Confessions From The Color Bar

One day, I fixed my mother's thinning eyebrows with Maybelline eyeliner, and she cried. She told me her mother had pointed out her thin brows as a joke as a teenager. It was insecurity my mother never spoke of outwardly, but carried with her for many years. This new feeling of beauty she had from a small line of brown makeup was incredible. I knew I had made a difference.

I pursued that feeling and ended up a wide-eyed and overly excited cosmetology graduate. I moved in between hair and makeup, chasing that familiar feeling of making people feel beautiful. Soon, I found that the beauty business was plagued with ugly insecurities of its own. I believe that's the life cycle of any industry, though. I had to have the rose-colored glasses peeled off my face to see what the world I was now immersed in honestly looked like. It's a business, after all. A business that was, and is, in need of a makeover.

Bombarded with images of perfectly arranged manes, and calligraphy font of sayings like 'Love is in the Hair', and that one infamous quote from Coco Chanel, "A woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life.".

I don't even know if Coco Chanel ever even said that, but it's inspiring and gives you the warm-fuzzies, doesn't it? It makes you feel empowered, like that new haircut will independently launch you to new levels of happiness and success. You just sit in my chair, and bippity-boppity-new-do— Happiness!

But the beauty industry is more than makeovers and feel-good posts with killer Instagram engagement—both for professionals and those who sit in our chairs. Beauty is more than that, isn't it?

The truth is this: The beauty industry, bare-faced, is our Achilles' heel as well as Hercules's hand, so to speak. These unattainable beauty standards are rigid and disgusting, and we feel that pressure every day. And the same industry that enforces them claims to be dismantling them. Models with lengthened lashes and flawless skin will tell you that you don't have to fit the mold. So, how do we make a change in a business like this? Why would anyone want to work in an industry like that?

I'll tell you why. When a person feels beautiful in and to themselves, I see them light up with actual power, and it's life-changing. Seeing a person cry tears of happiness and being a part of that is a feeling I cannot describe. It's far more than skin-deep for the clients in my chair, and that's what keeps me on the trail of making a difference—especially in this business that can be the root of such pain and superficiality.

The story of my work has so little to do with me doing hair and everything to do with the people I've come to know along the way. I don't mean a casual haircut, handshake, and hairspray preference, either. I have built personal and professional relationships with clients, sixteen years of memories and moments shared—some, only one-time interactions that I was allowed to share.

Sharing in moments of pain, when my client and her daughter came in after closing time on a Sunday night in 2016. Her first round of chemotherapy on Monday and "The Red Devil" will take all eighteen inches of hair and hopefully all of her metastatic breast cancer. We cried together, then prayed. Three years later, I would be there for her daughter when she came in to get her hair done before her mother's funeral.

"She would always braid my hair, Vonne. I'd really like a braid today. I think she would like it." Her voice cracked, and we spoke not one more word, afraid we would both break down.

Sharing in times of transition with my clients who felt so comfortable sharing their truth with me. My client growing out her hair was impatiently waiting for long locks to go with her softening features, fuller figure, and skin changes. She talked about the effects of hormones with me, and we swapped stories of womanhood together. Then, I surprised her with twenty-two-inch weft extensions. Placing those extensions was only a tiny part of her becoming the person I'd known for over eight years, but her allowing me to accompany her was and is a blessing to me still.

"I feel like I'm finally becoming me, Vonne. The person I've always been, but she's in the mirror now."

Sharing moments with a teen, but no average teen. An older soul than she should have had to be at only eighteen. After her last round of chemotherapy and radiation, I curled her hair; she was so insecure about its density. I told her it was perfect for this updo, and it truly was. Meticulously placing makeup to her liking and giving her lashes she always dreamed of. This was her senior prom, after all. We laughed together, talking about boys, parties, and anything and everything except doctors and cancer. It had been a lifelong battle, but that night was not about the battle.

"I never thought I'd like my hair again, especially now. Oh my God."

I would be there, only one year later, holding her mother as we remembered her life. How lucky I was to have known her and have a small part in the memories she held dear.

Sharing in the joy of watching a child grow into a bright young woman. Someone I admire and am proud to know and love. From school dances to homecomings, proms, and graduations, I was there to put together a part of her perfect memory. She deserved to feel as beautiful as everyone knows she is and to radiate that out into the world. And now, years later, she has.

"You're like my older sister; you know that?" Those words melted my heart.

I have been a part of those photos in albums, memories of mimosas and laughter, nerves and interviews, makeovers, and weddings. The heartbreaking times, homelessness, addiction, breakups, and death. Those first steps out into a world that is still turning when yours has stopped.

That's why I continue on this path, in this work, in this business that can be ugly and skin-deep. Always on the hunt to make someone feel beautiful in themselves and brave enough to share their individual beauty with the world.