The first dreadlocked
beauty queen to compete in the Miss World competition, happening in China this
December, takes a battle-axe to the Caucasian beauty standard with a head of
hair that rejects your combs and carries the weight of a defiant past.
Born to a single mother
in one of the toughest hoods in Kingston, Jamaica, and adopted at age 9 by a
Good Samaritan she calls father, Sanneta Myrie, a 24-year-old medical doctor
who started dancing at age 4, was elbow deep in medical school when she thought
to enter the pageant.
"I have always
wanted to be a doctor and help people, but who wouldn't want to be the brand
ambassador for Jamaica?" she says, adding that she gave up her internship
to pursue this other dream. "But I have the rest of my life to do medicine,
so I am just exploring all that life has to offer now."
Now, she's in China for
the month-long Miss World festivities, representing Jamaica to the fullest with
her brains, talent, winning personality, and "beauty with a purpose."
But can this perfect storm of attributes sweep away any lingering stereotypes
to settle the coveted crown on her "natty" dread head?
As Miss World, her job
would be to spearhead initiatives as the face of several fundraising efforts
for the Miss World Organization, the institution behind the pageant that raises
millions for children's charities each year. Because one of her missions is to
empower youth, this title would propel her platform as a world-shaper by
connecting them to resources that could tangibly impact their futures. And what
value could her iconoclastic look possibly bring to the process of empowerment?
Dreadlocks go back
thousands of years. Biblical figures Samson and John the Baptist, King Tut's
mummy, Vikings, Hindu mystics, Asian emperors, Jamaica's Maroons, and the
freedom fighting Mau Maus of Kenya are all said to be bound by the same matted
mane—that is, way before Bob Marley stepped on stage and flung his iconic locks
far and wide.
The versatile world of
dreadlocks remains a mystery to many cultural outsiders. "How do they do
that? Where do I get some? And how is it that one person can have over 100
matted tendrils, cascading down, slimmer than pinkies, while another sprouts
only four that stick up, fat as forearms?" While it's clear that Dr. Myrie
keeps her slim locks neat by frequently twisting them at the root, other dread
wearers, outside of washing them regularly, might leave theirs untouched, to
knot up as they may, hence the description "natty." Maybe if her
locks looked the latter, Dr. Myrie wouldn't be Miss Jamaica World.
After all, being of
clear African descent hasn't proven to boost anyone's chances of a win—at home
or on foreign soil—and it's hard to believe it's because they are inferior
candidates. Black countries with a white minority have been known to regularly
churn out European contestants. What's more is that even though the Miss World
competition started in 1951, the first black African, from Nigeria, won in
2001. And none since. (Note: Egypt won once, and South Africa won twice, but
with European-looking delegates.)
Interestingly,
Jamaica's contestants have a better track record at placing at Miss World than
any country of African descendants with three wins and several runners up in
the pocket. Carole Joan Crawford was the first Miss World of color to take the
crown in 1963, though she skews racially ambiguous, at best. Damien
"Junior Gong" Marley's mostly-white mom, Cindy Breakspear, won in
1976. Lastly, an undeniably black Lisa Hanna, a major influence for Myrie
growing up, triumphed in 1993. All of them sported straight styles.
And while one or two
braided beauties represent Africa in these widely-televised, international
pageants, when it comes to rocking Afro-centric hairstyles that speak to a
history of oppression, Jamaica, too, has blazed that trail more unabashedly
than other colonized countries whose contestants tend to overwhelmingly sport
long, silken tresses of the status quo. Jamaican contestants Andrea Lyons (who
made it to Miss World semi-finals) and Joan McDonald both donned Afros fit for
a crown. That was in 1974 and 1978 respectively, decades after Jamaican
political leader Marcus Garvey planted the "Black is beautiful" seed
in the consciousness of an unready world. Reminiscent of that ideology, the
70s, the era of the Black Panther, sent images of empowered black women with
fists raised and their perfect globes of hair, often crowned with berets,
rippling across the world.
And more recently, in
2007, good ole Jamaica sent its first Rastafarian contestant to the rivaling
Miss Universe contest, Zahra Redwood— her lioness locks tickling her buttocks.
She didn't place.
And while our current
Miss Jamaica World is a vegetarian who loves listening and dancing to reggae,
Dr. Myrie publicly only admits to a coffee habit—which she sips through a straw
to keep her teeth white—and doesn't rep Rastafarianism as her reason for
locking her hair, but Jamaica itself. "I lock my hair because I identify
with it. I am very much rooted in that Afro-centric nature, where we as
Jamaicans are rooted. It's my expression," she states.
Once sacred yet frowned
upon by previous generations for its associations with poor hygiene, weed
smoking, and criminality, dreads have grown more visible in popular culture,
thanks to talents like Whoopi, Stevie, Lauryn, and Lisa Bonet. While American
celebs have somewhat divorced the 'do from Rastafarianism, transforming the
style from an indicator of spirituality to mere fashion, self-expression, and
quixotic free-spiritedness, the truth about how welcomed the hairstyle is to
other realms of life remains questionable.
And that is not even to
say that celebrities are immune to lurking stereotypes. Earlier this year in
fact, at the sight of Disney star Zendaya's dreadlocked appearance on the
Oscars red carpet, E!'s "Fashion Police" TV personality Giuliana
Rancic remarked that she must've smelled of patchouli oil and weed. The
18-year-old Zendaya respectfully checked her on Instagram, and then removed the
faux locks the next week.
While Dr. Myrie doesn't
want her hair to be the focus of her presence at Miss World (as she has plenty
of "presentation, intelligence, and charitable work" to offer), out
of all 117 contestants, her look is arguably the most unique. It clearly
doesn't dance to the drumbeat of this Eurocentric arena. And though the average
spectator can have no way of knowing what goes on behind the curtains, the
question remains: have dreads become internationally accepted enough to become
a non-factor in the decision making, or do they still hold the power to sway her
chances of becoming a world ambassador for children? Can the style's mystique
entreat the judges—two Brits, two Chinese, and a Venezuelan—to perceive it as
beautiful... or dreadful?
Dr. Myrie's locked
presence in this tilted arena is more than just about touting Jamaica's
noteworthy culture or inspiring young girls to become dreaded beauty queens
like her (as wonderful as that would be). It even goes deeper than chipping
away at the age-old stereotypes of inferiority that continue to systematically
oppress people of color worldwide. Really, though, there's an immeasurable
impact that occurs in the psyches of marginalized young people—sometimes who
have brittle dreams—when they encounter a future version of themselves in a
role model like Myrie, whose life and likeness reflects them more than the
well-meaning, usually white, savior.
Whether she wins or
not, the Miss World pageant is sure to be one of many platforms for the message
Dr. Sanneta Myrie's life intends to send. That from the potholed streets of Kingston,
to this crossroad between stethoscope and sash, she is here, embracing her
beauty's natural mystic in an arena despite validation from others: this
24-year-old doctor, dreadlocked and dancing to Junior Gong.
By Samantha Thornhill
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