ROMAN MARS: Off a busy street in Brooklyn, New York, sits a storefront called Monica’s Hair Salon, a salon our producer, Priscilla Alabi, visited a few weeks ago.
PRISCILLA ALABI: I’ve been going to hair salons like this since I was little. They are places where people come for their hair, but also for advice, gossip, celebrations…
SABRINA: Oh, I love us. I just love us so much…
PRISCILLA ALABI: A woman pops it.
AMBI: What’d you want?
PRISCILLA ALABI: Not for an appointment, but to ask for a birthday hug.
This is Lorraine Samuel’s salon. She’s been here since 1996. Today, she’s about to give a customer a classic salon treatment, one I’ve been thinking a lot about lately.
PRISCILLA ALABI: What are you doing to your customer’s hair right now?
LORRAINE: I’m giving her a relaxer.
PRISCILLA ALABI: I was nine, maybe ten years old, the first time a chemical relaxer touched my virgin hair. That’s the actual term for unprocessed hair. My natural kinky coils made hair grooming days very challenging. So my mom and I decided to relax my hair to make it more manageable. I was so excited for the possibility of long flowy hair that a comb could easily pass through.
PRISCILLA ALABI: So what does it look like, the actual physical object itself?
LORRAINE: Hmm. Kind of like cream cheese, a little bit.
PRISCILLA ALABI: It comes in a tub.
LORRAINE: Usually a plastic tub.
PRISCILLA ALABI: It kind of doesn’t smell like anything.
LORRAINE: This one doesn’t.
PRISCILLA ALABI: But it probably burns the same way though, right?
LORRAINE: It does. Yeah.
PRISCILLA ALABI: The first time I was preparing to get my hair relaxed, I was instructed very seriously, “Don’t wash or scratch your scalp for at least one week before your appointment because that would cause burns.” In previous salon visits, I’d seen women yell when the pain got unbearable. I didn’t know it then, but I was being initiated into something much bigger than a hairstyle.
LORRAINE: And it burns towards the end if you leave it in too long. So you’re just supposed to add it to the hair shaft and then keep applying it, the “creamy crack.” [LAUGHS]
PRISCILLA ALABI: That’s the relaxer’s nickname, “creamy crack,” because it’s said that relaxing your hair is addictive. Once you start, it’s very hard to stop. If you stop, the hair breaks off where the new curly growth meets the already straightened dead hair.
LORRAINE: You see it? You see it getting straight?
PRISCILLA ALABI: Oh, yeah, there’s no resistance in that hair anymore with the comb in the hair in the back where you started. Wow.
LORRAINE: You can see the difference?
PRISCILLA ALABI: Yeah.
PRISCILLA ALABI: Today, somewhere between 85% and 95% of Black women in the United States have used a chemical relaxer at least once in their lifetime, as I did starting at age nine for years. Fast forward to 2023, while scrolling through Instagram, a targeted ad stopped me cold.
MILLER & ZOIS, ATTORNEYS AT LAW: If you used chemical hair straightener and were later diagnosed with uterine fibroids, contact our office today…
PRISCILLA ALABI: A law firm wants me to join in a class action lawsuit. I had just been diagnosed with fibroids, a condition that disproportionately affects black women.
MILLER & ZOIS, ATTORNEYS AT LAW: The new research linking chemical hair relaxer to uterine fibroids may help explain this disparity…
PRISCILLA ALABI: There are many ads like this.
WEITZ & LUXENBERG P.C.: Did you or a loved one develop cancer after using hair relaxing or hair straightening products? If so, you may be able to sue the hair product manufacturer for damages…
PRISCILLA ALABI: Fibroids, uterine cancer, ovarian cancer, all implying that this thing so many Black women use, happening in so many salons across America and even the world, could actually be making us sick.
ROMAN MARS: From 99% Invisible and BBC Studios, this is A History of the United States in 100 Objects. I’m Roman Mars. Today, the chemical hair relaxer, a ubiquitous American product that built Black wealth and opened economic doors. But it also taught generations to see their hair as a problem to be solved. And now research is revealing a physical cost. This is a story of how those two truths came to exist at the same time.
Producer Priscilla Alabi has the story.
PRISCILLA ALABI: When I saw the targeted ad soon after my fibroid diagnosis, I wanted answers. How did we get here, where so many Black women were doing this to ourselves?
