Dreadlocks: More Than a Stoner Stereotype

Several years ago, I embarked upon a very personal and empowering journey when I decided to lock my hair.

During that time in my life, I had never even considered smoking weed. However, a couple years later, after I had become a philosophy student and a budding weedist, someone asked me in passing, “Why do so many marijuana smokers have locks?” I was taken aback by the question, because I genuinely did not know.

For me, the question was akin to asking a natural blonde cheerleader why so many other cheerleaders decide to go blonde. It had never occurred to me that others would perceive an association between the way I wore my hair and my choice to smoke weed. I would periodically be posed the same question, and the response always remained the same: “I… um… I don’t know. Are you ready to pass that?”

Personally, my decision to lock my hair was about self-acceptance and not allowing my appearance to be defined by the Eurocentric beauty standards that had convinced my ancestors to put lye in their hair.

In many ways my journey began when I was twelve years old, when my mother put a relaxer in my hair for the first time. For those of you who do not know, a chemical relaxer (sometimes referred to as a perm) is frequently used by people of African descent to make our naturally coarse, thick hair, as straight and fine as the hair of a person of European or Asian descent. This is a process that severely damages the hair and can potentially cause chemical burns to the scalp. In spite of this fact, many African American women have this done several times a year.

The reason for its popularity is not only cosmetic, but is rooted in historical prejudice which dictated that the natural physical traits of African Americans are inferior and physically unappealing. A final project for an African American history course, which I had initially believed would be fun, led me to this sobering realization at the age of twenty years old. After nearly eight years of enduring dry, broken hair and chemical burns, which I had been taught were more attractive than letting my hair grow naturally, I decided to take a stand. I cut my chemically treated hair off, and for the first time since I was a young girl, I let my locks flow from my scalp as nature intended.

During the first couple years of that journey, I tried out several looks. I had some twists, wore some braids, and rocked an afro. It was fun. But after a while I decided to settle on one style, and took the plunge into getting dreadlocks, and have had them ever since.

So when I started to smoke weed and would be asked the same question about my locks somewhat frequently, or would have strangers randomly inquiring if I knew where they could find weed at college parties, I found myself reflecting on them from time to time. I suppose that for many people who smoke regularly, aside from those who do it for legitimate cultural or religious reasons, it is a means to solidifying their social rebelliousness.

I guess for me, it is also based upon similar anti-establishment sentiments, but it goes much deeper than most people would suspect. Often times, when I encounter fellow weedists who are sporting a set of locks, they approach me as though we are kindred spirits. I very much enjoy that; but I enjoy it most when they ask, rather than assume, how I came to the decision to lock my hair.