I, Katie Ronan Herzog, was once a white girl with dreadlocks.
I know. I know. It’s bad. My only defense is that I was 15 years old and under the impression that Ani DiFranco was a style icon. This was 1996, and while the term “cultural appropriation” may have already entered the lexicon at, say, Oberlin College, I didn’t live in Oberlin. I lived in rural North Carolina, and I was trying very hard to distinguish myself from all the poufy-banged preps (known today as “basic bitches”) who ruled my school.
It is not easy for a fine-haired Caucasian such as myself to grow dreadlocks, and because this was before the internet, I made it up. I twisted my hair around my fingers into little ringlets and then teased them beyond repair. My friends pitched in: standing behind me in the cafeteria, twisting and teasing my hair. It was almost a community project.
