The African woman’s hairnet and bonnet are not tacky, they hold a legacy of care and quiet resilience.
Growing up, I saw my mother wear a hairnet every night. She never missed a day. It was a crucial part of her night routine — a ritual — and a conscious decision to protect her hair. I used to take her hairnet on several occasions to cover my own hair, not because I needed it at the time, but because I wanted to feel connected to her. At first glance, the hairnet might look like a simple head cover — stretchy, sometimes vibrant with colours. But to the African woman, the hairnet is far more than a head cover worn to bed. It’s a cultural emblem, a quiet act of self-love, and a symbol of the deep care and reverence African women have for their hair, their heritage, and themselves.
From childhood, many girls receive a hairnet with the constant reminder to “Always protect your hair.” The hairnet becomes a familiar accessory, covering braids, cornrows, and kiko styles. Protecting them from the friction of pillowcases, the constant tossing of troubled sleepers — like myself — and protecting the hairstyles that took hours to achieve at the hair salon.
Black hair, natural and textured, is beautifully unique but prone to dryness and breakage. Hairnets, scarfs, and bonnets made with satin and silk materials serve as protection for our hair, preserving its natural oils, reducing tension, and minimising breakage. This soft fabric keeps the hair intact, locks in moisture from oils and leave-in treatments.
However, it’s not just about protection — it’s about preservation. It’s about honouring the time, money, patience, and skill that go into the care of our hair. Whether relaxed, natural, locked, or pressed, hair is personal for Black women; the hairnet guards all of that.
A marker of identity and self-love
In a society that has often misunderstood, policed, or mocked kinky hair, the hairnet has sometimes been dragged into the conversations — seen by outsiders as “tacky” or “dirty.” However, its cultural significance runs deep. It is a marker of knowledge, passed down from mother to daughter through generations. A woman in a hairnet is not unkempt — it shows that she’s in self-care mode.
When my mother’s hairnet came on at night, I knew she was reclaiming her space. Without words, she was saying, “I’m preserving my crown.” To me, that meant she was intentional about guarding something that made her feel beautiful. Even on trips to the market on Saturdays, I saw women wear the hairnet with pride. Not because they were tacky or didn’t have their hair done. They covered their hair as a conscious effort to preserve their hair from the dust, hassle, and stress experienced while being the matriarch of their homes. The hairnet doesn’t signify the absence of beauty, it’s the preservation of it.
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Too often, African women’s beauty is only recognised in its final form: the laid edges, stylish headgear, and polished presentation. However, African women know beauty begins in the process. It is a quiet declaration that maintenance matters, and that care — especially self-care — is revolutionary.
Preserving the narrative
In recent years, we’ve seen the hairnet slowly fade away while silk scarfs and bonnets have gained widespread popularity. We’ve seen them feature in TikTok tutorials and even at airport terminals. I’ve also embraced silk scarfs because of the assurance that they will keep my hair protected just as the hairnet did my mother’s.
While the wider world may still be catching up, African women have always known that the hairnet, scarfs and bonnets hold grace. It doesn’t need validation to be powerful. It just needs to be worn with pride.
To wear a hairnet, scarf, or bonnet is to say: I love myself enough to protect what’s mine. My hair, culture, rest and peace. Now, every hair covering tells of an African woman’s self-love. It’s a testament to the unwavering dedication we have for our hair, identity, and beauty.
As I celebrate the hairnet, I honour the unspoken labour that goes into maintaining the magnificence of an African woman’s hair. I nod at the subtle yet strong connection I feel to my mother, who taught me to protect my hair. Finally, I acknowledge the loving touch that defines the relationship between African women and their crown.
