Your hairdresser’s braiding cornrows so tight that she probably included your thoughts in that braid? Well, bear it with a stiff lip young lady because beauty is pain.
The waxer smears wax all over your nether regions and rips everything off harshly and you can feel your skin tearing. That sucks but suck it up and bear it young lady because beauty is pain and a lot of pain at that.
Every morning before you don that outfit you found on Pinterest, you shove all your fleshy bits into waist trainers, girdles and whatever bootleg Skims shapewear you can find. You go get yourself a coffee and try by all means to enjoy a sandwich but you can barely swallow it. Heck, even breathing is proving to be as impossible as the 12 labours of Hercules. But guess what? One must bear it for beauty is pain.
I often fantasise about finding the bloke who took a saying as meaningful as beauty is pain and turning it into a tool that came to oppress and subject women to rigid and horrendous beauty standards. The very idea that pain is necessary for beauty often normalises the harmful practices Black people are pushed into like chemical relaxers, skin bleaching, tight braids, waist trainers, and even dangerous surgeries (I’m talking about you, BBL), without addressing why these practices feel necessary.
Claiming that it’s not just “pain for beauty”; it’s pain for survival in a world that privileges whiteness should be the norm. No, it’s not a victim complex but a construct that has many systems in place to support it.
“Beauty is pain” becomes a deadly snare when it’s used to force Black people to aspire to Eurocentric ideals. We bleach to acquire lighter skin but that’s okay because beauty is pain. That lovely scalp on your head sprouts a thick mane of 4c hair but you fight it by gelling it back and straightening it to resemble the hair types with looser curls or no curls at all (it will never happen, just let your hair do what it wants). After all the burning and applying harmful product to your hair to resemble looser curl patterns you sigh and say that beauty is pain. No, it’s not, because once you start embracing what your hair was meant to do, you won’t be in pain. You can’t messy bun the 4c hair so afro puff it and learn to love it because that’s what it is.
The whole beauty is pain is not just physical; it’s psychological. In the Global West, black girls are taught early that their natural features aren’t beautiful unless they’re altered. Unambiguous black women are teased for being masculine just because of their big noses and big lips. The beauty industry profits off of Black insecurity, often caused by systemic racism and colourism. Multinational companies rake in billions while Black creators, innovators, and consumers rarely benefit. The last time I checked most African beauty content creators don’t rake in cash or sponsorships. I mean some do but let’s be real, it’s not that much. The beauty is literal pain.
“Pain” becomes a lucrative business model for the Global West, Global East and Global North, and our self-hatred becomes their product.
My biggest issue with the whole “beauty is pain” shtick is that it’s a gaslighter for black women’s suffering. When Black women speak up about the pain, the scalp burns from perms, the migraines from wigs, the shame of colourism they’re often dismissed. I have come to find it’s mostly black women that stay ragging on each other about looks. There’s an exhausting need to always be perfect. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve scrolled on Tiktok and I’ve seen videos of women donning their natural hair. You know, the hair that grows from their scalps? Yeah, that one and other women step on their necks, begging them to get their hair done. Comments will say, “girl put a wig over your hair,” or “girl, fix your hair,”. I am always confused when the woman being persecuted tells them that her hair is done and the internet becomes furious because how dare you navigate life wearing the hair that grows from your scalp? Some women will say they can’t afford wigs or the exorbitant prices charged by some braiders and other women will tell her that she must sacrifice something because beauty is pain. It’s all rather depressing if you ask me.
So, on that note would it be an exaggeration to say that “beauty is pain” becomes a way to silence Black girls instead of validating their experience.
The scam is that we’re told we must suffer to be considered beautiful, rather than being taught that beauty should include comfort, health, freedom, and self-love. Our hair is political. Our skin is radical. But our beauty shouldn’t have to hurt… I mean, I am always horrified because I see braids so tight that the scalp is inflamed, flaking and covered in pimples. I see braids that are subjected to hot water that practically burns the scalp. I’ve experienced hairstyles that have given me sleepless nights and consumed my edges. I’ve read stories of women getting cancer from relaxers or attaching dead people’s hair on their head. But beauty is pain, right? I get horrified because of the traction alopecia caused by tight braids and constant wig installs. Mind you, I don’t think any of these beauty choices are bad—I love braids after all, but I think too much of something can be harmful.
Relaxer’s pain vs beauty…
While there are no confirmed cases of Black women dying directly from hair relaxers, growing research including a major 2022 NIH study links long-term use of chemical straighteners to higher risks of uterine cancer, fibroids, and breast cancer. Black women are disproportionately affected because they’re more likely to use relaxers from a young age and more frequently, often under pressure to conform to Eurocentric beauty standards.