LORI L. THARPS: My name is Lori L. Tharps, and I am a journalist and the co-author of Hair Story: Untangling the Roots of Black Hair in America.
PRISCILLA ALABI: So I reached out to Lori Tharps, a journalist and hair historian who spent the last quarter century asking similar questions about hair.
PRISCILLA ALABI: So, in your research, what surprised you most about the relationship black Americans have with straightening their hair?
LORI L. THARPS: I think the thing that was the most interesting, and not in a good way, was how early the quest for straightening our hair began as enslaved individuals, and the fact that that yearning for straight hair as a source of assimilation is still with us.
PRISCILLA ALABI: But Lori says starting the story with enslavement is like starting at Chapter 2. You miss a lot of context. And when you skip Chapter 1, Black people end up looking obsessed, even pathological, about their hair.
LORI L. THARPS: If you go chapters before arrival, then we know that Black people have always been artistic and creative with hairstyling. There was a rich hairdressing tradition in Africa. That was a part of their culture. Hairstyling was fundamental to showcasing and sharing your identity. You had a hairstyle that connected you to a tribe, to a family, to a people. It’s an ancestral heritage.
PRISCILLA ALABI: So when Africans were enslaved and brought to America, their hairdressing traditions transformed. What used to be a way to express yourself that connects you to your people and your identity suddenly became a strategy for survival.
LORI L. THARPS: Black people were interested in straightening their hair very soon after being kidnapped and brought to the colonies because they were told that their hair was inferior, that it was ugly, that it was more animalistic. We simply wanted to stop being treated like animals. And then hair straightening became a visual way to demonstrate our equality.
PRISCILLA ALABI: So, they innovated. They created new techniques and tools from what was available.
LORI L. THARPS: They had to get creative because they didn’t have the tools or materials that they had in Africa. So, instead of something like palm oil that was very common in Africa to soften the hair, they would use butter.
PRISCILLA ALABI: They turned corn meal and kerosene into shampoo, baking grease and butter into conditioner. Butter knives became crude flat irons.
LORI L. THARPS: They would wrap the hair in yarn to kind of pull the kinks out–very inventive, very creative methods.
PRISCILLA ALABI: They were so inventive that their techniques became legendary–so sought after that they became the barbers and wig makers of choice for white people.
White people paid for their hands, their skill, their artistry. And that access to wealth? That became a pathway.
LORI L. THARPS: They were able to make enough money, many of them, to buy themselves out of slavery. Many of the early Black universities and other Black institutions were actually funded or founded by Black barbers.
PRISCILLA ALABI: For example, they funded Wilberforce University, one of the first HBCUs owned and operated entirely by African Americans, built in large part on the earnings from hairdressing.
LORI L. THARPS: Now, interestingly though, to be clear, the Black barbers at this time were not barbering other Black people’s hair. They were barbering white people’s here, which is sadly ironic because they couldn’t do their own–I mean–maybe, you know, after hours. But they couldn’t have a barber shop where they did white clients and Black clients because that would never fly.
PRISCILLA ALABI: Black folks continue to innovate with their own hair, though. And by the early 1900s, that innovation would turn into full-fledged empires. Let’s start with two women, Madam C.J. Walker and Annie Turnbo Malone, the first pioneers in Black hair care as an industry. They took the hodgepodge of hair straightening methods floating around and turned them into an actual system.
LORI L. THARPS: Madam C.J. Walker and Annie Turnbo Malone became very wealthy by selling the idea of straight hair but not with chemicals.
PRISCILLA ALABI: They used hot combs and worked them through the hair with pomade to get a sleek, straight look. But more importantly, they built an entire industry and economy around Black haircare that didn’t exist before.
LORI L. THARPS: You have to remember that, during slavery, Black women were not given time to really pay attention to their hair in terms of really taking care of it. Madam C.J. Walker and Annie Turnbo Malone were both really good at creating a beauty culture around hair for Black women. And so it would be like, “We’re going to wash your hair. We’re going to massage your scalp. We’re going to straighten your hair.” She popularized the system for straightening the hair.
PRISCILLA ALABI: And in so doing, Madam C.J. Walker became the first self-made millionaire woman in America, Black or white.
