From relaxers to family secrets
Hi, I’m Omar, the founder and CEO of Kinnect. This blog is part of the "From Omar" series, where I share my personal reflections on family, relationships, and the memories we carry. These aren’t polished lessons — they’re raw thoughts about life, legacy, and how we grow through the stories we live.
Hair has always been a journey for me. I’ve been through phases — cutting it short to make it easier to manage, trying relaxers to mimic the styles I saw on TV, and now, learning how to embrace its natural texture. For years, I didn’t see my hair as a connection to culture or family. It was just something I had to deal with. But the more I reflect, the more I realize how deeply hair ties into identity — not just for me, but for generations before me.
As a Latino growing up in Chicago, I didn’t have access to products that worked for my hair type or role models who looked like me. I wonder if my ancestors felt this way too. Did they struggle with their hair like I did? Did they have secret routines or remedies passed down? These are the stories I wish I had.
Hair as a reflection of identity
Hair has always felt deeply personal. It’s one of the first things people notice about you, but it’s also something that can make you feel unseen if you don’t know how to care for it or embrace it. Growing up, I didn’t see textured hair like mine represented in media. Watching shows like Boy Meets World and other '90s classics, all I saw were white kids with straight, easy-to-style hair. My hair didn’t look like that, and it didn’t fit those styles.
So, I adapted. I kept my hair short for most of my childhood — not because I wanted to, but because I didn’t know what else to do. As I got older, I experimented with relaxers. For those unfamiliar, relaxers are chemical treatments that straighten curly or coiled hair. They smell harsh, feel harsher, and leave you wondering if your scalp is okay afterward.
At the time, using a relaxer felt like a way to fit in. It made my hair straighter, softer, and "easier to manage." But looking back, I see it for what it was — a way to conform to beauty standards that weren’t made for me.
What I wish I could ask my ancestors
One of the things I love most about Kinnect is the idea of asking questions — the kind that help you understand the people you come from. If I could sit down with my ancestors today, I’d want to ask them everything about their relationship with hair.
Did they care about it the way I do? Did they see it as a reflection of culture or just something practical? Did they have rituals for keeping it healthy? My hair is textured and dry — what did they do to hydrate it? Did they use oils, homemade remedies, or something I’ve never heard of?
These questions matter because they connect us to the parts of our family history that often get overlooked. We remember the big moments — the weddings, the milestones, the legacies — but it’s the little things, like how someone cared for their hair, that make their story whole.
The cultural weight of hair
Hair isn’t just personal — it’s cultural. As a Latino with Afro-textured hair, I’ve had to navigate the intersection of two worlds. On one side, there’s the heritage of my Puerto Rican family, rooted in resilience, tradition, and pride. On the other side, there’s the influence of broader beauty standards that often exclude people like me.
I think about brands like Shea Moisture, which highlight how haircare routines are passed down in families, particularly in Black and Afro-Latino communities. There’s something beautiful about that. These recipes — these rituals — are a form of storytelling. They’re a way of saying, “This is who we are, and this is how we take care of ourselves.”
I wish I had that. I wish I knew what my grandparents or great-grandparents did for their hair. I wish I knew if they felt the same frustrations I’ve felt or if they had a completely different relationship with it.
Hair as a family legacy
As I’ve grown older, I’ve started to see my hair as more than just mine. It’s part of a family legacy. I think about my brothers, who share some of the same texture and challenges, and my siblings on my mom’s side, whose hair couldn’t be more different. Even within one family, there’s so much variation.
This is what makes hair so fascinating to me. It’s a marker of individuality, but it’s also a reflection of where you come from. It carries the stories of genetics, culture, and personal choice.
If I ever have kids, I want them to know this. I want them to understand their relationship with hair as a part of their story — not just something they have to deal with, but something they can embrace. And I hope that through Kinnect, they’ll have access to the stories I never got.
Final reflections
Hair is more than hair. It’s culture, identity, and family history wrapped into one. For me, it’s been a journey of self-discovery — from short cuts to chemical relaxers to learning how to embrace what’s naturally mine. And I’m still figuring it out.
But what I do know is this: our hair tells a story. It tells the story of who we are, where we come from, and the people who came before us. And as Kinnect grows, I hope it becomes a space where families can share these stories.
Because one day, I want my kids (if I have them) to scroll through a Kinnect Book and see this story. I want them to know how I felt about my hair at 22, how I felt at 33, and how I’ll feel at 50. I want them to see that it’s okay to feel unsure. It’s okay to try new things. It’s okay to change your mind.
Hair is just one part of the story, but it’s a part worth telling.
abrazos,
omar
