herhandsmyhands, 
Beware a white woman writing YA with Black girl protagonists, while pulling shit like this--and because most of her audience are also white people, she gets away with her #racist stereotypes and sells better than Black women writing authentically.
Amy McNulty's author page; her photo is of a pale white woman with brown hair. Her bio reads: Amy McNulty is an editor and author of books that run the gamut from YA speculative fiction to contemporary romance. The titles shown are Nobody's Goddess (Black girl with natural hair wearing a purple gown), Nobody's Lady (Black hair with natural hair wearing a sleeveless red gown over a white chemise-like garment), and Nobody's Pawn (Black girl with natural hair wearing a circlet of white flowers and a golden gown)
From one of McNulty's books: "yards of where I sat. "I don't care how long you spend running the comb through my hair, it's never going to be soft and supple." (italics) It'll never be as beautiful as Elfriede's.(end italics) Mother dipped the wooden comb in the bowl of water she'd brought to the kitchen-table-turned-rack-of-torture. It wasn't working too well. I could tell from the constant battle between my scalp and the roots of my hair that so badly wished to tear free of the skin. But it was either that or bacon grease, and I wasn't having any pig fat slathered over my hair in attempt to tame it, not today. She gripped a chunk of hair like the tail on a dead squirrel and ran the wooden comb upward. "Oh!" came the shout, followed quickly by the snap of the wooden comb Father had carved for her upon their Returning years ago. The comb that was only really a last resort, a gift meant for mother to treasure and run through her own silky , wavy golden hair. "We've broken the last of them, " she sighed. "We can still use the grease." "No." I could just imagine myself smelling of dead pig on the fist day I'd look upon the face of the man I loved. Not that he'd care even if I showed up smeared in mud with a live pig under each arm and missing a few teeth. He only had eyes for his goddess. "Mother," interrupted Elfriede, the goddess who'd have his love with or without the mud and the pigs. She stood by the sink, perhaps hoping to see her reflection in the musty water ...
Tweet by author Melissa Blue @MelTheGreat: Bacon grease, Robin. And I get it. How much do we have to know about them to survive, and how little they bother to know about us, and when they don't know, what they make up to fill in the blanks. Bacon. Grease. Reply by Robin Bradford @Tuphlos: Angry sputtering. I literally have nothing else. It's taking all my energy not to throw things.
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