But the issue with straightening your hair with a hot comb was that the results were temporary because, once moisture hit the hair–sweat, humidity, rain–it went back to its natural state. But someone was about to find a permanent solution and completely by accident. Garrett Augustus Morgan was a tailor in Cleveland, Ohio, in the early 1900s. He was trying to create a substance that would prevent high-speed machines and needles from destroying material like wool and other animal fur. One day, he tried a particular concoction and he noticed the thick texture of the fur relaxed. It became straight. Next, he tries a solution on his neighbor’s dog, which is a little sus, but the dog’s fur comes out straight. Morgan then tries a substance on his own hair next, and his hair also becomes straight.
LORI L. THARPS: And it was an accidental discovery. He accidentally discovered that, if you mix lye and some other things, we could straighten the hair.
PRISCILLA ALABI: Lye, spelled L-Y-E, is sodium hydroxide, a caustic chemical that people already knew could straighten hair. But it was too dangerous–too corrosive–to use safely. What Morgan found was a formula that made it possible to use lye on human hair more safely, but it was still risky. And it was men, not women, who first were willing to gamble with the new chemical straightener, particularly jazz musicians. They wanted that sleek, processed look. They called it the “conk.” And one of the most iconic lores about this conk look is one featuring the equally iconic Malcolm X, when he was a teenager, who had just moved to the big city of Boston.
LORI L. THARPS: And the story that he shares about how important it was for him to look cool… He had his zoot suit. He wanted to be somebody in the streets of Boston. And he had the look, but he said that his nappy, red hair–I’m paraphrasing–gave him away as being country, not being citified. Having that slicked hair showed that you were truly from the city. And so they told him it was going to burn, but he didn’t care. It was worth it for him. If you watch the Malcolm X biopic movie with Denzel Washington–that scene where he throws his head in the toilet…
PRISCILLA ALABI: In Spike Lee’s film about Malcolm X, there’s a scene where the water went out just as Malcolm’s hair is burning from lye. He has nowhere to rinse, so he dunks his head into a toilet bowl just as the police burst into the place. Although that scene was a creative liberty Spike Lee took, the scene became a symbol of the lengths that many Black people would go to assimilate. Looking at it now, that scene represents an opportunity–a gap in the market that was waiting to be filled–because someone’s going to figure out a way to not only make using lye safer, but to make it sellable and accessible. His name is George Johnson, and his innovation will make him one of the most powerful Black entrepreneurs America has ever seen.
LORI L. THARPS: I consider him, like, the Madam C.J. Walker of his era in the Black hair care industry because he literally made a fortune from his hair care products. He was the first person to make a lot of money packaging and creating a whole business around the relaxer. But his first relaxer was actually for men. A barber who was doing these homemade conks came to George Johnson, who was a chemist, and said, “Hey, can you make some things that I can do quickly and easily?” And that’s how he came up with his Ultra Wave product, which was a relaxer for men. He then followed that up with one for women called the Ultra Sheen Relaxer. And I guarantee probably every Black woman of a certain age, kind of Gen X and above, have heard of or had an Ultra Sheen Relaxer on their head at some point or their mother had or their sister has.
PRISCILLA ALABI: George Johnson’s products owned the market. Unlike the straightening combs with temporary results or the dangerous lie concoctions people were mixing up at home, Ultra Sheen was long lasting and safer. And you could buy it at any drug store.
LORI L. THARPS: You didn’t have to go to the salon to get it done, although you could go to this salon. It just revolutionized and, in some ways, made haircare for Black people way more efficient and affordable by being able to get that relaxer at your local drugstore and do your hair for yourself.
PRISCILLA ALABI: You could straighten your hair at home, and nobody had to know. That privacy was everything.
LORI L. THARPS: There has to be mention that there was an aspect of shame, if I’m being honest, about the fact that we had to use chemicals to straighten our hair. And by being able to buy your relaxer at the drug store and do it at home, nobody had to see you going out or going to the salon or anything like that to get it done.
PRISCILLA ALABI: George Johnson became a multi-millionaire and took the profits from his company and reinvested them back into the Black community: Soul Train, Essence Magazine, platforms where Black culture was presented as vibrant, sophisticated, and beautiful, just as it was. He went even further. Independence Bank in Chicago, the largest Black-owned bank in the country, giving loans to people redlined by white banks. To homeowners, to entrepreneurs… He funded civil rights leaders like Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Reverend Jesse Jackson. He employed hundreds of Black and brown workers who couldn’t get hired anywhere else because of racial discrimination in corporate America. They got profit sharing in the company, full healthcare, an on-site nurse, college tuition paid in full, paid maternity and sick leave, four-day weekends for every holiday–unheard of in corporate America back then.
