If you’ve ever stood in a sea of curls at Randall’s Island, Crown Heights, or Prospect Park—edge control in your tote, melanin popping in the sun, and the DJ playing “Before I Let Go”—you already know: CURLFEST isn’t just a hair event. It’s a love letter. A safe space. A cultural reset.
CURLFEST is that once-a-year reminder that your natural hair isn’t just “accepted”; it’s celebrated. Your ponytails and buns, locs and twist-outs, and bantu knots are worthy of admiration, camera clicks, and compliments from strangers who just get it.
But this summer, for the first time in years, CURLFEST won’t be returning. And no, it’s not because people lost interest in curls. Quite the opposite. It’s because the funding didn’t show up the way the community always does.
“We’ve been bootstrapping this passion project for over ten years,” says Simone Mair, one of the co-founders of Curly Girl Collective, the powerhouse group behind the event. “But with recent rollbacks in DEI initiatives and the economic climate we’re all in, it’s directly impacted our ability to operate at the level our community deserves.”
The decision wasn’t made lightly. But it was made transparently, and with love.
DEI Rollbacks, Real-Life Impact
You’ve probably seen it on your timeline: companies quietly scaling back “diversity” initiatives now that it’s no longer trendy to say Black Lives Matter. But for Black founders like the women behind CURLFEST, this is more than just a political shift, it’s personal.
“We saw the change start around 2022,” says co-founder Melody Henderson. “Suddenly, budgets got tight. Longtime sponsors backed out. And yes, one of our biggest partners, Target, rolled back before it was even public.”
And while the support dried up, the price tags didn’t. Event production costs are still up. People are still showing up. But the brand dollars? They’re not flowing the same. “We’ve had to keep proving our worth in spaces that already benefit from our culture,” says Mair. “And that’s exhausting.”
A Curtain Pulled Back
From the outside, CURLFEST looked like a well-oiled cultural machine. Tens of thousands in attendance. Big-name sponsors. A devoted, global following. TikToks, Instagram Reels, natural hair brands clamoring for placement. It looked like it ran on autopilot. But in reality, things were much different.
“We’ve been doing this out of our living rooms for years,” Henderson says. “People don’t always realize that we’ve never had a multimillion-dollar structure. It’s always been our blood, sweat, and tears.”
That’s part of what prompted the founders to speak so candidly now. This moment isn’t just about a paused event, it’s about redefining what sustainability looks like for Black women in business. It’s about showing the highs and the heartbreaks.
It’s Not Just a Pause. It’s a Pivot
The CURLFEST founders could’ve thrown something together. A mini version. A half-hearted moment. But that’s not how they move.
“This is sacred,” says co-founder Charisse Higgins. “Our community deserves more than something rushed or halfway. So we’re choosing to pause, regroup, and come back with intention.” That means reimagining what CURLFEST can be, and ensuring it’s built to last for the next generation of naturals. And don’t get it twisted: this isn’t the end of CURLFEST. It’s a conscious pivot.
Presale tickets for 2026 will launch later this year, and the founders are calling on their community to stay plugged in. Whether it’s buying a ticket, liking a post, or simply showing grace.
“Sometimes we ask for a little bit of grace,” says Mair. “We may not look like a small business, but behind the scenes? We’re still the same team juggling ten things, trying to make magic.”
Because in the end, CURLFEST was never just about big brands or buzz. It was, and always will be, about community. “Curlfest may look different,” Mair says, “but at its heart, it’s still us. And we’re not done yet.”