The hook here is that I decided to chop my hair off a whole year after I wrote the bulk of this, primarily for several of the reasons chronicled here, and another ill-fated faux loc misadventure. I'm not upset, nor was my decision to start over based on any ill-will, just needed a change. --ADH
Picture it, November 2023...
Initially, I was just planning to post a few pictures to the Facebook page and share a few thoughts about a recent ordeal. But once I got to remembering and realized that I had PARAGRAPHS of built-up frustration written out on the page, it made more sense to move this vent in this space where I could really expound. Because I have a lot to say...
This began when I wanted to write a quick note about alumni giving. HBCU Homecomings have finally received mainstream media attention, so I thought of that as an opportunity to preach my annual #HBCUJustGive sermonette to the masses. After a few paragraphs, I concluded with a shady reference to Atlanta restaurants (which people were talking about because of TikTok influencer Keith Lee, and we'll definitely address that here as well) and the complaints I've been seeing on social media about hair stylist pricing. I then thought, hmm, here's a chance for me to air out my gripes about my own experience of feeling price gouged at the hair salon, an experience that still has me feeling some kind of way weeks after the fact.
Because this isn't an anonymous business review posted to Yelp, no names are provided to protect identities. This is also not a stream of consciousness rant on X, nor a vengeful TikTok video because nobody has time for all of that. This is how I felt about an experience that is unique to me, and my goal here is not to destroy anyone's livelihood or tarnish their reputation. Of course, I could have opted not to say anything, but I came to the conclusion that I needed a catharsis after biting my tongue for so long. A wise person once told me some years ago that repression is bad for the soul (as a handy addendum to the adage that confession is good for the soul).
A little over a year ago, I decided to get my hair braided for the first time in a decade. I asked around, and by chance mentioned to my stylist (of many years) what I was looking to have done. She told me that she had braiders on staff at the salon, and that I just needed to make an appointment. Seemed easy enough, but then came the fine print disclaimers. I needed to decide if I was getting knotless braids or box braids, as if I knew what any of that meant since I hadn't gotten my hair braided in 10 years! She tried to explain it to me, and after we perused several pictures on Instagram, we determined that I was looking to get "old school" braids (a form of box braids). That would cost me $200.
Alright, bet, and I was all set to book an appointment. But more fine print--I would have to pay extra to have my hair washed and blow dried by one of these braid stylists. Mind you, this was a salon, not somebody's kitchen or garage. I don't even know if the blow dryer I've had for 20+ years even works, so I opted to schedule an appointment with my regular stylist so that she could prep my hair with a trim and deep condition as well. That ended up costing me $90, but I was optimistic that it was worth the expense. And the prospect of not having to go to a beauty supply store for hair did outweigh that initial cost. I came back two days later, the deed was done, I headed out of town a week later to protect democracy (October 2022), and all was right in my world for a few weeks. I took my braids out a few days after my birthday and thought ahead to my next hair adventure.
Fast forward to February (2023) when I decided to try faux locs. A good friend who gets them done regularly had me thinking I could be cute like her, and since we were heading to Puerto Rico for the Kid's Winter Break, I was looking forward to a boho-inspired look for the beach. In the lead-up to that appointment, I opted not to schedule a pre-wash and blow session with my stylist, thinking that I needed to save some money. However, I didn't learn until the day before my scheduled appointment that I needed to buy my own hair. So, as my Mom would have said, I stepped over a dime to pick up a quarter and didn't really save myself any money in the end. The braid stylist went with me to the beauty supply store to pick out the hair, which cost me $100, plus the actual service ($200+), and tip. When I asked how I would take the style down, she suggested that I could come back in and pay a take-down fee, or I could look it up on YouTube.
I didn't say anything, although I this exchange made me think of the various complaints I had seen over the years posted on social media. For years on Black Twitter, I had read increasingly absurd accounts of patrons being nickeled and dimed for every service, which must have inspired this hilarious skit on A Black Lady Sketch Show ("ABLSS")--which takes place in a nail salon, but the accuracy is uncanny. I mentioned my concerns to my regular stylist, who responded that she understood, but she was allowing these specialty stylists to establish their own practices because they offered services she did not.
Bet, I thought, but still resolved to "educate" myself to avoid any additional $urprise$ should I desire to get another specialty style. Having received a few videos worth of cosmetology training on YouTube Beauty U, I decided to go back to faux locs for the Beyonce show (August 2023) and to rock that look through to mid-Fall. To avoid the beauty supply store markup, I pre-ordered the hair on Amazon and scheduled an appointment in the early afternoon to give myself time to wash my own hair.
Let's skip ahead eight weeks to when it was time to take my hair down. We had family arriving in town, and because I didn't want to look crazy or schedule a hair appointment while they were here, I delayed the take down for a week. At nine weeks it was definitely time and I was uncomfortable with the weight of the added hair and the new growth, so I sat down with a movie and began the process that I had previously learned to take down the style. However, a different braid stylist had installed these locs and after 20 minutes of attempting to unravel one loc, I had no clear understanding of how it had been anchored to my hair. I sat there and fidgeted and uncoiled and then unbraided until one section of my hair was freed. It felt like I was drilling for oil. I repeated this process for over two hours and only got six more locs undone. The next day, attempt #2 yielded the same result, so with 4 hours gone and 12 locs undone, I sent an exasperated text to my regular stylist after 9pm on a Monday night.
I have never done that before, so when she called me back, I immediately felt ashamed for being so helpless. And reflecting back on that precise moment, instead of allowing Catholic guilt to temper my frustrations, I should have been prepared with a list of demands. This absolutely felt like a hostage situation, and I am convinced that I barely escaped with my dignity intact.
