#irespectthebonnet

#IRespectTheBonnet
Before anyone misunderstands me, let me say this…
As a Black woman, I respect the bonnet.
I own one.
I wear one.
I’ve slept in one. I’ve protected my hair with one. I’ve laughed with my sister in one.
This isn’t a conversation from the outside looking in. It’s a conversation from someone who deeply loves Black people, Black culture, and Black institutions.
But I also grew up in a home where I wasn’t allowed to wear my bonnet to the kitchen table in the morning.
Not because my parents disliked bonnets.

Because they believed there was a time and a place for everything.
That lesson wasn’t about hair.

It was about preparation.
It was about discipline.
It was about respecting yourself enough to present your best in the spaces that mattered. Our kitchen table, where my family gathered… mattered.

And while bonnets have become part of our modern culture, they are not the sum of our culture.
Our culture is resilience.
Our culture is brilliance.
Our culture is faith.
Innovation.
Scholarship.
Family.
Joy.
Perseverance.
Excellence.
Choosing when and where to wear a bonnet does not diminish our Blackness. It does not make us less authentic. And it certainly does not mean we are surrendering our identity or embracing someone else’s. Sometimes, it simply means we understand context.
I’ll probably be in the minority on this one, and I’m okay with that.
I stand with Tuskegee University.
As a proud third-generation HBCU graduate, I understand that what Historically Black Colleges and Universities offer extends far beyond a degree. The education is exceptional, but the experience is transformational. HBCUs preach and teach self-worth. They cultivate leadership. They immerse us in our history and culture. They remind us whose shoulders we stand on. They prepare us not simply for graduation, but for life.
This isn’t just something I believe.
It’s something I inherited.
My grandmother—born in 1910…or perhaps 1913. Like so many Black Americans born during that era, the records don’t always tell the story with precision. But one thing is certain: she earned a bachelor’s degree at a time when opportunities for Black women were intentionally limited.
My mother, born in 1946, followed that path, earning both her bachelor’s and master’s degrees.
Today, both of these remarkable women are resting in heaven.
And then there is me.
By God’s grace, by their love, by their sacrifice, and because they believed education could change the trajectory of our family, I earned a terminal degree—a doctorate.
That isn’t my accomplishment alone.
It is theirs.
I am standing on shoulders that spent generations reaching just a little higher so the next generation could reach even farther.
Isn’t that what our culture has always been about?
Each generation sacrificing so the next can have more.
Each generation expecting excellence because they see greatness before it is fully realized.
Each generation refusing to let the sacrifices of those who came before be in vain.
Three generations of HBCU graduates have taught me that excellence is not an act of exclusion; it is an act of love. We hold one another to high standards because we believe in one another’s limitless potential.
When I was growing up, one lesson was non-negotiable:
School was my job.
And just like any job, there were expectations.
Showing up wasn’t enough.
How I showed up mattered.
From kindergarten through college, I was expected to arrive on time, prepared, engaged, and dressed for the responsibility I had been entrusted with. That expectation wasn’t rooted in vanity. It wasn’t about pretending to be someone I wasn’t. It was about understanding that excellence is reflected in how we prepare, how we show up, and how we carry ourselves.
When you’re a college student, being a student is your profession.
Behind every college student is someone who sacrificed.
Parents.
Grandparents.
Aunts.
Uncles.
Church mothers.
Teachers.
Communities.
Families who delayed dreams of their own so someone else could pursue theirs.
Those sacrifices weren’t made simply so students could earn a diploma.
They were made so they would graduate ready.
Ready with technical knowledge.
Ready with sound judgment.
Ready to communicate.
Ready with confidence.
Ready to compete.
Ready to lead.
That’s why punctuality matters.
Preparation matters.
Classroom conduct matters.
And yes…
Presentation matters.
Booker T. Washington understood this. He held students at Tuskegee to high standards because he knew education involved developing the whole person. Tuskegee wasn’t simply producing graduates. It was producing men and women prepared to enter a world that has not always extended the same grace, opportunities, or margin for error to Black professionals.
That preparation wasn’t about fear.
It was about empowerment.
It was about ensuring students were equipped not only to enter the room—but to thrive once they got there.
Our ancestors maintained dignity under circumstances designed to strip it away. Taking pride in your appearance is not automatically “respectability politics.” Nor is every expectation around professional presentation an attempt to conform to white culture. Those are conversations worth having, but they should not erase another truth: self-respect, discipline, excellence, and situational awareness have always been part of our survival and our success.
We do our young people no favors by lowering expectations in the name of comfort.
Our responsibility is to prepare them.
To challenge them.
To teach them.
To model excellence.
To expect excellence.
Because excellence is rarely accidental.
It is practiced.
So yes…
I respect the bonnet.
And I respect the mission of Historically Black Colleges and Universities even more.
I don’t believe our students need fewer expectations.
I believe they need more people who love them enough to prepare them.
More people who will teach them that excellence is not about perfection—it is about discipline, consistency, and honoring the sacrifices that made their opportunity possible.
Our students don’t need fewer expectations. They need more people who believe they are capable of meeting them.
To Tuskegee—and to every HBCU that continues to develop scholars, leaders, and change agents while refusing to lower the standard—
I salute you. Thank you.
Keep the bar high.
Our students are worth it.
#IRespectTheBonnet
#TuskegeeIsRight #HBCUProud #BlackExcellence