The Crown Adjustment

By LaDawn Sullivan

Five years ago, the Crown Act became law. A win for every Black woman who ever sat in a boardroom with her curls silently doing the cupid shuffle against a corporate dress code. A triumph for the little Black girls whose braids, beads, and afropuffs should’ve never been seen as “unprofessional” in the first place. We claimed the right to show up—head high, hair free, crown intact.

But this anniversary hits different. Because while we celebrate five years of finally being able to rock our twist-outs without HR side-eye, the headlines remind us of another reality: 300,000+ Black women just lost jobs across the country. Talk about a crown adjustment!

See, we fought for laws to protect how we show up, but nobody passed legislation to protect if we get to show up. And now, too many of us are being shown the door. It’s giving: “Yes, sister, you can wear your locs, but also… pack up that desk.” It’s a cruel intersection—freedom for our follicles, but instability for our finances. The world says, “Bring your whole authentic self!” while simultaneously laying off the very women who carried entire companies through pandemics, diversity pledges, and cultural change.

And while this moment is hitting Black women hard, our brothers know this fight too. From locs to waves to fades, Black men have also had their crowns policed, coded, and cut short to fit in. This law was for ALL of us — but this economic blow is falling heavily on Black women right now.

As a mother, I know the weight of balancing Zoom calls, homework woes, and making sure dinner isn’t just cereal. Black women have been the backbone of workspaces and households for generations. But these layoffs remind us that we’re seen as expendable—despite the fact that our labor, both paid and unpaid, has always been essential. Let’s be clear: losing 300,000+ jobs is not just about personal loss. It’s about community impact. Because when Black women’s incomes shrink, whole ecosystems—churches, neighborhood programs, nonprofits, businesses, even cousins borrowing gas money—feel the squeeze.

So what do we do? We adjust. Not because we should have to, but because Black women have always been mavens of resilience. We pivot, reimagine, collaborate, and lead—whether in corner offices, kitchen tables, boardrooms, or community. This is why funds like Black Resilience in Colorado (BRIC) Fund exist. To catch us when systems fail us. To remind us that while jobs may come and go, our collective strength is non-negotiable. To make sure our crowns aren’t just legal—they’re sustainable.

So as we mark five years of the Crown Act, let’s not just celebrate our right to wear our hair. Let’s fight for our right to be here—employed, respected, resourced, and thriving. Because the real adjustment isn’t just in our curls. It’s in the systems that keep trying to push us out of the frame. And trust me, sister (and brother), we’re not going anywhere.

At Black Resilience in Colorado (BRIC) Fund, we know resilience is bigger than hairstyles—it’s about livelihoods, leadership, and legacy. We invest in Black-led nonprofits because we believe protecting our communities means protecting the people who hold them up. If you’re with us in making sure our crowns are never just symbolic, join us. Support BRIC, support Black women, support Black communities. Together, we can adjust the crown and secure the throne.

For more about BRIC - www.bricfund.org/get-involved