By 1964, the Johnson Products Company became the first Black-owned company traded on the American stock exchange. But soon, the government started selectively regulating Johnson’s products.
LORI L. THARPS: So it was very interesting, in 1975, when the Federal Trade Commission said that Johnson Products had to issue a warning on the outside of the boxes of their relaxers that these products were made with lye, indicating that they could be harmful, right?
PRISCILLA ALABI: But the FTC didn’t require that all companies that sell hair relaxers have a warning label. In fact, the beauty company Revlon had launched their own relaxer that contained lye, but they weren’t immediately required to add a warning level.
LORI L. THARPS: And to this day, as far as I know–I could be wrong–but we have never been able to find, my co-author and I, a reason why Revlon didn’t have to put the warning on, even though they also had lye in their products.
PRISCILLA ALABI: It took almost two years for the FTC to make Revlon add the warning–two years where Revlon could market their products as if their lye, L-Y-E, was safer than Johnson’s. In those two years, Revlon got a foothold. By the time Revlon was forced to add the warning, the damage was done. Ultra Sheen’s market dominance was lost for good.
LORI L. THARPS: Why were they targeted, but their competition–their white-owned competition–was not? It’s a mystery or a conspiracy, but it is widely understood that Black-owned hair companies–again, since Black people were in the hair business, which we know is pretty much since they were brought to this country–have always reinvested their money into the Black community, whether that was in scholarships, whether that was in community centers. Madam C.J. Walker built a theater in Indiana, like, for Black people because they were not allowed in white people’s theaters, you know? So when Black owned hair companies either get taken over or the competition from white companies feels biased in some way, Black people get really angry about that because they know that the Black hair care companies have always kind of again helped the Black community.
PRISCILLA ALABI: It’s also striking that this is one of the first ways that a Black person becomes a millionaire in America. It’s a product that makes Black hair look less like itself. Embedded in this product is such a strong tension between, you know, self-empowerment and then assimilation. And it’s also the source of wealth and self-improvement for the Black community. It feels kind of messed up. Like, what’s that about?
LORI L. THARPS: It does feel messed up. It feels very messed up, and I think it just speaks to the complexity of being Black in America. I don’t have an answer for you. I just can co-sign on the fact that this is incredibly complicated, but it signifies something about the pains and the length that we, as Black people, will go to to assimilate.
PRISCILLA ALABI: But there was a cost no one told us about, a cost we’re only now beginning to understand. That’s after the break.
[AD BREAK]
PRISCILLA ALABI: At the same time that George Johnson is having these struggles with the FTC in the ’70s, the Black Power movement is taking off. And hair, of course, becomes central to the movement.
LORI L. THARPS: During the Black power movement, Black people decided that straightening their hair hadn’t solved any problems. You know, they’ve been straightening their hairs, starting with Madam C.J. Walker, with straightening combs and now relaxers–whatever it takes–in order to play the game. And it hasn’t worked. And so the idea with the afro didn’t start with the afro.
PRISCILLA ALABI: It started with something simpler and more radical. “I’m not going to straighten my hair anymore.”
LORI L. THARPS: “I’m going to use my hair as a form of protest. You will see the difference. You will say that I am a Negro–that I’m different. I’m done making myself small.” And what does Black hair do? It expands. It grows up. It does not make you small. It makes you a little taller, you know? If you let it out, it will make you taller. It was a way to say, “I’m angry, I’m fed up, and I’m not going to make myself small to make white people comfortable anymore.”
PRISCILLA ALABI: During the Black Power Movement, the politics flipped so hard that there are stories of Black people who had naturally straight hair getting perms to add curls.
LORI L. THARPS: Not every Black person has hair that will look like an Angela Davis afro. Some people had to go get a perm to make their hair more curly. The idea was “We want this look. I don’t even have to say anything. I don’t have to lift my fist in the air. I don’t have to wear all black. If you see me with that hairstyle, then you understand that I’m part of the movement. I’m ready to fight for my rights.”
PRISCILLA ALABI: Black hair was never just hair. It always makes a statement, whether or not the wearer means anything by it. In its heyday, the afro was radical. It was political. It was a statement of defiance. Then the beauty industry capitalized on the afro. They made it profitable, selling wigs, marketing it as beautiful and empowering. And it was. But in making it profitable they defanged it. It became just another fashion trend.
