Should Black Women Be Gatekeeping Curly Hair Products?

Hands. They’re everywhere. Fisting my hair, twirling my curls, and tracing my edges. And they keep on coming without asking permission. Faces, none that look like mine, touching and grasping at spirals and coils that are different from the straight strands they have. And, unfortunately, this experience isn’t unique to me. Most Black women who grew up in primarily white spaces have a mountain of similar stories. But it doesn’t end here. There are also the “oohs” and “ahs,” which sometimes lead to comments about “crazy hair” or unsolicited opinions on how the silk press is “really your look.” So, in response, we spend years hiding beneath slick-back buns and straightening our texture as much as we can until we get sick of the heat damage and finally find love for our texture on our own. Now, we love our curls and coils, but so does everybody else.

For those unaware of what I’m describing, allow me to elaborate: The last few years of TikTok have seen a pattern of (mostly) white women embracing curly hair and dubbing it the next big “trend.” A quick scroll on your FYP will reveal straight hair being finger-coiled, forced into the scrunching method, or made into tight springs using a small barrel curling wand.

Yes, the hair type once deemed “unattractive” or “unprofessional” has now been inserted into mainstream beauty culture by the very people who cast it aside in the first place. (And just to clarify, this isn’t referring to the white or non-Black people who actually do have curly textures and need to use products and techniques meant for natural hair.) The irony is maddening on its own, but the matter runs even deeper than annoyance.

The Issue

Our products and secret remedies are selling out after going viral from white influencers. Exhibit A: Alix Earle praising the Mielle Organics Rosemary Mint hair oil — a product that’s been popular in the natural hair community since 2021, and was described as oil for textured hair to use on “protective styles, including braids and weaves” — at the end of 2022. This led to the small vial of oil flying off of virtual and physical shelves.

Not only did this make securing the product hard for the Black people who've been relying on it since the oil’s inception, but the overnight boost in attention was quickly followed by Mielle’s acquisition as an independent subsidiary of large manufacturing company Procter & Gamble in 2023. Although Monique and Melvin Rodriguez are still acting as CEO and COO, respectively, because they still have to answer to P&G, the brand isn’t considered Black-owned. This sparked feelings of bad faith in the Black community.

To make things worse, many also alleged that there was a reformulation and the solution was no longer effective — in fact, some cited damage and hair loss as one of the side effects. (These claims were not substantiated, and the founder doubled down on the commitment to healthy hair care and safe ingredients. Plus, many influencers, like respected cosmetic chemist Javon Ford, took to the app to debunk these ideas. So, the reformulation is technically still up for debate.)

However, minus these claims, Black people took to the internet to share their frustrations about the sale since they would no longer be sold a product made by people like them. One of the biggest criticisms of curly hair products produced by non-Black-owned companies is that they often don’t feel like they’re manufactured with the same love, care, and understanding of Black textures.

In the comments of a TikTok video announcing the sale, one user said, “[It’s] because they want to make it work for other people’s hair [instead of] who it is intended for,” while another said, “Black people [are] quick to sell their sh*t to white folks for a dollar smh.”

Many felt that selling the brand signaled a deprioritization of the Black people these products were originally designed for. It had already been viral in the Black community, yet it appeared like it needed white person’s approval for the brand to be seen as a major player.

And, this isn’t the first time Black people have felt discarded by a brand. Although there weren’t controversies with sold-out products, when popular hair care brand Carol’s Daughter was sold to L’Oréal in 2014 and SheaMoisture’s parent company Sundial was sold to Unilever in 2017, a sense of betrayal was also felt there. And, in response, many Black people stopped using these products because they felt that the formulas had changed and there was no longer dedication and commitment to quality and efficient Black hair care products.

In the comment section of a 2023 TikTok that expressed shock at the acquisitions of both Carol’s Daughter and SheaMoisture, users said things like, “When SheaMoisture switched I couldn't use it anymore. They didn't work the same,” or “I didn’t even have to look it up. One day, I put in the deep conditioner, it didn’t work, and I knew.”

The bottom line: Black people were left behind — a tale as old as time.

Is There An Answer To The Problem?

So, the question remains here: Should Black people start gatekeeping their hair products to avoid further situations like this? TikTok creators went back and forth about the answer. Some users have stood strong on the idea that we should start to keep our products a secret, while others have said that white consumerism is great for the growth of Black brands. The truthful response? It’s complicated.

