Never Walked In High Heels

I am unable to wash my hair, there is way too much of it for me to handle. When I went away to college, the major worry of my parents was not that I wouldn’t be able to keep my grades high or wouldn’t have the self-discipline to attend class, no; it was the daily task of taking care of my hair and other minute personal details. At one point I even seriously debated on shaving my head and wearing a wig at all times. However, whenever I visited a wig shop I realized that nobody else’s hair, natural or synthetic, no matter how easy it was to take care of, would ever be my own. For me, I always thought of my hair as my signature. Some women get into shoes, other women handbags. Mine was like Sampson; my hair, a symbol of strength and health; regardless of it throwing me into utter dependence.

It was either fate or providence that when I moved away to college, there was a hair salon directly across the street that was having their grand opening that first week. For four years I visited those hair dressers, talking about my problems and my potential love interests as they washed my hair and pinned it in such a way that it inevitably looked lovely, but also stayed out of my face. And then a week after I graduated, the owner declared bankruptcy and the studio closed.

At university there was a stark contrast between the students and professors always insisting on reading and having intellectual debates and those in any sort of vocational industry. It often turned into outright snobbery. And while the turnover rate of the people employed by a single salon is shockingly high. Often at my own school, people would think that the cosmetologists or other individuals who insisted on going into vocational school rather than receiving a full liberal arts degree were somehow inferior. They couldn’t stick to a single curriculum, they were fickle, gave up easily and that’s why their lives lead them to cosmetology school rather than a prestigious intellectual education such as our own.

Here’s what elitists like liberal arts students miss, and it’s taken me several years, as well as another salon I love equally to bring me to this conclusion. The services of hairdressers and cosmetologists changes as many lives and helps as many people during a time of need as any doctor or psychiatrist. My quality of life is literally improved by individuals who insist that I am taken care of and go out in public in my best possible style.

Many hairdressers and cosmetologists actually spend their weekends in funeral homes attempting to present the dead in a state of great beauty during funeral processions. It’s so that those in mourning can look at the faces of their loved ones now gone and have a permanent final memory of them looking peaceful, serene, and beautiful. Another hairdresser in London spends her Saturdays working with individuals going through chemotherapy; fitting wigs and trimming them into a style that suits each individual patient so that they will not be saddled with embarrassment regarding their hair loss. And as for me, the ability to have my hair out of my face whenever I want, is priceless, as I would otherwise be miserably fighting the constant battle of keeping hair out of my eyes. It also means with an up-do, people take me seriously as a professional, because with my hair up in a bun or braid, I no longer look like I am twelve years old or mentally incompetent. Therefore, strangers actually treat me with more respect, directness when I have my hair styled in a way that flatters me.

Its easy to dismiss the beauty industry and those in it as encouraging vanity. A kind of reverse arrogance sets in assuming that either those involved are also shallow and self serving. But beauty has its value and serves a purpose, that is: to teach us all we are to be valued, not only for how we look, be who we are and what we can do for others as well.