The Dwindling Culture of Black Beauty Shops

Have salons broken their promise of sanctuary and freedom? 

Come to the salon with your hair washed, blow-dried, detangled ... actually, just style it before you come. And, of course, be prepared to pay. Image credit: Tima Miroshnichenko

Salon culture: What the community meant  

If you asked me what sisterhood looked like, I’d take you back to Perfect Finger Salon. I’d tell you how I always sat cross-legged in the corner, waiting for my sister to finish her Ghana weaving — watching women with their hair rolled under dryers, others holding weaves — flipping through magazines. I remember the warmth in their laughter, the steady rhythm of conversations, stories traded about love, work, beauty and growing into oneself. 

It wasn’t just a place to get your hair done. It was where Black womanhood bloomed and where I first learned care could be collective. That even while getting your hair stretched or your braids parted, you could find community. I believed a hair salon would be one of the safest places I could ever belong to. 

But now that I’m grown, I’m not so sure. 

What it is now 

Salon stylist vs. Home braider. High licensing fees vs. Budget-conscious customers. Chicken vs. Egg Where did these problems begin? Image credit: Shutterstock 

Recently, I booked weeks in advance for my birthday hair with an independent hairstylist. I carefully followed all the ‘new rules’ she outlined for bookings. When the day came, she delayed for two hours. No prior notice. She made me reschedule for later in the day, and while I was still cooling off, she stressed the need to apply gel and heat to my hair to make it “manageable.” With every appointment, I do mental gymnastics, flipping through a checklist of what might go wrong. But it’s not just me. 

Across social media — and even in conversations with my friends, many Black women are complaining about the unprofessionalism and the many requirements hairstylists have set up to earn your seat in their styling chair. One salon-goer, who gives her surname as "Oriowo," says, “The accommodation is not there for people of my hair type, so I have to do the washing, detangling by myself before getting my hair done ... [S]ometimes, I hear them complaining and saying things that aren't nice.”   

How did we get here?  

Some have argued that this wrong attitude to work started with the rise of “independent” (at-home) stylists and social media. With everyone thinking they can open a spot just by being technically skilled, the brunt of it is borne by the clients who undergo harsh treatments. Unlicensed hairstylists are saturated, mixed with the number of them that focus on content creation and influencing. “A salon suite does not make a professional stylist, social media user Shelby Ivey Christie commented on X.  

One hairstylist attempted to offer perspective.  “License fees are quite high and not everyone can afford them.” Irene (who requested her last name be withheld) says. “I just moved, and I'm still trying to find my feet.” she says. “But this isn’t to defend others that don't take their jobs seriously.” On training, she says, “I learn from online hair and business coaches. I think others should do that and put it into work.” 

Where do we go from here?  

What will it take to make Black hair salons feel this safe again? Image credit: Adefemi Adedoyin

I decided to go back to basics. My own quest to find a budget-friendly and approachable stylist required going from salon to salon. My current hairstylist is an auntie who loves her job and it took learning and relearning for us to work.  

Could this work for all of us? Maybe. Our hair is our Orí, a Yoruba word meaning a symbol of my inner self. It's only right we put conscious effort into giving it the best treatment, even if it means sacrificing a little time. We can make the effort to build again. After all as Black women, we only have we.   

Share Your Salon Story 

How has your experience with salons changed over the years?   How can we make them spaces of freedom and sanctuary again?