By the 1980s, straight was back, but there were also policies driving that return. For example, in 1981, a Black woman named Renee Rogers worked as a ticketing agent for American Airlines. She wore cornrows to work. The airline told her she couldn’t. Rogers sued. She argued discrimination, but the judge ruled against her. He basically said hairstyles aren’t a protected class. The airline said it wasn’t about race. No one could have cornrows. But who was really wearing cornrows? The takeaway for Black workers was, if you wanted to keep your job, you had to do your hair the way the company wanted. It was similar in the military. Actually, the military’s policy was explicit. Black women could straighten their hair, but every hairstyle other than the afro involving natural textures like braids, twists, locks, those were all legally banable. So Black folks kept on keeping on. If you had to straighten your hair to work, you might as well make it fierce. In the ’80s, that was the peak of Black beauty and style.
PRISCILLA ALABI: If I wanted to make a montage of the peak of straight hair in Black America, from the ’80s to the ’90s, what moments would you include?
LORI L. THARPS: Okay, I would definitely get some shots from some of the hair shows that were really big in the ’80s and ’90s.
PRISCILLA ALABI: Hair shows, these large-scale hairstyling competitions where the goal was to be as expressive and gravity-defying as possible. Stylists were sculpting birdcages out of hair with live birds, propellers, waterfalls, rotating carousels, all styles that required relaxing the hair. And if you wanna understand the peak of that era, look nowhere else than at the iconic singer, Ms. Patti LaBelle.
LORI L. THARPS: Every single Patti LaBelle hairstyle because Patti LaBelle really knew how to wear the wings.
PATTI LABELLE: We did everything to my hair. I became the girl with the hair…
PRISCILLA ALABI: Here she is in a recent interview with CBS Morning, talking about a hairstyle she called the “bucket.”
PATTI LABELLE: We could put fruit in it or chicken or whatever we wanted to eat in that bucket.
NORAH O’DONNELL: You stop it! You would put food in the hair?
PATTI LABELLE: In the hair because it was held together with aquanut. And it was real firm. And so I could put food in there, and the band one day just took an apple. It was a little apple and some grapes.
NORAH O’DONNELL: From the bucket, I love it…
PRISCILLA ALABI: Hair so sculpted that you could literally serve dinner from it. By the ’90s, the straight hair culture had reached its absolute peak.
LORI L. THARPS: Almost every singer– Every video had Black women with straight hair, whether they were wigs. The straight look? Just pick Naomi Campbell or Tyra Banks at any given moment throughout the ’90s.
PRISCILLA ALABI: Waist length, silky, bone straight. Every celebrity had it. Razor cut, textured pixie like Halle Berry’s or sleek, close cropped pixie, like Tony Braxton’s. But by the mid to late 2000s, the tide was turning. The obsession with straight hair was starting to slow down. A green beauty movement was taking off. People were eating organic and thinking carefully about what they put in their bodies. So why weren’t they asking the same questions about what they were putting on their bodies? Why were they slathering caustic chemicals on their hair and scalp every six to eight weeks? So people started embracing more natural styles.
PRISCILLA ALABI: I remember, as a teenager, just seeing all these Black women with natural hair and just being like, “Wait, what happened?” Like, we all just decided that we were not straightening our hair anymore.
LORI L. THARPS: Yes, absolutely. So it’s like, “I don’t need to buy a relaxer anymore because one of the main reasons that Black women cited using relaxers was simply because it made their hair easier to manage.” Well, now with the natural hair movement and the accompanying products, suddenly Black hair wasn’t so unmanageable.
PRISCILLA ALABI: The beauty industry felt it almost immediately. The numbers don’t lie. From 2008 to 2013, relaxer sales plummeted 26%. At the same time, sales of natural hairstyling products, like curl creams, moisturizers, and setting lotions, skyrocketed. And in real life, Lorraine Samuel saw the shift at her salon, too.
PRISCILLA ALABI: So, in the ’90s, how often would you say you were using relaxers on people?
LORRAINE: Maybe five times a day versus five times a week, which is now in 2026.
PRISCILLA ALABI: You were doing, like, 30 a week?
LORRAINE: Definitely.
