Interview with Guylaine Conquet

Author of The Spirit of My Hair and My Hair Story

Q: Why hair? And why these two books?

Guylaine Conquet:
In Afro-Caribbean communities, hair carries identity, memory, spirituality, belonging and, unfortunately, generations of imposed beauty standards. For me, hair has always been a mirror: how society sees us, and how we learn to see ourselves.

The Spirit of My Hair was born from a truth that could no longer be ignored: for generations, our stories have been muted or dismissed. I wanted to capture the emotional, cultural and political weight carried by Afro hair, from my childhood in Guadeloupe and France to my life in the United States. The book also traces how art and politics intersect in my journey, and how that path led me to initiate the French hair discrimination bill and work with MP Olivier Serva and partners to move it forward until it was enacted on March 28, 2024.

The children’s version, My Hair Story, came very naturally. I work in elementary, middle and high schools, leading workshops on art and identity. If we want to break the cycle of shame, we have to start early. Children need tools that validate them before the world teaches them to doubt themselves.

Q: When you speak about hair with students, what are you really talking about?

When I speak about hair, I am not just talking about style.

I am talking about identity, how you feel when you stand in front of the mirror. I am talking about memory, the hands that braided your hair as a child, and the stories tied to those gestures. I am talking about Afro-Caribbean heritage, the rituals, the creativity, the Sunday afternoons spent doing hair together.

I am also talking about beauty standards and the pressure to conform to European norms, which are still deeply rooted in the Caribbean, in France and in the United States. And I am talking about the politics of appearance: how hair can affect access to school, work, opportunity and dignity.

Hair is a cultural archive. When we look at it closely, we are also looking at ourselves, our families, and the systems that have shaped us.

For teachers, that means you are not “just” opening a conversation about hairstyles. You are touching on who is seen as “neat”, “serious”, “professional” and who is asked to change to fit in.

Meeting the Baimbridge students in Atlanta was a strong moment.

They arrived full of energy and curiosity. I was happy to represent Guadeloupe and to show them my painting exhibited at the Emma Darnell Museum, but the most important part started when we sat down together.

Very quickly, they began to share their own experiences. They told me that in the Caribbean, wearing natural hair is still taboo for many young people. They spoke about the “good hair / bad hair” mentality, the comments they hear from older generations, and the pressure to “look proper”which often means straightening hair for girls and keeping it very short for boys. Several of them said they still feel that natural hair is considered “inappropriate” in some schools and, later, in professional settings.

At one point, a student even called his mother during the session so she could hear the message directly. That moment said a lot. These questions are not theoretical. They live inside families, in front of the bathroom mirror, at the entrance of the classroom.

When I showed them my work and shared my own story, I could feel a shift in the room. For some of them, it was the first time someone stood in front of them and said clearly: there is nothing wrong with your natural hair.

Q: You mentioned that a real debate emerged. What did that look like?

The conversation became very honest very quickly.

Students spoke about the phrases they have heard since childhood “Tie your hair”, “Make it neat”, “You can’t go like that” and about the shame that can build up around their natural texture. They compared experiences, questioned what they had internalised, and realised they were not alone.

This was not a light “icebreaker”. It was a moment where they were putting words on something that usually stays under the surface. And they were doing it in a transatlantic context: Guadeloupean students in the U.S., talking about norms that exist on both sides.

For many young people, no adult has ever named these issues so directly in front of them. Once the words are out, it becomes very hard to pretend that “it’s just hair”.

Q: At the end of the session, you gave each student a signed print of your artwork. Why was that important for you?

I didn’t want the experience to stay only as a memory. I wanted them to leave with something they could see every day.

So I offered each student a signed print of my artwork. It was a way of saying: “This conversation matters enough to live on your wall.” It was also a reminder of what we had said together that their natural hair has its place wherever they go.

In a way, each print was a small promise: you do not have to erase yourself to be taken seriously.

Several students told me they needed to hear that. They understood that the problem was not their texture, their curls, their volume. The problem was the story they had been told about them.

Q: Many teachers would like to address these topics but don’t know where to start. What can they do with your books, in concrete terms?

For me, The Spirit of My Hair and My Hair Story are first of all conversation starters.

You don’t need a huge program to use them. You can simply read a short passage and ask students to write about one memory linked to their hair, a comment, a decision, a moment of pride or shame. That already opens a lot.

Another small exercise is to ask students to write one sentence they wish someone had told them about their appearance when they were younger. You don’t need to collect the papers; they can keep it private if they prefer. But the reflection is there.

For classes involved in exchanges or working with partner schools abroad, you can also imagine a modest cultural exchange around hair rituals: a few photos (with consent), drawings, short videos or texts about how they prepare their hair for school, celebrations, sports. It doesn’t have to be complex to be meaningful.

The goal is not to design the perfect project. The goal is to make room for what students are already carrying, and to connect that with the histories and texts you teach.

Q: Where do you see these books fitting in a school or university context?

I see them as bridges between disciplines.

In a French class, the books create space to work bilingually and use the themes for speaking and writing. In English or Language Arts, they sit naturally alongside memoir and identity texts. Social studies or civic education classes can also use them to open conversations about discrimination, law or social movements.

Outside of standard classes, they have their place in DEI work, advisory, book clubs, museum programs. And of course in exchange and mobility projects, where students are already thinking about where they come from and how they are seen elsewhere.

You don’t have to rewrite your whole curriculum. Sometimes, one well-prepared session stays with a student much longer than we imagine.

Q: When you think about the young people who will read your book or meet you, what do you hope will stay with them?

I would like them to be very clear on one thing: they are not the problem.

Young people are often made to feel that their natural hair, their body, their name, their accent are obstacles they have to correct to be accepted. I want them to understand that their existence is not up for negotiation.

If reading The Spirit of My Hair, seeing the artwork, or participating in a workshop helps them feel a bit more at home in their own skin, gives them language to describe what they live, or simply reassures them that they are not alone, then something important has already happened.

Reflecting back and sharing my experience here has been a lovely trip down memory lane. It reminds
me of why I continue to sponsor travel programs for my students despite the additional workload.

Our first trip to Martinique holds a special place in my heart and I hope to return with a new group of
students in the near future.