How protest hair became a form of political expression
October 29, 2019 | News | No Comments
There are many strands to hair as a form of political expression. In the 1920s, flapper-era freedom was expressed in the shingle bobs of the Bloomsbury Set and cosmopolite Eton crop of Josephine Baker. In the 1960s, the afro of civil rights activist Angela Davis came to symbolise the movement. In the 1980s, punks with spiked mohawks spearheaded the anti-establishment aesthetic. In 2014, fashion designer Vivienne Westwood (above) shaved off her hair to draw awareness to climate change while in 2015, actor Rose McGowan cut hers, explaining in her memoir, , that she no longer wanted to look like a “fantasy fuck toy”. McGowan went on to help push forward the #MeToo movement in 2017, after alleging she was raped by Harvey Weinstein at the Sundance Film Festival in 1997.
“Hair has been used as an expression of politics and personal beliefs since the earliest times, and we see examples of it time and again in diverse cultures across the globe,” hair historian Rachael Gibson (@thehairhistorian) tells . “Afro styles became intrinsically linked with civil rights, as natural hair came to be viewed as an important symbol of the movement and its ‘black is beautiful’ ethos; skinheads represented rebellion and rejection of traditionally accepted social aesthetics in the 1980s; and the hair powder tax of 1786 led to mass rejection of wigs for men and brought in a new movement of short, natural hairstyles. Hair has always provided a visual shorthand for something deeper.”
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The hair-dye rebellion
Hair colour can highlight causes, too. When Nadya Tolokonnikova, member of punk band Pussy Riot, was arrested in Moscow’s Bolotnaya Square in 2015, her hair was dyed partially green to match the Russian prison uniform she wore, protesting on behalf of incarcerated women. In the UK this October, Bleach London dyed a black Extinction Rebellion symbol into the acid yellow buzzcut (which matched the hi-visibility vests worn by the surrounding police force) of a protester. The now globally recognised Extinction Rebellion logo represents earth, with a central hourglass to indicate that time is running out for the planet.
“Unlike fashion, hair is generally more of an accessible route into a trend or visual representation of the group you identify with,” says Gibson. “You might not have been able to afford a Vivienne Westwood outfit, but a Bic razor and some cheap hair dye did the same job of showing the world you are aligned with the punk movement.”
“Hair can also be used as a literal canvas for political beliefs,” Gibson continues. “In the 18th century, French women were sporting model boats and flags in their wigs to show support and allegiance in military battles.” At the Academy Awards 2018, Best Actress nominee Meryl Streep wore a #TimesUp pin nestled in the nape of her chignon (above), signalling support for the movement against sexual harassment.
The post-Trump haircut et al
Hair can speak volumes. A 2016 feature by The Cut titled documented a prevalence of hair transformations following his election as president, with women discarding softer styles and blonder highlights for dark, drastic cuts. “When you see that much blonde hair on the floor, you know something is going on,” Nicole Butler, creative director at Daniel’s Salon in Washington told the publication. “It was like a mass declaration of independence.”
The long hair of hippies in the 1970s also reflected rebellion and protest. “Young people growing their hair long in the 1970s, as the Vietnam war raged on, were not only defying the neat, groomed styles of their parents, they were also distancing themselves from conflict with hair that was in stark contrast to clean-cut, uniform, military styles.”
In Frida Kahlo’s (1940), the shorn artist is depicted holding scissors with a severed braid and locks of hair strewn across the floor, and the lyrics of a Mexican song above: “Look, if I loved you it was because of your hair. Now that you are without hair, I don’t love you anymore.” MoMa art critics suggest it symbolised her newfound autonomy, after vowing to support herself financially following her divorce from artist Diego Rivera in 1939.
“Hair comes weighted with a great deal of emotion and identity, often created by wider society rather than the wearer,” says Gibson. “For example, it wasn’t until relatively recent history (circa 1920s) that women were allowed to have any variation on long hair or to be seen in public with their hair loose. Women were expected to grow their hair and wear it long, as a sign of their femininity and subsequent worth as a wife and mother. This is why, when women started to cut their hair short in the 1920s, it caused widespread scandal. Indeed, such was the ownership of men over women’s appearances, fathers even attempted to bring criminal charges against hairdressers cutting their daughters’ hair short without their permission. We see this again in more modern times, when Vidal Sassoon’s ‘wash-and-wear’ bobs of the 1960s freed women from a long, weekly salon trip — thus allowing them time to work or otherwise spend their own time.”
Fighting for social change
A 2016 study by Perception Institute confirmed that black women with natural hair experience bias in the workplace, which followed the case of Chastity Jones, who in 2010 had an Alabama job offer rescinded after she refused to cut her dreadlocks. Earlier this year — on the back of several more lawsuits — New York City and California banned racial discrimination based on hair. The new guidelines released by the New York City Commission on Human Rights in February asserts the rights of people to have “natural hair, treated or untreated hairstyles such as locs, cornrows, twists, braids, Bantu knots, fades, Afros, and/or the right to keep hair in an uncut or untrimmed state.”
Recently, it’s the expense of New York congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez’s haircut and colour that has gained column inches, but styles worn by those opposing power has come at a far greater price. On International Women’s Day this year (March 8), three unveiled women in Iran peacefully protested their country’s compulsory hijab laws, gifting flowers to female passengers on a metro train in Tehran. A video of them went viral, and on July 31 2019, Monireh Arabshahi, her daughter Yasaman Aryani and Mojgan Keshavarz were sentenced to 55 years in prison between them for charges including “encouraging and providing for corruption and prostitution”.
This follows on from the case of Nasrin Sotoudeh, the Iranian human rights lawyer who, her family said, was sentenced to 38 years in prison and 148 lashes in March for supporting the same cause. Vida Movahed was detained in 2017, waving her white headscarf on a stick, while standing on a utility box in the busy Revolution Street in Tehran. This prompted more women to rise up, and subsequently be arrested; #TheGirlsofRevolutionStreet is viewed as Iran’s #MeToo. On September 2, 29-year-old Sahar Khodayari set herself on fire outside a Tehran court after learning that she could be imprisoned for six months for attempting to enter a football stadium – where women are banned – dressed as a man. She died of her injuries one week later.
Gender politics and hair
In Afghanistan, the secret practice of disguising girls as boys for both freedom and family status, is called “bacha posh” (“dressed up as a boy”), and was documented by Swedish investigative journalist Jenny Nordberg in her book, . “A family without a son is seen as weak and with no prospects for the parents’ future, whereas sons and men are both viewed as, and function as, a currency and measure of strength in a largely lawless society,” Nordberg tells. “The first thing that turning an Afghan girl into a ‘bacha posh’ requires is a haircut. In the words of Azita [Rafat], the Afghan parliamentarian whose youngest daughter came to pass as a boy, it was fairly straightforward for her six-year-old: a trip to the barber, a pair of jeans and a shirt, and a tweak of the name from ‘Manoush’ to the more masculine-sounding ‘Mehran’.”
Her family came to appreciate the advantages that came with passing as a boy in the strictly gender-segregated culture of Afghanistan. “She was allowed to play sports, ride a bike and to ride in the passenger seat next to her father, who basked in pride at having what looked like a son beside him. Mehran was even able to escort her sisters around the neighbourhood, where all the girls gained more freedom of movement through the appearance of having a boy in the family. A haircut in some countries is a small price to pay for women and girls to be able to walk out the door. ”