PRISCILLA ALABI: So now you’re doing…
LORRAINE: Less now. I’m doing about five a week. So we don’t spend as much in product…
PRISCILLA ALABI: But in general, a feeling was growing that this relaxer treatment can’t be good for us. Then a few years ago, the science caught up to the fear. In 2002, a massive study would confirm what women had been sensing all along.
LINDA VILLAROSA: I was really intrigued because that was the first time there had been an association and a really good study linking hair relaxer products, black women, and two kinds of cancers, endometrial cancer and uterine cancer.
PRISCILLA ALABI: That’s Linda Villarosa, a contributing writer at the New York Times Magazine, where she covers health and social justice.
LINDA VILLAROSA: I hadn’t seen such good research about it before. But when this research came out, I said, “Oh, there’s been a lot of smaller studies, but this big study means that maybe it’s time to do an article.”
PRISCILLA ALABI: She published an article in 2024, discussing what scientists found from the NIH study. The conclusions from the research are alarming.
LINDA VILLAROSA: It had followed 34,000 women and found that those who frequently used chemical hair straightening products and the majority of whom were Black women were two and a half times more likely to develop uterine cancer than those who did not use them.
PRISCILLA ALABI: Two and a half times more likely to develop uterine cancer!
LINDA VILLAROSA: The 2022 research makes an association with using relaxer products and ovarian, uterine, and endometrial cancer. So it’s an association. It doesn’t mean that if you used it, you will get cancer. It also doesn’t mean you’re gonna die of it. Other research linked these products with fibroid tumors. And that is really important that we know because Black women are much more likely than other women to get fibroid tumors.
PRISCILLA ALABI: The study found correlation, not causation, a strong correlation between relaxer use and reproductive cancers. But for hair historian Lori Tharps, the distinction between correlation and causation misses the point. She doesn’t think we should be cautious about it at all. She thinks we should wave a red flag, a big one, telling Black women, “This product could cause cancer.” And that’s enough.
LORI L. THARPS: There should be big warnings on the boxes, on the labels. Salons themselves should have warnings when a person wants to come in and do a treatment, a relaxer, they should be warned. “This could give you fibroids or cancer. Are you sure you want it?” If they’re adequately warned and they still want to, by all means, go for it. Cigarettes give you cancer and people still smoke, but a lot less do now than they did before because they understand the risks involved. But I do not believe by any stretch of the imagination has this information been effectively disseminated. I think, instead of calling it creamy crack, we should call it “creamy cancer.”
PRISCILLA ALABI: That may be a start, but a loud warning won’t change the social reality that makes Black people reach for hair relaxers in the first place.
LORI L. THARPS: What it says about America is that if Black people do their best to assimilate to white culture, there are riches to be made. If you can box assimilation, if you can put assimilation in a box and sell it on the stores of drugstores in America, that is the path to great wealth. But it comes at a price.
PRISCILLA ALABI: And that price continues to be paid. We started this story with nine-year-old me wanting hair a comb could easily pass through. But to paraphrase Malcolm X in his 1962 speech in Los Angeles, who taught me to hate the texture of my hair? Who taught me that my natural hair wasn’t beautiful, that I needed to change it to acceptable.
LORI L. THARPS: White supremacy is still real. Racism is still real. People are still losing their jobs with natural hairstyles. So even if this is dangerous, we still live in a world where straight hair is considered superior to natural, kinky, curly hair. So we’re operating with this idea that something is dangerous. But white supremacy is dangerous.
ROMAN MARS: Lori L. Tharps is the co-author of Hair Story: Untangling the Roots of Black Hair in America.
A History of the United States in 100 Objects is a production of 99% Invisible and BBC Studios. It’s hosted and curated by me, Roman Mars. This episode was reported and produced by Priscilla Alabi. Our other producers are Ellie Lightfoot and Brenna Daldorph. Our associated producer is Isaac Fisher. The series was edited by Annie Brown and Courtney Harrell. Mixing by Ivor Manley. Fact-checking by Amy Bracken. Our theme song is by Swan Real.
From 99% Invisible, our executive producer is Kathy Tu. From BBC Studios, our executive producers are Annie Brown and Courtney Harrell. Our Production coordinator is Shan Pill-ay and production manager is Mabel Finnegan-Wright. Artwork by Stefan Lawrence.
99% Invisible is part of the SiriusXM podcast family, headquartered in beautiful… uptown… Oakland, California. And BBC studios is headquartered in beautiful… White City… West London. If you want to get in touch or have an object for us to consider, email us at [email protected]
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