Recently, people around the world marked World Mental Health Day, a time to reflect on how we care for our minds and bodies. Yet one dimension of mental health remains virtually absent from the conversation, one that sits in plain sight, on our heads. For women, Black women, and girls, in particular, hair isn’t just a style; it is a crucial part of mental health and well-being.
Mainstream mental health discourse continues to ignore what many Black psychologists, clinicians, and women have long understood: how we see, feel about, and care for our hair is an overlooked component of psychological well-being. For Black women and girls, hair becomes a source of judgment, exclusion, or fear, and the consequences extend far beyond appearance. They shape life outcomes, discriminatory experiences, and, by extension, self-worth, safety, and identity.
Research shows that hair-based bias starts early and runs deep. The Crown Research Study found that Black women are 3.5 times more likely to be perceived as unprofessional because of their hair, and over half of Black girls experience hair discrimination before age 5. A Duke University study reinforced this reality: identical resumes were rated differently depending on hairstyle, with natural textures judged as “less professional.” These judgments create more than workplace inequity. They generate chronic stress. When you must constantly assess whether your natural hair will cost you a job, respect, or safety, your nervous system stays on high alert. That vigilance erodes self-esteem and belonging, which are the very foundations of mental health.
Despite this evidence, psychology has largely ignored hair-esteem. We have several validated measures for body image, weight satisfaction, and self-esteem, yet almost none that ask, How do you feel about your hair? The Hair-Esteem Scale remains rarely used in mainstream research or practice. That absence sends a message: Some experiences are still invisible, even in mental health care. Therapists are taught to explore cultural identity, but are rarely trained to understand how beauty standards and politics affect their clients’ well-being. When clients describe straightening their hair to feel “acceptable” or being treated differently based on their hairstyles, these are not cosmetic issues—they are racialized stressors. Ignoring them leaves a critical gap in culturally responsive care.
Fortunately, Black women psychologists have begun to name and repair that gap. Wellesley College professor Afiya Mbilishaka, Ph.D., integrates mental-health principles into salons and hair care spaces. She trains stylists to recognize emotional distress and connect clients with resources, transforming everyday grooming into community-based therapy. This work formalizes what Black communities have practiced for generations: Hair care as healing. In kitchens and salons, laughter and touch become connection; combing becomes care. Reframed through a psychological lens, these rituals demonstrate resilience and how Black women have turned beauty maintenance into a survival practice.
Some people may roll their eyes and say, “It’s just hair.” But that reaction proves the point. For those whose hair has never been politicized, it’s easy to call it trivial or vain. For Black women, hair can determine safety, employability, and even health. That’s not vanity, that’s vulnerability. The mental-health dimension of hair isn’t about over-pathologizing beauty ideals; it’s about naming what’s already there.
Let’s broaden our understanding of what counts as mental health and who gets to define it. If we want truly inclusive systems, we must center the lived realities of those most marginalized by Eurocentric standards, including beauty ideals. For Black women and girls, that starts with recognizing that hair-esteem is not peripheral—it’s psychological. It belongs at the center of every mental health conversation.
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