “I Wore My Blackest 
Hair” (Little A, 2017). Her “black 
mane” is a site of contested cultural 
identity throughout the collection, 
both symbolically and literally. It is 
the part of her body she returns to 
when her identity is questioned — 
by others or by herself.

In “I Wore My Blackest Hair,” 

Duan, who is Chinese-American, 
grapples with the ways that her 

appearance shapes and is shaped 
by her evolving identity. Hair 
— whether hers or her family 
members’ — is where feelings of 
belonging and exclusion physically 
manifest. It is something concrete, 
both mutable and essential.

“The first time I was aware of 

my Asianness was when I asked 
my mother why I wasn’t blond,” 
wrote 
fashion 
writer 
Andrea 

Cheng in her April 2018 New York 
Times article on Asian-American 
women who bleach their hair. For 
Cheng, hair is as much a physical 
expression of who she is rather 
than who she is not.

“Of course, my story is not 

unique,” Cheng wrote. “It’s an 

experience that’s probably shared 
by most American-born Asians 
as we shake off our perceived 
otherness and strive to prove our 
Americanness.”

For Duan, this is certainly the 

case. Her hair is a mediator of her 
“Asianness,” a metric by which 
she and others gauge whether she 
embraces or rejects her heritage.

“My mother is not / from 

your country, / and I am not / 
ashamed,” writes Duan in “Pledge 
Allegiance.” “I slip my hands / 
through her / wise hair, / and 
keep.” Here, hair is a physical 
reminder 
of 
Duan’s 
mother’s 

culture, and it bridges the divide 
between them as Duan explores 

MIRIAM FRANCISCO

Daily Arts Writer

Every sleepover I had from 

elementary to middle school 
ended the exact same way: 
snuggled up under a million 
blankets, popcorn in hand, 
“America’s Next Top Model” 
on the TV screen. As young 
girls, my friends and I were 
obsessed with the glamour 
of it all. Tyra Banks took 
ordinary girls and turned them 
into gorgeous, high-fashion 
women. When we were done 
watching — and fighting over 
our favorites — we would pull 
out our Justice-brand lipstick 
and hot pink brushes. Each of 
us tried to make ourselves into 
models, posing against white 
walls 
and 
taking 
pictures 

with disposable cameras. We 
wanted to be pretty, too.

Shows 
like 
“America’s 

Next Top Model” and “What 
Not To Wear” claim to be 
transformative. 
They 
say 

“come to us, change your look 
and your life will change, too.” 
It’s more than a wardrobe 
full of new clothes. These 
stylists stick these people in 
a chair, then chop off, dye 
and completely alter their 
hair. Hair can mean a lot to a 
person; it can be the place they 
express themselves, the only 
area of their body where they 
have full and utter control. 
Hair can show us where we 
came from, unifying families 
through a set of ginger heads 
or tight ringlets. But on these 
shows, watched by millions 
and continued season after 
season, your hair is what’s 
holding you back.

On “America’s Next Top 

Model,” the hairstyle was 
often what made a potential 
model’s makeover infamous. 
In the often toxic modeling 
industry, 
natural 
is 
never 

enough. Take Michelle on 
Season 4 of “Top Model.” She 
was a long-haired brunette, 
but her makeover consisted 
of bleaching her thick mane. 
Michelle was visibly in pain 
from how intense her dye job 

was, and struggled to keep 
it up throughout the season. 
The next season, contestant 
Cassandra Jean sobbed as 
her long locks were cut into 
a pixie cut à la Mia Farrow. 
While 
host 
Tyra 
Banks 

empathetically assured her it 
would grow back, comments 
from the judges and other 
contestants 
alike 
forced 

Cassandra into an upsetting 
position. 
As 
Cassandra 
is 

prepped for the cut, fellow 
model Ebony is quoted in a 
confessional saying, “It’s good 
to see Cassandra showing 
some emotion.” Shortly after, 
judge Jay Manuel complains, 
“It’s been 12 hours of crying.”

That’s not to say every 

transformation was negative. 
The show and its remodeling 
would not have lasted as long 
as it has if it was drenched 
in pure gloom. Bianca from 
Season 9 was meant to get a 
blonde wig, but her hair was 
too damaged to support it. So 
the team went with Plan B, 
and shaved it all off. While 
Bianca was initially upset, 
she embraced her natural look 
and the hairstyle transformed 
her into a regal, high-fashion 
face. The same goes with 
Kayla from Season 15, who had 
two rules from her girlfriend 
going in: No baldness and no 
red hair. The latter rule was, 
of course, broken, yet the hair 
color turned an otherwise 
ordinary girl into a unique 
modeling asset.

