In today’s ever-growing world of braids, R&B artist Tyla stands as the latest muse for the freestyle-braid trend. Known for their fluidity of intricate patterns, swirls, and spontaneous shapes, freestyle braids are a personalized, free-form cornrow style distinguished by unconventional patterns, stitches, and symbols rooted in West African symbolism.
Brooklyn-based braider Rosemery Duran shares that clients predominantly bring in nonhuman references when providing inspiration. “I love it when people come with photos that are not of hair, like art, gates, plants, or crop circles,” she says. “Because the styles are so time-consuming, elaborate, and special, a lot of people will have a spiritual and emotional connection to why they’re getting this hairstyle. It goes beyond just looks.”
Some important milestones could include giving birth, starting a new phase of life, or celebrating an achievement. “One girl was going through a breakup, so she brought me a picture of the symbol of femininity and transformation and we braided that onto her head,” Duran says, adding that clients usually come to her when they need something emotionally or spiritually fulfilling in their lives. “The braids end up giving that to them.”
In contrast to traditional cornrows with sharp parts and straight-back braids, freestyle braids adopt spontaneous shapes braided in multiple directions. Rooted in precolonial West African symbolism, many variations of this style feature a centerpiece of an adinkra symbol. Those Ghanaian emblems convey concepts like greatness, charisma, and freedom and are typically seen on fabrics, pottery, and integrated architectural elements like gates and barred windows.
To me, freestyle braids protest Black hair politics that prioritize neatness and often align with proximity to whiteness. The style offers boundless opportunities for experimentation and embraces Black hair’s inherent drama—all while celebrating personalization and the deft fingers of Black braiders.
The first time I saw braids that evoked such experimentation was on Alicia Keys in the early aughts. Like many transient trends that resurface after years, freestyle braids epitomize this era with a touch of timelessness that withstands the latent regret that seems to come with skinny brows and trucker hats. During this time, I was used to my hair being braided into thick, uniform cornrows for its protection. Seeing the waves of design on Keys’s head woven down to the length of her ear—and sometimes braided in an unconventional practice, like one singular braid falling down to the middle of her forehead—showed me that my hair could be as much of an accessory as a nameplate necklace.
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