The renaissance is Black
A young woman came up to the microphone after another student had had his turn. I was book touring for Stamped From the Beginning at a historically Black university in Dover, Del. Looking freshman young, her darker skin curled around a nervous face. Or a curious one?
“Have you ever thought about cutting your hair?” she asked matter-of-factly.
My locs hung down my back as still and suspended as the room. I sensed the question had less to do with my hairstyle and more to do with my lifestyle choices. Locs after all—like cornrows and huge Afros—make some white people uncomfortable. Not considered professional. Considered rebellious. I didn’t think twice about my answer.
“No,” I replied.
Time paused in the silence. She smiled. An approving murmur shot through the room like a tremor from her smile. They felt my hair love. It was as if she had asked, “Do you worry about what white people think about you?” And I responded, “No.” She was glad I had escaped. Her classmates were glad I had escaped.
I had escaped what Toni Morrison called the “white gaze.” When internalized by Black people, the white gaze functions as a pair of glasses binding our eyes—and thereby our very being. To see the world through the white gaze—no matter one’s identity—is to center white people and their looks,
