Seriously. Don’t Touch My Daughter’s Hair.
Personal space is non-negotiable. So why don’t people respect the boundaries of children and their hair?
“Hey, stranger. I know we don’t know each other, but I’m going to touch you right now.”
That’s how you sound.
Now imagine saying that to a child. I could guess there would be some folks wanting to take you downtown for some questioning after making a comment like that.
Still, almost every day, somebody thinks it’s okay to touch my four-year-old’s hair. And when I respond with, “Please don’t touch my child,” I receive looks that are typically reserved for baristas who just told you they were out of croissants.
“But, I was just touching her hair…”
I don’t care! I don’t know you. You don’t know me. My child’s hair is not a toy, and I have zero reasons to feed your curiosity on how a mixed child's hair feels.
I can’t say this enough. Seriously. Do not touch my daughter’s hair.
When my oldest daughter was born, my wife and I invested in far too many books. A few that we’ve added to our collection over the years include Don’t Touch My Hair, My Hair Is Magic, Where Hands Go, etc.
I knew this would be an issue. Growing up as a mixed kid, the longer my hair grew, the more people would want to touch it. I probably let too many people slide, not wanting to cause a scene by saying no or, more accurately, not fully realizing the microaggressions associated with letting white people touch my hair because “It feels so cool!”
I wanted my girls to know they have a choice in the matter, and if they want people to touch their hair, great! But nobody has a license to touch their hair without their permission. Strangers touching any part of our body is a big no-no, and it’s wild that some don’t respect that.
Admittedly, my daughters do have great hair. My oldest has chocolate brown loose curls that shimmer in the sun. My youngest has golden brown ringlets that resemble dozens of curling ribbons hanging from her head.
I love doing their hair in the morning, and I’ll often take a bit longer than I need just to comb out the knots and finish a braid. When someone says, “Oh, I just love their hair,” I get it. I do, too!
But the second you approach us and reach out your hand to put your unsanitized fingers on my daughter's head, you’ve gone too far, and you won’t make me feel bad for saying, “No, thank you,” acknowledging that you’ve crossed a line.
During an interview with Entertainment Weekly, author of Don’t Touch My Hair, Sharee Miller, said this:
All women can feel like they’ve had this issue come up, consent in general, and making sure that you know you have that power to say no, for anything you’re uncomfortable with. From someone touching your hand to touching your hair.
It’s about consent. It’s about boundaries. It’s about educating complete strangers that what’s harmless to you can affect us deeply. I’ll be respectful, but you need to know that you can’t just touch a child in line at the grocery store. It’s not just their hair. Even if it was, it’s still theirs, not yours.
If my rejection causes you to feel embarrassed, I understand. There was a time in my life when I let people touch my hair. Maybe you’ve been doing this for years, and nobody has ever said anything to you.
The truth is I regret letting strangers get that comfortable with me, and I still think of instances where I felt like a zoo animal fulfilling the desires of people who’ve only dreamed of touching hair like mine.
But you’re not touching her hair. I’ve learned from the past, and if I can prevent my girls from growing up thinking that strangers have unlimited access to their bodies, then I can live with your discomfort.