Transcriber: Thomas Tam Reviewer: Hiroko Kawano
There are uncomfortable, albeit pivotal moments
that happen throughout our lives that help shape our whole selves.
The first one I remember was in second grade.
It was picture day.
Anyone else remember?
I can still smell the film and the hairspray
wafting through the hallways.
And I can still see those tiny blonde heads bouncing down the hall
on the way to the gym.
You see, I went to an almost all-white elementary school,
which is pretty much every space I've occupied my entire life
being the only or one of very few.
And there was an object that was being passed around the line
that I'd seen before but never really used.
It was small and black.
(Laughter)
You know what it is, don't you?
And it was being used to a kind of smooth away any frizz
and erase curls from the blonde heads.
And when it got to me, I took a look at it and said,
"Well, everyone else is using it, so why not me?"
(Laughter)
This object, what I now call today, is the enemy of the State
or the fine-tooth comb.
(Laughter)
So I got to work.
and I started ripping and tearing at my curls,
trying to get them as smooth and laid flat as possible
to get rid of all the work
that my mom had probably done earlier that day.
And the result was not quite what I was going for.
(Laughter)
I was cute, though.
(Laughter)
It was only second grade.
And this really began the first moment
I realized that I was different than everyone else.
That there was something that I couldn't use
that everyone else could use
because of the color of my skin or the way my hair grew out of my head.
And it really started this journey of code switching,
which, for if you don't know what that is,
that's the changing of oneself to fit into different environments.
Some people do it for survival,
others do it for fitting into a traditionally white space.
Many people of color do this,
folks from indigenous communities, and other folks from marginalized spaces.
Mine manifested itself in straightening my hair,
and this is what I looked like for the majority of my life, actually,
and even into my professional career.
I spent thousands of dollars, probably more than that,
using chemicals that could fry a Coke can on my head
to get as straight as possible to look like my white counterparts.
As I entered the workforce, it started to show up in other ways too, though,
in how I spoke up or didn't speak up in meetings.
And what happened was - I started getting these annual reviews
that told me I was too quiet, I didn't have a point of view,
and I wasn't strong enough.
And for me, and most people I know, I'm pretty opinionated.
And this was unusual, and it made me feel small.
And one particularly sad moment,
I was traveling for business in an LA bar, in the airport,
and it's one of the sadder places on earth if you've ever been to an airport bar.
(Laughter)
And I'm sitting - across the bar from me
is this beautiful black fierce woman with a bald head.
And for those who aren't familiar, black women's hair is their crown;
it is something that we cherish and many of us change to fit in.
And so I approached her and I said,
"How did you get the courage to do the big chop?
And she said, "Honey, I wish I had done it sooner."
And I sat with that for a moment, but not too long
because I went and called my hairstylist
and made an appointment, and went and got my hair cut off.
It wasn't completely bald,
but it was uncomfortable enough for me to feel a real change.
I started wearing my hair natural in what I call a TWA,
or a teeny-weeny afro.
(Laughter)
I didn't invent that, that's normal.
(Laughter)
And other than me not knowing how much conditioner to use
or feeling my neck for the first time,
there was other uncomfortable thing that kept coming up for me.
It was a sound, and that sound was my voice.
I had never heard it before.
Maybe it was fried off from all the chemicals I was using.
(Laughter)
But it was a really strong voice:
it was annoying at first, but then I started to get used to it.
It started advocating for me in ways I had never done before.
I had two babies in the process and I started advocating for them
in ways that only a new parent can.
I started advocating for women in my industry, in advertising,
which is primarily white and primarily male in leadership,
helping them advance in their careers.
Eventually, I started a business with my three best friends
called The Coven, a community and work space for women
and non-binary folks here in Minneapolis, soon in St. Paul,
(Applause) (Cheers)
and soon in communities across the Midwest.
We built this space for folks like me, for folks who didn't have a voice
or haven't found it yet or have never heard their own voice.
We did it for people who need a space to show up as any version of themselves
and show up as their whole self and be treated with respect and kindness.
In this process of building this beautiful empire,
I started to get reviews that sounded a little different.
(Laughter)
They said I was too strong.
I had too much of a point of view, and I was too loud.
But that's more like it.
(Applause) (Cheers)
With each curl that grew out of my head,
my voice got louder, and I started listening to myself more.
I get questions a lot from people asking me about my courage.
How did I get the courage to cut off all my hair?
How did I get the courage to grow a giant afro?
How did I get the courage
to advocate for myself, my children and the women in this community?
And now I get to say, "I started listening to myself,
and I stopped listening to people who said I was too anything.
And honey, I wish I had done it sooner."
Thank you.
(Applause) (Cheers)