(I know, the hyperbole is thick, but stay with me.)
She asked me to come in that Wednesday, and I said that I would try, but I didn't make it because I had to take my Dad to an appointment. I texted her to say that I would try for the following day, but again, something else came up and I was unable to go by the salon. On Friday, I had a funeral to attend, so I had to wrap my head for a third day in order to venture out into the world and not scare any pets, men, or small children. I stopped by the salon on my way home, but none of the stylists familiar with my dilemma were on site. I ended up speaking to a fourth stylist who made it clear that I was on my own. My regular stylist was out of town, so his suggestion was for me to check back on Monday. By this point, I was miffed so I declared that I would figure it out on my own and left. Because in spite of everything else I had going on between my Kid, my parents, and my own isht, surely I had time to take another round of classes at YouTube Beauty U. Because no one else seemed to have any issues when taking their hair down, apparently, I was the problem...
Which was clearly the wrong way of looking at this because I was the one with the problem that dragged on through week 10 and threatened to linger on for another full week until I gave up and called my stylist back to schedule an appointment. Fuck the Catholic guilt; let go of the stigma of being the Black girl with no hair styling skills; get over having to go in for a service I shouldn't have needed; and just pay the damn ransom to get my life back. I was beyond pissed but had no interest in extending this fiasco into a 12th week, and I didn't want to cause any additional damage to my hair. I scheduled the appointment to get the locs taken down and to get my hair done. Of course, that process wasn't drama-free either, but at least the locs were gone. All of that peace of mind only cost me $185 (and tip), plus several unopened packages of hair from Amazon that I can no longer return because who knew this would be such an ordeal?!
What does any of this have to do with Keith Lee? Nothing. But if you've read this far, you might as well keep reading to see how I make the connection. Just indulge me for another paragraph or two...
Now that it has been three weeks since I was released from those faux locs (November 2023), I just happened to be scrolling Black Twitter the last week when I saw where a woman posted a complaint about her experience with a stylist in another state. I won't even link to her thread because I assure you, there are so many similar stories being told of the decline in providing what used to be basic service that I don't need to identify any particular person or locality. Just know that there are horror stories posted on Reddit and videos all over TikTok, as per the recommended route for receiving justice/vengeance due to one of these bad hair day experiences.
I'm not looking for either. And for now, I am sticking with my stylist because the alternative is to take my chances and roll the dice with one of these new school influencers who style hair. I don't know what passes for professional standards or licensure these days, and maybe that's the problem. If the assumption is that anybody who watches enough videos on YouTube can figure out how to style hair, then perhaps it no longer matters that the person who promotes themselves on social media as a professional actually has any credentials. Follower counts and likes are driving business these days, not quality of service, and that is no longer a factor to be shrugged off as regional.
Once upon a time, the Black beauty salon was a place of communal refuge, just like the barber shop for Black men. I won't take you on a nostalgia fantastical voyage because I don't want to give the false impression that a trip to the beauty salon was always a visit to Shangri-La. Some of us still bear the scars--physical, mental, and spiritual; however, most of us agree that the hair salon used to provide respite and service. Hence, another favorite skit from ABLSS Service offered a vision of what should be the norm...alas, it was just a dream.
I know that business owners have overhead and insurance and other assorted costs of doing business, so my complaint is not that I am paying more than I used to. It is that I am paying more and now having to pay extra for basic services that should already be included. Making me do half the work in advance, still charging full price, and expecting a tip is no different than having me shop, ring up and bag my purchases at the grocery store with the prices steadily increasing. What next, will I be charged for each squirt or spritz of product?
In effect, we are hostages, because the corporate mainstream hair care industrial complex still promotes the fallacy that products created for wash and go are suitable for all hair types. Most Black women can't just roll up to the mall Hair Cuttery or Dry Bar and expect to walk out before their lunch hour is over because nobody specializes in Black hair care other than Black people. Wash day is exactly that--a whole DAY, and nobody has time for that. Black women already pay a premium to look presentable to a world where legislation is needed to prevent discrimination against our natural hair texture in the workplace! It is beyond ironic that the BILLION-dollar Black beauty market that made Madame CJ Walker the first Black woman millionaire, precisely because there was a void in services and products provided to Black women, has come to this.
So here is where I pivot to Keith Lee and why his restaurant reviews ought to be regarded and received in a different spirit than the way y'all acted out this week. Because he's not out here destroying Black businesses if he's offering honest assessments of shitty treatment and/or bad food. He's demanding accountability, and to borrow an old-school phrase that seems appropriate, if you can't stand the heat stay out of the kitchen. If you are a musician who has entered the hospitality business to expand your brand, I get that but understand that folks aren't just coming to your establishment to take photos for the gram.
Now that it's a year later, November 2024, I am aware that this ended abruptly and that I forgot about whatever Keith Lee restaurant review prompted this rant. Nevertheless, a few updates and closing thoughts:
- Interestingly, I've been to Atlanta twice this year, and we might need to discuss a few of the things that have changed in 30 years...
- A word of advice to those in the service industry: Do better! Folks shouldn't spend their hard-earned money on a service and walk out upset or angry about the experience or the result without some kind of acknowledgment and/or a promise to improve. One of the lines in the original piece was about how the restaurant owners had referenced investing their life savings into this venture, so their hurt feelings are understandable. However, that is the cost of doing business, so instead of getting mad at Lee for a bad review, train your staff!
- In weighing whether to leave this piece in the drafts or to publish it, I opted to post because I had some broader points to make. And while my relationship with my stylist is still somewhat complicated, I wanted to share the backstory of how finally said eff it and cut my hair.
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