Dreads, Weaves and Patriarchy
It is a hot day in South Florida. I am in good company and my spirits are up as I am recovering from an horrendous Canadian winter. I am flourishing in my bright green skirt, burgundy crop top and my six inch wedges. We decided to skip the beach that day to help my skin heal from a painful sunburn. Still my skin and hair were shining for the Gods. We decided to go to eat something at the restaurant that we have been going to daily for the past week, we were regulars at that point. I wish I remember the name so anyone going to South Florida could enjoy, the food is delicious. As we were slowly crossing the parking, a woman was driving uncomfortably close. She yelled something that I could not make out from the car window but judging from the expression on her face, she probably was cursing us out. I decide to ignore because I am on vacation and quite frankly I didn’t care. As we enter the restaurant the A/C touches my skin, I am soothed.
We take a seat at a table for two and act like we are going to order something different than the last time. The lay who almost ran us over walks in with who I assume is her daughter. They both have beautiful dreadlocks and we shared the same aesthetics that day. They sit across from us. I am talking to the person with me in Haitian-Creole. I hear the mom, also the one who was driving, say “They are Haitian. These fucking Haitians they are everywhere” She’s right, yes we are Haitian and we tend to be scattered around the globe. We decide to ignore her. A beautiful young woman walks in with straight hair that seems to be extensions, a mini skirt, a printed tube top and cute wedges like mine. As she passes by us I hear the bitter old woman say, “ She looks like a prostitute”. I am not sure if the young woman heard her but her demeanor changed. I rolled my eyes one more time and we decided to change seats.
As we sat further from this annoying ass….woman, I made eye contact with the supposed “prostitute”. We smiled at each other and I complimented her on her look and she loved my skirt. We exchanged a brief moment of carefree black womanhood, smiles and good energy. The dreaded woman interrupted the conversation by complimenting my hair and the fact that I decided to remain “natural”. She pointed to the fact that I have no tattoos (I have two) and I was deserving of love and praise. At that moment, I knew these compliments were not sincere and I was a pawn in her game to insult the girl who she resented for no good reason. All of a sudden I heard “ I have natural hair under this for your information”. This was the start of a screaming match between the two as they both exited the restaurant.
We still had a nice lunch. This incident still replays in my mind from time to time and I still cannot believe that we treat each other that way. I mean the dreaded woman probably thought she was more liberated than the woman with the weave and short skirt. Was she really? There’s this idea that only a certain type of black woman is deserving of love and respect. Interestingly enough, this idea fluctuates depending on who you ask and where you are. We can never win and for a woman to think that she can decide what another woman does with herself pains me. The woman took it upon herself to do patriarchy’s job of policing and shaming woman who don’t adhere to her idea of womanhood. Dreads or not she had some deep misogynoir issues that she needs to deal with. I hope she does cause she’s walking around angry as hell. And I really wanted to befriend the girl with the short skirt, we could’ve went shopping together.
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