Have you ever been told your hair was “unprofessional”? Not because it was messy or dirty, but simply because it grew out of your head the way nature intended. For years, thousands of people — mostly Black women and men — have faced exactly that kind of judgment in schools and workplaces across America. Last week, Pennsylvania decided enough was enough.
Governor Josh Shapiro signed the CROWN Act into law, officially banning discrimination based on hair texture and protective styles like braids, locs, twists, and knots. It’s one of those moments that feels both long overdue and strangely symbolic at the same time. But what does it really change? And more importantly, does it fix a problem that actually exists on the scale some claim?
A New Line in the Sand for Workplace Fairness
The name says it all: CROWN stands for “Creating a Respectful and Open World for Natural Hair.” The law adds hair texture and protective hairstyles to the list of protected characteristics under Pennsylvania’s anti-discrimination statutes. That means employers, schools, and public accommodations can no longer enforce grooming policies that disproportionately affect people with naturally coily, curly, or kinky hair.
In plain English? If a company policy effectively bans afros, cornrows, or bantu knots while allowing straight hair to flow freely, that policy can now be challenged as discriminatory. Same goes for schools that have suspended students for wearing braids or locs.
“Real freedom means being respected for who you are — no matter what you look like, where you come from, who you love, or who you pray to.”
Governor Josh Shapiro, signing ceremony
Why This Law Exists: Real Stories Behind the Headlines
Look, I’ve heard the eye-rolls. “Hair discrimination? Really? We’re making laws about hair now?” Fair question. But then you hear the actual stories, and the dismissive tone starts to fade.
There was the teenager in Texas forced to cut his locs or face expulsion. The Alabama woman told she couldn’t get hired at a call center unless she cut her braids. The little girl in Florida sent home from school because her natural hair was deemed a “distraction.” These aren’t urban legends — they’re documented cases that made national news over the past decade.
In my view, the most frustrating part isn’t even the initial bias. It’s the gaslighting that follows: “Just change your hair. It’s not that deep.” As if asking someone to chemically straighten or hide their natural texture is the same as asking them to wear closed-toe shoes.
- A Black wrestler forced to cut his locs mid-match or forfeit
- Corporate employees receiving written warnings for “unprofessional” afros
- Six-year-olds sent home because their braids had beads
- Job offers rescinded after the candidate showed up with natural hair instead of the straightened style from the Zoom interview
These incidents aren’t daily occurrences for most people, but they happen enough — and carry enough emotional weight — that lawmakers in more than 20 states have now passed versions of the CROWN Act.
The Counter-Argument: Is This Solving a Real Problem?
Here’s where things get interesting. Not everyone is cheering.
Critics argue that hair discrimination, while wrong when it happens, is extremely rare in actual legal complaints. Out of roughly 130,000 race-based discrimination charges filed annually with federal authorities, only a tiny fraction involve hair. Some years, it’s fewer than thirty nationwide. Pennsylvania might go years without a single verifiable case.
So why pass a law for something that barely registers statistically? That’s the core of the skepticism. Some see it as political theater — a low-cost way to signal virtue and energize certain voting blocs without tackling harder issues like education gaps or criminal justice reform.
“Equality under the law has existed for decades. This isn’t about rights — it’s about creating new privileges disguised as protections.”
Common sentiment among critics
There’s also the slippery-slope concern. Once hair texture becomes protected, what comes next? Weight? Tattoos? Political slogans on clothing? Where does reasonable grooming policy end and discrimination begin?
The Double Standard Question Nobody Wants to Ask
Perhaps the most uncomfortable critique is the one about consistency. Will this law be applied evenly?
Imagine a white manager with bleached-blonde dreadlocks being told they’re “cultural appropriation” and unprofessional. Would they have legal recourse under the CROWN Act? Probably not — the legislation is clearly written with Black hair textures and traditional African-diaspora styles in mind.
Or consider the reverse: Black women have been wearing straight weaves and wigs for decades, often under pressure to conform to Eurocentric beauty standards. No one is passing laws protecting white women from being “discriminated against” for wearing braids. The protection flows in one direction.
That doesn’t make the law wrong, necessarily. Historical context matters. But pretending it creates perfect equality requires ignoring some obvious asymmetries.
What the Law Actually Does (and Doesn’t Do)
Let’s be clear about the practical impact.
- It doesn’t ban all grooming standards. Companies can still require hair to be clean, neat, and (in some cases) pulled back for safety reasons.
- It doesn’t prevent an employer from having a uniform policy — as long as the policy doesn’t disproportionately harm one racial group.
- It doesn’t guarantee anyone a job or promotion based on their hair.
- It does give employees and students legal standing to challenge policies that effectively punish natural Black hair textures.
In practice, the biggest effect might be cultural rather than legal. Companies across Pennsylvania are already reviewing their handbooks, afraid of being the next viral cautionary tale. That kind of chilling effect can shift behavior even when lawsuits never materialize.
The Bigger Conversation We’re Not Having
Here’s what fascinates me most: this entire debate reveals how deeply appearance still shapes opportunity in America.
We like to pretend we’re a meritocracy, that only skills and results matter. But the moment someone’s natural hair becomes a barrier — however rarely — that illusion cracks. And it forces an uncomfortable question: how many other “small” biases add up to big disadvantages over time?
At the same time, passing a law doesn’t magically change hearts. Some managers will still see locs and make snap judgments. Others will overcorrect and start treating natural hair as a protected sacrament. Neither extreme feels like progress.
True cultural shift happens when we stop needing laws to tell us that judging someone’s competence by their hair is absurd. Until then, the CROWN Act is a reminder — both of how far we’ve come, and how much further we have to go.
So where do you land on this? Is the CROWN Act a necessary protection against lingering bias, or an overreach that distracts from bigger problems? Either way, one thing is certain: in 2025, even our hair has become political.
