Growing up in a white family, Georgina Lawton faced a long and sometimes arduous journey of discovery about her racial identity. Here, she reveals how she learned to stop fighting her curly hair
My skin is too dark to show a blush, but I came pretty close a few years ago when, as a University of Warwick undergraduate, I was turned away from my campus hair salon because of my appearance. “Oh, we don’t do your type of hair,” the blond, Brummie-voiced stylist said, smiling semi-apologetically, in a tone that conveyed her reluctance to even try. “Maybe go to an afro salon in Coventry?”
I was 19 and wore a sweetcorn-coloured, straw-textured, Beyoncé-inspired weave. I’m not sure what the stylist expected to find beneath my wavy 22-inch remy hair extensions, but it became obvious that whatever I was sporting up there was simply too much work for her. I left that salon with my cheeks glowing as close to crimson as is naturally possible and waited until I returned home to London to get my hair sorted (thank you, Peckham).