When maintenance feels more like survival than self-love
The textured hair salon experience has never felt like self care for me. Ever since I can remember, even as a young girl, and especially as a little girl, my experience of going to the hair salon felt comparable to a dog being dragged to the vet. The anticipation never felt exciting or indulgent. It felt heavy, uncertain, and deeply uncomfortable in a way that I could not fully articulate at the time.
I used to watch other girls walk into salons with ease. They laughed, flipped through magazines, and seemed to trust the process in a way that felt completely foreign to me. I wished I could relate to that sense of ease. I wished the salon could feel like a safe space where I would be pampered and cared for without hesitation. Instead, I carried anxiety into every appointment, bracing myself for what might happen once I sat in the chair.
I wanted to feel excitement instead of fear. I wanted to stop feeling like a burden. I wanted stylists to stop treating me like a dreaded Monday, whispering under their breath, when I knew I was meant to be more of a fun Friday. Even as a child, I understood the difference between being accommodated and being welcomed, and I rarely felt the latter.
As an adult, that feeling has not completely disappeared. I am constantly working to heal the relationship I have with my own hair, yet I still find myself tensing up before appointments. There is always a moment of hesitation before I walk through the door. There is always a quiet list of questions running through my mind.
Will they assume my texture requires more force or more heat than necessary? Will they reach for tools that prioritize speed over care? Will my hair be treated as a challenge instead of something to be understood? These questions are not rooted in insecurity. They are rooted in lived experience.
I also find myself wondering whether I will be seen as an inconvenience. I question whether I will become the part of someone’s day that they wish they could avoid, like the email that sits unread in an inbox. I question whether I can trust a stylist, especially in fast-paced environments like photoshoots, to prioritize the long term health of my hair instead of focusing solely on the final look.
There have been moments when I have felt forced to take control of the process myself, guiding hands that were supposed to guide me. There have been moments when I have held the tools, despite not being the one with professional training, simply because I did not feel safe relinquishing that control.
That is not what care is supposed to feel like.
Why the textured hair salon experience still feels like a threat
Earlier this year, during fashion week in February, I approached my schedule with intention and clarity. I evaluated which designers I wanted to support, which shows aligned with my values, and which spaces reflected the woman I am becoming. I also acknowledged the lighter aspects of the week, including the afterparties and the perks that come with being immersed in that environment.
Among those perks were complimentary salon services offered to models as preparation for the demanding days ahead. On paper, it sounded ideal. In reality, I hesitated.
The hesitation was not about time or convenience. It was about trust.
The fact that the service was free only intensified that hesitation. I found myself questioning how accountability would work if something went wrong. I wondered what recourse I would have if my hair was damaged in the process. I questioned whether the lack of financial exchange would translate into a lack of care.
Eventually, I decided to move forward and booked an appointment at The Salon Project in Rockefeller Center. The environment itself felt polished and precise. People moved with intention, and there was a visible standard of perfection in every detail. It was the kind of place where presentation mattered deeply.
What I did not expect was the level of care I would experience.
Reny approached my hair with a gentleness that immediately stood out. His movements were intentional, and his technique reflected both knowledge and respect. He took his time sectioning my hair, working through it patiently, and ensuring that each step was done with care.
As I sat in his chair, I felt a mix of relief and emotion that I had not anticipated. I felt seen in a way that extended beyond aesthetics. I felt cared for in a way that felt unfamiliar and long overdue.
That moment also brought up difficult questions.
Why had it taken so long for me to experience this level of care? Why did it feel like something rare instead of something standard? Why did I have to search so far and so intentionally to find something that should have been accessible all along?
During our conversation, I learned that Reny had a close relationship with someone who shared my hair texture. That detail explained everything. His understanding was not purely technical. It was personal. It was rooted in familiarity, empathy, and lived experience.
That kind of care cannot be manufactured through training alone. It comes from connection.
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The systemic gap we cannot ignore
The gap in care that many people with textured hair experience is not accidental. It is systemic.
According to research published in the Journal of Cosmetic Dermatology, a significant percentage of cosmetology students report feeling unprepared to work with textured hair upon graduation. This reflects more than a gap in education. It reflects a gap in prioritization within the industry itself.
For decades, textured hair has been treated as a specialty instead of a standard. It has been positioned as something optional within training programs rather than something essential. That framing has had real consequences for those of us who live with the impact of that exclusion.
It was not until 2026 that New York updated its cosmetology licensing requirements to include mandatory training for curly and coily hair textures. Even within professional education systems, organizations like the American Association of Cosmetology Schools have acknowledged the need for curriculum evolution to better reflect diverse hair types and textures. These programs require between three hundred and one thousand hours of instruction, yet this fundamental aspect of hair care was only recently included.
New York is now the eighth state to implement this requirement, joining California, Connecticut, Louisiana, Maine, Minnesota, Vermont, and Washington. Out of fifty states, that number highlights how slow progress has been.
While this shift is a step forward, it also underscores how long this issue has been overlooked. Progress that arrives late still carries the weight of the delay.
From fear to reclamation
Beauty has always been rooted in community. It has never existed in isolation.
For generations, we have relied on one another in quiet and meaningful ways. We have helped each other get ready, shared techniques, passed down rituals, and created spaces where care was mutual and intentional. These moments were never just about appearance. They were about connection, trust, and belonging.
At some point, that sense of community became fractured.
The same systems that excluded us also reshaped the spaces we once relied on. What was once accessible became expensive. What was once communal became transactional. What was once rooted in care became influenced by scarcity and competition.
Natural hair care, including styles like braids, should not feel financially out of reach. These practices are deeply cultural and historically significant. However, the commodification of these services has turned them into luxuries for many people.
This shift forces us to ask difficult questions about accountability within our own communities. It challenges us to examine how we contribute to the very systems that once excluded us. Reclamation requires more than recognition. It requires intention. At its core, the textured hair salon experience is about trust.
What we do next matters
The conversation cannot end with acknowledging the problem. It must extend into action.
We have the opportunity to redefine what care looks like within the beauty industry. We have the ability to create spaces where textured hair is not treated as an exception, but as part of the standard. We have the responsibility to ensure that the next generation does not inherit the same fears that many of us have carried for years.
That change begins with how we show up for one another.
It begins with stylists committing to education that goes beyond minimum requirements. It begins with clients advocating for themselves without feeling like they are asking for too much. It begins with communities rebuilding trust through consistency and accountability.
Safety in the salon chair should not feel like luck or coincidence. It should feel expected. It should feel guaranteed.
If we truly believe that beauty is rooted in care, then we must be willing to embody that care in every interaction, every service, and every space we create.
The question is no longer whether the industry will change.
The question is whether we are willing to demand better and build it ourselves.
Redefining the textured hair salon experience requires intention, accountability, and care.
