Modes of Expression: The Ways in Which the Queer Community in Caribbean Culture Utilizes Hair to Narrate Their Experiences

      For many individuals in the Caribbean, hair is a significant aspect of their identity. Numerous countries have traditional hairstyles that reflect gender norms and expectations. Although this is not necessarily negative, it can be challenging, particularly for those within the LGBTQ+ community. To gain insight into the experiences of those who navigate their queerness amid these standards, Who What Wear spoke with three individuals who shared how they use hair as a means of expression and self-acceptance. Below, you will read their distinct stories and learn how pride in Caribbean culture can adapt to support each person's authenticity.

      Polo, 31

      Polo, currently residing in Long Island, New York, was born in Trinidad and moved to the U.S. at the age of 8. She vividly recalls her childhood relationship with her hair, having never preferred longer styles. She describes herself as a tomboy who kept away from dresses and makeup. “I always felt like I was born into the wrong body,” she states. “My current hairstyle reflects who I am today, as I was born with masculine features and carried myself in a masculine manner.” Polo, who identifies as Hindu, believes she was a man in a past life, and her hair significantly enhances that connection.

      In her younger years, she wore her hair in bob cuts or ponytails—styles typically associated with femininity in West Indian culture. By 14, she was ready to cut her hair shorter. “The first thing a West Indian parent will say is, ‘You’re going through a phase,’ or ‘You’re just young,’ so I had to demonstrate that I knew what I wanted,” she explains. Polo officially came out as a lesbian at 17 and cut her hair at 18, which felt like coming home to her true self. “I felt proud to not have the West Indian community bring me down,” she shares. “Seeing my reflection made me happy. I was speechless.” Initially, she was concerned about how her culture would react, but as she grew older, the choice deepened her connection to her Trinidadian heritage. She also found ways to inspire others with similar backgrounds to embrace their authenticity. “If you lack understanding from a parent, it can be tough, especially when it comes to cutting hair,” she notes, mentioning that others are often surprised by her ability to present as she likes while maintaining a relationship with her parents. “It feels like the best feeling in the world,” she adds.

      Just before coming out, Polo anticipated questions. When her older sister mentioned it wouldn't surprise most family members, she felt relieved. “Half of my family said they always knew,” she said. “I didn’t have to explain.” Although she didn't have friends in the LGBTQ community then, her core group was supportive. For Polo, her hair embodies a sense of calm and safety. She explains that barbershop culture is significant in Trinidad, serving as a space for building confidence, which ties back to hair. “My hair expresses my gender and queerness without words, and I typically wear masculine clothing. It aligns my external appearance with my internal self and helps me break away from conventional West Indian culture—it’s like my personal flag.”

      Being Caribbean is rooted in strength for Polo, but she also stresses the necessity of creating spaces where she is fully accepted. “As a masculinized queer person, finding that balance can be challenging,” she admits. “I love seeing more West Indians come out, as it reminds me that I’m not alone.” Her aspiration is for more individuals in the Caribbean LGBTQ community to experience support and empowerment in living authentically without fear.

      Ramona Vargas, 28

      Ramona is a Brooklyn native, raised in a Dominican household. From an early age, she was fascinated by men with long hair on TV. “I found it beautiful that boys could keep their hair long, but I wasn’t allowed to,” she recalls, explaining how she received close shaves during childhood. In high school, she had the freedom to grow it out, but it still didn’t feel entirely right. She realized she had a contentious relationship with her hair, having spent years chemically straightening it and hiding her curls.

      Ramona reflects that culturally many people opt for blowouts, frequently seeing her mom straightening and bleaching her hair. However, as she began openly presenting as queer, she sought a fresh start. In 2017, she stopped straightening, shaved her hair one last time, and embraced her curls, which also fostered a connection to her Dominican roots. "It felt like I transitioned from a wannabe white boy to a Hispanic woman," she says, acknowledging that while it was gratifying, it also felt isolating at times.

      Ramona enjoys playing with various hair colors, which empowers her, particularly during the early days of her transition. “My mother struggled to defend me to our family, as I was quite reserved about it,” she explains. “Now, my