The real magic started at home- with us. When no one saw the sweet efforts of our hands, mothers placing daughters’ over the sink, beneath the cool water singing songs over curls. The kitchen has always our first home. Saturday morning recipes and ingredients intended to help us survive an thrive in a world where they’d try to tame us down to the coil. We brown girls learned how to mix handfuls of love with scoops of confidence until we wore beauty like we invented it, because we did. We were taught to make curls from scratch. All we had was all we ever needed. We don’t have to straighten out for nobody, our entire existence is kinky, curly, a two-strand twist of beauty and resilience, a future as big as our fro, innovating and laying our edges with toothbrushes. What we had has always been enough. Time has seen our magic and clapped even as we traveled from kitchen sink to fridge, whipping up miracles that shrinkage can’t touch. These curls are homegrown and we know a thing or two about making things work.
Curls & Chefs
Beauty & Resilience
These curls are homegrown and we know a thing or two about making things work.