Hair in Country Music

I’d like to take a moment to talk about hair in country music. As I reflect upon my journey to self-acceptance, I realized that my small successes down that road were linked to my eventual acceptance of my own hair.

Image: Dazed

I dyed my hair for the first time in eighth grade. I did it because my friends were doing it, my friends who already had dirty blond hair and still wanted to go lighter. I felt this pressure to change myself to the greatest extent I possibly could, every day. As we’d skip to the bathroom together before lunch, I’d look at my straight, jet black hair in the mirror next to their golden locks and feel so different. Back then, being different was bad.

Going to the salon was a quick fix. But it didn’t change anything else about me, like my Asian eyes, Asian nose, Asian ancestry, my unconcealable Asian-ness. And the reminders of my different-ness, the pressure to fit in, were exponentially intensified when I went to Nashville.

The term, “the higher your hair, the closer you are to Jesus!” burned through my mind every morning, as I tried to curl my stubbornly smooth hair. I bought little foam tubes to curl them overnight– no success. I bought two curling irons from Marshalls that I didn’t even know how to use– no success. I told the salon to dye it blonde, just like Dolly Parton– but no success because my dark hair couldn’t be bleached to that level without being fried into burnt straw.

Eventually, I kind of gave up on it. I felt good about my decision, thanks to Kacey Musgraves, who I noticed had dark, long, straight hair, just like mine. And I stopped feeling so alone in Nashville with my ebony hair floating around a sea of gold.

I know for certain there are plenty of stories surrounding hair. People all want what they don’t have: my friend’s with curly hair want it straightened, my friend’s with straight hair want it curled. But I wanted to share my narrative, in the context of country music and race.