By: Kierra C. Pittman (’20), Staff Writer
All the girls at Inborden Elementary School wore a collection of ponytails that were fastened at the ends with hairbows, and I was no different. Every day my mother would make sure mine were parted neatly in sections and twisted to perfection. Ponytails were my favorite.
As I grew older, however, I found myself in an interesting place with my kinks. When many of my peers began relaxing their hair and wearing straighter styles, I felt tempted to do the same.
It was only after constant reassurance from my mother, increased natural hair representation in media, and analyzing my inner self that I realized my hair was perfect.
With this in mind, one might understand my excitement when I saw the previews for Netflix’s latest romantic comedy, Nappily Ever After, based on the book series by Trisha R. Thomas. I was eager to finally see a film celebrating various facets of black womanhood-hair, love, and career.
Directed by Haifaa al-Mansour, the film desires to share an inspiring story of self-discovery, while offering romance and humor like classics How Stella Got Her Groove Back and Love Jones. However, I feel that Nappily Ever After was not intended to be solely a ‘romantic-comedy’, but a cautionary tale to black parents to encourage self-love and acceptance in their children at an early age.
When we first meet Violet Jones (Sanaa Lathan), a successful marketing executive, she is sneaking out of the bed that she shares with her boyfriend Clint (Ricky Whittle) to have her mother Paulette (Lynn Whitfield) flat iron her hair. From this scene alone, we can see her obsession with perfection and anticipate the breakdown that is soon to happen.
After a salon disaster and the lack of a marriage proposal, Violet shifts. She decides to end her relationship, changes her hair a couple times before shaving it bald, questions her idea of beauty, and develops a “situationship” with a natural hairstylist Will (Lyriq) while mentoring his daughter Zoe (Daria Johns).
Violet’s lack of self-acceptance seems to be directly correlated with her mother. Paulette often projects her own insecurities onto her daughter. She constantly hides her natural hair under wigs and reacts dramatically each time Violet changes hairstyles (I mean, sis lost entire consciousness at the sight of Violet’s shaved head.)
It’s apparent that Paulette’s words, no matter how baseless, influenced the way in which Violet chose to experience life. She can barely enjoy a day out with the girls without fearing that bad weather will ruin her tresses; she never joins her friends on the dance floor, not even for special occasions; and she always hesitates when disclosing Will’s profession because of anticipated criticisms.
We begin to see her find herself toward the end of the movie, when she dances wildly to her favorite song and finally tells her mother, “You taught me how to be the girl the guy wants, but not the girl I want.”
However, I wish there were moments of her experiencing a self-acceptance like that of Zoe and her underwear model dad Richard (Ernie Hudson).
I wanted to know what her conversations with her friends looked like when they weren’t discussing appearance. I wanted her to expand on how hair should not be a determinator of her beauty or self-worth. I wanted her to experience a love that was free of conditions and hesitations.
Instead, I was left with an ending that had me like, “that’s it?”
Nappily Ever After was a great attempt at the intricacy of black womanhood, but I didn’t find that distinguishing factor, that “umph” that would’ve taken it deeper.
