Sacred Scripture

What do most religions have in common? A book, a prophet, places of worship, and devoted followers. While the Curly Girl Method (CGM) isn’t technically a religion, the structure is strikingly similar. There is a book—literally referred to as a bible. There’s a prophet. There are CGM salons that function as churches and curly hair specialists who act as pastors. And of course, there are loyal congregations who faithfully believe what’s preached, packaged, and sold to them. For many—including Tom Zappala—the religious analogy isn’t exaggerated.

This is not a judgement of the CGM, its author, or its followers. It’s an observation from someone who worked with curly hair long before the CGM emerged—and continued working long after it became a phenomenon.

Like many religions, CGM began with a message rooted in self-acceptance and liberation. But over time, that message fractured. As with any doctrine, interpretation took hold—splintering the original idea into competing communities and ideologies. Social media played a key role in this evolution. Platforms like Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok amplified the more extreme interpretations, turning helpful suggestions into rigid rules. There are now various CGM factions, each with their own ethos. Some are aggressively strict. Others claim to be relaxed. Just like different religious sects, each group believes it is inclusive and correct.

At the time of writing, there were at least four separate CGM-specific Facebook groups in Australia and New Zealand. If they’re all truly supportive and welcoming, why so many? The answer lies in divergent interpretations: strict adherence vs flexibility; fixed belief vs personalised adaptation. Each group enforces its own rules. Some people are in all of them. Others in none. In that respect, their coexistence is likely necessary—given the range of aesthetic preferences and emotional needs involved.

Still, there’s no denying how complex, obsessive, and fractured the CGM community has become. More and more people now refer to it as a cult. While it has undeniably helped many, everyone engaging with it deserves to feel supported—regardless of whether they follow it strictly, loosely, or not at all.

"Where once the CGM bucked against societal beauty standards requiring women to have smooth, straight hair, I fear we are simply replacing one set of unrealistic beauty standards with another."

The irony is hard to miss. What began as a rejection of rigid standards has itself become another kind of rigidity. Was that the author’s intention? Doubtful. But it’s worth asking why the CGM book wasn’t prefaced with a disclaimer: that it represents one person’s experience and opinion—not universal truth. In researching this article, Zappala discovered that the admin of one of Australia’s largest and most strict CGM groups is also a vocal Evangelical Christian. No judgement—just an observation that seems telling.

Zappala was raised in an extremely conservative religious household. That upbringing left him highly sensitive to control mechanisms. To him, the strict version of CGM feels exactly like that—a new kind of control. It asks women to conform to yet another standard, wrapped this time in language of self-love and authenticity. And while he fully supports anyone who enjoys defined, curated curls because it makes them feel good, he draws the line at conformity dressed up as empowerment.

In the end, he rejects absolutism. He has no interest in ‘one-size-fits-all’ ideologies. Yes, he holds strong opinions—but also insists on individual freedom. If there’s one thing his most passionate CGM-following clients have in common with those who openly reject it, it’s this: both come to him for a supportive, personalised haircut. That’s the common ground. His studio is open to everyone.

For decades before CGM existed, women of all backgrounds lived with their curls—without expensive cosmetics or time-consuming rituals. They still looked radiant, felt confident, and held their own. That is a truth he can fully stand behind.