Though the pain starts with burns and scalp damage, the real danger lies deeper in the chemicals absorbed into our bodies over years. Dozens of Black women are now suing brands like L’Oréal, claiming these products caused their reproductive cancers. It’s a stark reminder that for Black women, “beauty is pain” hasn’t just meant tight braids or sore feet it’s meant risking their health to be seen as “presentable.”
Braids are beautiful, (I’ll die on the braids hill) a symbol of culture, care, creativity, and pride. But for many Black women, the process isn’t painless. The ache of tight cornrows, the weight of long extensions, and the scalp tenderness that lingers for days are all brushed off with, “You’ll get used to it.” But should we? Umm, no. If you tell a hairstylist they are braiding too tightly and they persist, stand up and walk out. The neatness is not worth the headache. That beauty is not worth the pain.
Kanekalon’s pain vs beauty…
One of the most common types of synthetic hair used in braiding is Kanekalon. It’s known to be affordable, versatile, and widely available. But here’s what most people don’t know: Kanekalon is made from acrylic or modacrylic fibres essentially plastic (What can I say, I’m a girl in STEM. *Please don’t fact check in my “O” Level results*). When heated (to seal ends or curl the hair), it releases toxic fumes, including hydrogen cyanide and formaldehyde (big words baby…I’m in the big leagues now). These are chemicals linked to respiratory issues and even cancer over prolonged exposure.
Add that to the fact that many stylists dip braids in boiling water or burn the ends directly — and suddenly, what should be a protective style becomes a potential hazard to both hair and health.
Let’s not forget the tension alopecia caused by consistently tight styles, especially around the hairline. For some, the crown of beauty has cost them their edges, permanently.
“Her braids were so tight they braided her thoughts” might sound like a joke, but the damage isn’t funny nor is the cancer…because well, cancer is bad and sometimes deadly.
Don’t get me wrong, I also love dressing up, I love getting my hair and nails done, I absolutely love getting my lashes and I adore shopping. I love beauty and attaining it because it makes me feel wonderful. However, I don’t think all these beauty pursuits should be at the expense of my health, whether it’s emotional, physical and mostly spiritual health. The pursuit of beauty should not hurt; it should be enjoyable and healthy or at least result in permanent joy. I should be able to get my braids done while ensuring I don’t get traction alopecia. I truly believe I can attain my standard of beauty without killing myself in the process because at the end of the day, is it worth it when we’re ill or dead?
Wig pain vs beauty…
Wigs are magic. One day you’re rocking a curly afro, the next a 30-inch bone-straight bust-down with a middle part. They’re versatile, empowering, and, for many Black women, a means of creative expression or survival in anti-Black spaces, like our own institutions in AFRICA. It’s absurd, if you ask me.
But behind the lace fronts, melting sprays, and TikTok tutorials lies a truth we refuse to accept and address, wearing wigs can hurt. Literally and emotionally.
First, there’s the physical pain. I’m sure you’ve experienced the tight wig caps, the deadly clips digging into scalps, the tension from the braids underneath. Then come the chemicals: glue, adhesives, and sprays used to keep lace in place often contain toxins like butylene glycol and formaldehyde, which can irritate skin, damage edges, and cause long-term scalp issues. Many women report breakouts, allergic reactions, and hairline thinning from regular wig use.
What’s more is the murky world of global human hair trade. Have you ever wondered where all this human hair comes from? It’s easy to admire a 40-inch body wave wig, but much harder to face where that luscious hair came from. Maybe even terrifying. A significant portion of human hair used to make wigs and extensions tends to come from unprivileged, exploited, or unaware donors. These donors are often women and girls in countries like India, Myanmar, Cambodia, and parts of China.
For starters, the hair is sourced from temples (e.g., India’s tonsuring rituals), where women shave their heads as a religious sacrifice. That hair is then sold by temple authorities to global wig markets without the donors ever seeing a cent. It is basically exploitative. I remember watching a video that featured a grown African black man holding a young Asian girl’s hair and basically parading her around like a product. I mean she was the product because the hair comes from her. It’s utterly terrifying.
This human hair is often bought for cheap or traded by women in poverty, sometimes for as little as a meal or a few dollars. It can be collected under coercion in regions that are exposed to conflict, poverty, or trafficking including disturbing reports of hair coming from detention camps or forced labour. Umm, yikes?