Compare 
the 
uncertain 

emotions 
of 
that 
series 

to 
today’s 
most 
popular 

transformation 
show, 

Netflix’s “Queer Eye,” and 
the difference is telling. Yes, 
“Queer Eye” is not preparing 
people 
for 
the 
cutthroat 

world of modeling, but a lot 
of the same elements of “Top 
Model” 
are 
there. 
Except 

instead 
of 
crying 
in 
the 

mirror as the hair you love is 
taken away from you, you’re 
laughing with perhaps the 
most optimistic and loveable 
force 
on 
television 
today: 

Jonathan Van Ness. Episode 
after 
episode, 
Jonathan 

doesn’t force a look on the 
people he styles; he talks to 
them, gets to know them and 
gives them whatever hair, 
beard or mustache revamp he 
knows will make them happy. 
Instead of crying tears of pain 
and sadness, people on “Queer 
Eye” cry tears of happiness, as 
they find their true potential 
and self while a chorus echoes 
“yes honey!” behind them.

As 
“Queer 
Eye” 
brings 

home 
three 
Emmys, 
the 

ratings of “America’s Next 
Top Model” have been on a 
steady decline. This may be 
a function of time and the 
fading novelty of “Top Model,” 
and the fact that “Queer 
Eye” has become something 
of a phenomenon. Yet the 
changing 
balance 
between 

the shows reveals something 
more 
about 
what 
viewers 

are looking for. “Queer Eye” 
radiates positivity, educating 
and exposing viewers and 
the cast alike to important 
issues like the relationship 
between the gay community 
and the church or the lives 
and struggles of transgender 
individuals. 
It 
is 
more 

than just a makeover show; 
“Queer Eye” is a snapshot of 
contemporary society in a 
vital stage of change. That 
change just happens to start 
with a few great haircuts.

People 
already 
feel 
bad 

enough about themselves. It’s 
only natural that one might 
want to turn to a more uplifting 
show than one whose appeal 
is based primarily in how 
dramatically it can change its 
contestants. Our hair is our 
own, and whether we change 
it should be left up to us. No 
one should be made to feel bad 
about something that came 
from their own body, that was 
formed by their own genes. As 
our TV shows change, I can 
only hope that our culture can 
too, and that somewhere there 
is a group of girls reaching for 
their hair brushes right now, 
smiling into the mirror and 
lifting up their friends with 
the 
ever-reassuring 
words: 

“YAS queen!”

More than just a haircut: 
strengths & shortcomings 
of makeover television

SAMANTHA DELLA FERA

Daily Arts Writer

her identity as an Asian-American 
woman. Duan’s desire to “keep” in 
these poems — to keep her heritage, 
her identity, her sense of self — is 
all the more captivating given the 
descriptions of earlier dismissals of 
Chinese culture.

“To replace the languages our 

mom spoke, we smoked up our 
Chinese with blond dolls,” she 
writes in “Little Sister, American 
Girl.” As a teenager and young 
adult, Duan’s relationship with her 
hair and appearance changes with 
her understanding of what it means 
to be a young Asian-American 
woman. This collection does not 
trace a linear path from repudiation 
to redemption, but instead tracks 
moments of both bewilderment 
and clarity, bestowing both with 
equal importance.

As 
she 
matures, 
Duan’s 

sexuality becomes inextricably 
tied 
to 
her 
Asian-American 

identity. 
She 
interrogates 
her 

own experiences of distance and 
intimacy with a keen awareness 
of the fraught territory mapped by 
her own desire.

“A boy plumps his lips on 

your throat / and asks you to say 
something dirty / in Chinese,” 
Duan writes in “Your Mom Tells 
You To Stop Writing About Race.” 
She does not stop writing about 
race, as her mother requests; 
instead: “you yank your hair / into 
a knot at the back of your neck” and 
doubles down on the subjects that 
preoccupy her.

Duan’s hair is where the 

line between recognition and 
fetishization 
becomes 
most 

apparent in her poetry. “he came 
over. asked, What are you?” Duan 
writes in “Here I Go, Torching.” 
“black plains of hair. / plain of 
mouth, of meat… I’m Chinese; see 
me,” she continues.

She yearns to be recognized as 

more than just her heritage without 

being stripped of it. Hair becomes a 
bridge to the things she wants but 
does not know how to ask for. “I 
want you to untouch my hair,” she 
says in “I Want My Books Back,” 
mourning the parts of herself she 
shared and cannot regain.

Throughout 
the 
collection, 

Duan commits and recommits 
herself to her world. She is not 
trying to escape anything — she 
revels in the tangible, the terrible, 
the mundane. Her hair is all of 
these things; it unmasks her when 
she wants to be hidden and hides 
her when she wants to be seen. She 
alternates between introspective 
and hostile, giving herself room 
to collect evidence of her own 
contradictory 
nature. 
In 
the 

marrow of each poem lies Duan’s 
abiding appreciation: for herself, 
for her family, for how the process 
of understanding her heritage has 
both taken from her and made her 
whole.

BOOKS NOTEBOOK

“If you don’t 

have a good 

relationship with 

your hair, you 

are going to do 

harmful things 

to it”

