I've always loved playing with hair. I used to want dreads like

In the gentle words of SZA, the soul singer who breathes emotion into sound, there lies a truth both simple and profound: “I've always loved playing with hair. I used to want dreads like Lauryn Hill, but my mom wouldn't let me.” To some, it may seem a mere reflection on youth and beauty, but to those who listen with the heart, it is a story of identity, expression, and the eternal struggle between desire and restraint. Beneath this quiet confession flows the timeless river of self-discovery—the yearning of a soul to define its own shape in a world that often tells it what to be.

The act of playing with hair is not trivial. Since ancient days, the hair has been a symbol of spirit and power—a visible extension of the inner self. In many traditions, the cutting or binding of hair represented submission or transformation. For SZA, the love of playing with hair is the love of creation itself: the joy of reshaping what is natural into what is dreamed. It is an artist’s instinct—the same urge that moves the painter to color or the poet to sing. When she longed for dreads like Lauryn Hill, she was not only yearning for a style; she was reaching toward a voice, a lineage of strength, artistry, and freedom embodied in that very image.

Lauryn Hill, to whom SZA refers, was herself a symbol of liberation and artistry in her time. With her locks flowing like roots of wisdom, she carried the spirit of Africa and the defiance of womanhood against a world that sought to tame her. The young SZA’s desire to emulate her was not mere imitation—it was aspiration. It was the soul recognizing a mirror in another, a call to become something more than ordinary. But when the mother forbade the dreads, there too was wisdom. For every generation must guard and guide, and a mother’s “no” is often the first boundary against the vast wilderness of freedom. What may seem like denial may also be protection—the elder shielding the child from a world that does not yet understand her fullness.

This conflict—between the yearning of the child and the caution of the elder—has lived in every age. Recall the tale of Samson, whose mighty hair was the vessel of his divine strength. When Delilah’s shears fell upon it, his power faded, and with it, his sense of self. His story echoes through the centuries: hair is not vanity, but identity. It holds memory, heritage, and emotion. In this light, SZA’s words are not about rebellion but about the sacred dance between freedom and form, between what we wish to be and what we are allowed to be.

The mother’s refusal becomes the forge of character. To be denied something one loves is to be forced inward—to find beauty, not in imitation, but in authentic becoming. SZA’s journey through her art and self-image later revealed a woman who no longer sought to copy but to create her own essence. Thus, the young girl who once wanted Lauryn Hill’s dreads grew into a woman whose crown, whether curly, coiled, or free, became a symbol of her individuality. Her lesson teaches us that imitation may awaken the dream, but originality fulfills it.

In truth, all who walk the path of growth face this same trial. The heart whispers, “Be like the one you admire,” but the spirit answers, “Become who you truly are.” And both voices are needed—the first to spark the flame, the second to shape the fire. The ancients understood this when they spoke of apprenticeship and mastery. No artist, no warrior, no saint was ever born complete. They began by copying the rhythm of others until their own rhythm emerged from within. So too did SZA’s longing for Lauryn Hill’s hair lead her toward discovering her own beauty, her own song, her own crown.

Let this be the lesson to those who seek their truth: Admire, but do not lose yourself in admiration. Love the icons who light your path, but know that your path must diverge from theirs. The world needs not another Lauryn Hill, nor another SZA—it needs you. And to live as yourself is the highest act of rebellion, the purest act of art.

So, to those who hear these words, take heed: Play with your own hair, your own soul, your own story. Experiment, express, and create—but let your creation rise from within, not from the shadow of another. For though the mother may say no, and though the world may deny you, the spirit will one day rise with quiet power, crowned not in imitation, but in truth. And on that day, your beauty will be the kind that no one can forbid.