In more haunting cases, rumours have swirled for years about hair being collected from the deceased often referred to as “cadaver hair.” If you’re spiritual, do you think about the spiritual implications or do you just go about your day?
Behind the bundle we must ask the question whose pain bought this beauty? That wig might be labelled “Brazilian” or “Peruvian,” but chances are it came from an Indian woman who cut her hair in prayer, a Cambodian girl selling her locks to feed her family, or a factory worker treated as less than human.
It’s not just the physical discomfort of glue, clips, and heat that should be addressed. It’s also the emotional weight of unknowingly wearing someone else’s struggle on our scalps. Wigs are beautiful but should who had to feel pain for us to gain beauty?
Then there’s the heat. Underneath the layers of lace, tracks, and caps, scalps suffocate. Sweat builds. It itches. It smells. Yet we smile and say, “It’s worth it at least I look good.”
What does it say when many of us don’t feel beautiful without the wig?
The lace is laid, but so are the insecurities. That wig will never be the hair that grows from your scalp. So while there is beauty, is the pain really enough, think about it?
We joke about wigs. We say stuff like “Don’t pull my wig off during a hug.” “This heat is about to expose my install.” But deep down, many of us are wearing wigs not just for fun, but because we’ve been told our natural texture is too “messy,” too “unprofessional,” too “nappy” to be seen and the worst part? We have come to believe it many more ways than one. This nonsense starts from our stupid school board rules that dictate that black people’s hair should be short or hidden away in perms or edge consuming thin cornrows or no not there at all. These rules amongst other birth generations of natural hair haters and in AFRICA too, which makes the ordeal even more sick.
The pain of bleaching vs beauty…
The destruction of melanin to achieve a look that will never be worth it will never be a pain worth the so-called beauty of light skin. According to a 2011 report from WHO, 40% of African women bleach their skin. Colonial influences, social influences all have a part to play in this horror.
The pain of BBL’s vs beauty…
Butt shots, butt enhancing pills and surgeries to get that coveted 2010-2022 Kardashian butt is not a pain worth the so-called beauty of a massive butt. The dangers the surgery pose are terrifying. The healing process looks horrible and even costly.
The list is endless really…
What beauty is pain really means?
I used to think that beauty is pain is a metaphorical phrase for self-discipline, growth, and the painful process behind beautiful outcomes in life, not just those of physical appearance.
The sore muscles, the sweat, the early mornings, the trek to the gym or rising from your bed and grabbing a yoga mat. None of that feels glamorous in the moment. But the results? Energy, confidence, strength, health, discipline, is beautiful. There’s beauty that is birthed from the pain of consistent workouts, especially on the days you don’t feel like going to the gym or waking up to do that Pilates workout in your YouTube downloads.
Beauty comes from the pain of enduring braces for many years until they are finally removed for a perfect smile.
The late nights, the stress, the mental exhaustion is tough that’s for sure. But there’s beauty in passing, graduating, understanding the world better, and reaching your goals. There’s pain in the discipline of studying when you would rather be repeating Attack on Titan for the 9th time but there’s beauty in success.
Spending hours honing a craft, be it sculpting a complex piece or watching YouTube tutorials on perfecting content creation is a painful and lengthy process but the result is beautiful art and engaging, meaningful content.
Beauty isn’t in the pain and struggle, it’s in what the pain and struggle creates. The problem with attaching unhealthy pursuits of unattainable beauty standards is that they create temporary beauty in most cases. A temporary beauty that needs one to pump copious amounts of money to achieve. Thus it’s not pain equals beauty, rather pain equals infinite pain.
The phrase beauty is pain means a process of struggling and growth that forces one out of their comfort zone but leads to self-improvement and satisfaction in the best way possible. However, people have completely bastardised the term to mean constant suffering. I mean, I would break down and cry when I gained even a kg of weight or had to walk the streets of Bulawayo with my afro. I would get my hair done, but it wasn’t enough because someone would tell me to tweeze my eyebrows or shave my legs or blah blah blah blah blah….. *screams*
It’s never enough because there’s always more beauty to be attained and it’s excruciating and exhausting. The “beauty” isn’t worth the “pain” that we go through to achieve the beauty standards. Now when someone says my eyebrows are this or that I say they are DONE. When someone says girl, your legs need a little razor, I say they are FINE. When someone says girl, your cornrows or put your hair in a—shhhhhhh, it’s DONE.
In the meantime…
- The “Weird” Brown Girl.
SOURCES:
https://www.theguardian.com/global-development/2024/apr/10/black-women-beauty-hair-relaxer
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