When Hair Isn’t Just Hair: Layla Taylor’s Story and What It Means for Women of Colour on Screen
Layla Taylor: A Hair Journey on Camera
Layla Taylor, known from The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives, recently opened up about a deeply personal struggle: hair loss triggered by repeated extensions that didn’t suit her natural hair texture. She admitted that for years she tried to conform to beauty standards that didn’t reflect her identity, and only after noticing significant hair thinning did she confront what many women of colour know all too well not all hair is treated equally.
For Layla, the decision to switch to a stylist experienced with textured hair was transformative. On screen, she described it as shedding a mask she had worn for too long. She confessed she had spent part of her life trying to “be more white,” a phrase that underscores how beauty norms can warp self-image, especially when you don’t see yourself represented.
Her journey matters because it resonates with so many women of colour — especially those in television, media, or high-visibility spaces, where appearance often feels like survival.
It’s Not Just One Story: Others Are Still Navigating the Same Terrain
Layla’s experience is far from isolated. Across the UK and globally, Black women have spoken out about workplace discrimination tied to natural hair and protective styles. One striking example: in recent years, individuals have reported being denied jobs or professional opportunities because their hair was deemed “inappropriate.”
Even in media and broadcasting, there’s been a slow but significant shift. Presenters such as Lukwesa Burak have publicly embraced natural hairstyles in traditionally conservative industries, challenging outdated norms about what “professional” hair looks like.
Activists and writers like Emma Dabiri have also used their platforms to argue that natural hair should never be treated as a barrier but celebrated as fundamental to identity.
These stories — from TV actresses to everyday women — show that hair struggles for women of colour are systemic, not isolated. And via representation, confidence and collective voice, they are beginning to shift culture’s expectations.
Why This Conversation Matters — On Screen and Off
When Black women on screen discuss their hair — not just as an aesthetic choice but as a symbol of identity, heritage, pride or trauma — it does more than humanise them. It shows audiences especially young viewers that natural hair is valid. It challenges Eurocentric beauty standards that have dominated media for decades.
For Black women off-screen, these conversations validate what many already know: caring for ethnic hair isn’t vanity — it’s labour. It requires products, knowledge, patience, sometimes financial investment, and often emotional resilience. When that labour is ignored, trivialised or judged, it perpetuates inequality.
Representation matters. Seeing women like Layla Taylor speak up makes it easier for others to feel seen and respected.
Layla Taylor
What Real Change Looks Like
Progress will come from several directions at once:
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More stylists trained in textured hair care — whether on TV sets, in salons, or in everyday beauty services.
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Media and production teams normalising natural hair — valuing authenticity over “beauty standards.”
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Public conversations encouraging self-acceptance — reshaping beauty norms so that natural hair is not a “problem,” but just one of many expressions of identity.
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Support systems for Black women in entertainment and beyond — from mental-health resources to beauty professionals who understand and respect their hair needs.
Change isn’t fast. But each voice adds weight.
Layla’s Story Is a Reminder — Hair Is Identity, Not a Check-Box
Layla Taylor’s honest reckoning with her hair journey is more than tabloid drama. It’s a reflection of the pressures many women of colour carry: to conform, to hide, to adapt. Her decision to embrace hair styled for her texture — and her willingness to share that experience — is both brave and vital.
For anyone who’s ever felt “othered” because of hair texture, tone, or societal expectation, her story offers hope. Beauty is not one-size-fits-all. Identity deserves to be seen. Hair deserves care, respect, and pride.
And if that conversation begins on screen, with people like Layla, maybe — just maybe — it’ll shape a broader shift in how we all see beauty.