Let’s start with some facts. Statistics gathered in 2022 by McKinsey and Company found that Black Americans make up 11.1% of beauty spending in the United States, while comprising 13.7% of the population as of 2025. And even though our community intensely contributes to beauty spending, brands made for us have difficulty securing space on the shelves in major retailers. Stores in urban cities have a designated aisle — much smaller and with fewer options than brands that prioritize straight textures — and, in more rural areas, the options are incredibly slim. You’re looking at a shelf, maybe two, with few choices, News Market reports. Plus, according to research pulled by the site, only 4% to 7% of brands carried at specialty beauty stores, drugstores, grocery stores, and department stores (i.e., a mix of Sephora, Ulta, Target, CVS, Walgreens, Sally’s Beauty, Bloomingdales, Nordstrom, etc.) are Black-owned brands — aka the products that yield the best results and with the most thoughtful intention.

All of this is to say we don’t have much, so when white people sell out or lead to the alteration of the products that we do have, it’s incredibly frustrating since they have a plethora of other choices that will work just as well for their needs. It’s not that we want to ban or keep others from using our formulas, but the unfortunate reality is that the obsession with Eurocentric beauty standards fuels company decisions that can contribute to an even larger gap of inequality with less access to quality solutions and overall representation. So, in this regard, we are really asking for mindfulness and critical thinking. Shopping isn’t just shopping here, and your consumerism can be harmful to marginalized communities.

How To Approach The Problem

But, you may be wondering, “Don’t you want Black brands to do well?” Yes, of course. In an ideal world, these brands have enough success to service a wide variety of customers. But, according to News Market, 2024 saw a steep decline in funding of Black-owned beauty startups, going from $73 million in 2022 to $16 million in 2024. This greatly impedes the growth of Black-owned businesses and increases the complications of handling a large customer base in the event of virality. This will only lead to more companies feeling the need to sell to keep the company alive, but at the potential cost of the ethics of their brand. The problem — as per usual — lies in money.

Today, selling to a conglomerate might seem like the only way solve the issue since Black brands aren’t offered much support on their own, but, as I’ve described, this often sacrifices the integrity of the brand. So, there must be another way to support Black businesses, so that they can stand on their own, continue to be a safe choice for Black people, and potentially be used by all.

According to owner of Kinky-Curly Shelley Davis, this all starts by allowing Black brands to thrive while keeping reliability and authenticity at the forefront.

“Supporting brands by buying directly [is a huge help],” says Davis. “I know no one wants to wait for shipping, but buying directly on the website [is a great way to support these brands]. I want to remain an owner as long as I can. And, sometimes, I'm like, ‘Why am I doing this?’ You want to sell as much as possible, but you have to remember, even if you built your business with the intention of selling it, who's your main customer?”

Buying directly from the brand is helpful for a number of reasons. This allows them to profit more from the sale, which means more money in their pockets. This can be an incredible help in staying independently owned and can contribute to making up for gaps in funding. More money also means more inventory, which leads to the ability to service more people, so there’s less worry about products selling out and less of a need for a non-Black shopper to be selective about how their purchases can negatively impact other people.

Plus, staying independently owned preserves the brand’s formulas because the products will remain manufactured by Black people. Although there have been no confirmations about formula changes from companies who have sold to juggernauts, longtime users have consistently perceived a difference whenever Black-owned companies are acquired. Keeping Black people at the root of these businesses will help maintain the authenticity needed to accurately service Black consumers.

Davis thinks that catering to the people that you committed to at the start should never fall to the side. She says her dedication to providing top-tier products to Black customers is at the center of her brand no matter the circumstance, and others should feel the same. “Who uplifted you and who kept supporting your sales to keep you on the shelf of Target?” she reflects. “You don't want to abandon your customers that got you to where you are and kept your sales up so you stay in the store, just because you have a larger customer base now. I think we're living in an age where authenticity matters. You can't be all things to all people.”

The Bottom Line

It’s easier said than done, but a combination of mindful shopping for those who aren’t a part of the specified audience and supporting Black-owned brands from the bottom up can make a difference. So, what can you do?

For consumers of all races, advocating for more funding — whether it's through call-outs on social media or informing investors of brands that need support — will always be the biggest help because it all boils down to having enough money. Plus, the truth is, Black hair care products are often too heavy and oily for straight and/or fine textures. So be honest about the fact that these products probably won’t work for you, and there’s no need to try a curly hair routine or product just because it’s trending or that one white influencer recommends it. Consumerism has got to stop somewhere.

In the end, it’s not about gatekeeping. It’s about taking a microscope to the problem of beauty inequality and representation. Products should be for everyone, but “everyone” tends to exclude the Black population, so thinking before you shop, prioritizing the growth of Black brands, and thinking about the inequity of Black customers shouldn’t be an afterthought.