The Real Reason Your Stylist Makes You "Come Washed"
So your stylist requires you to "come washed".
For some, that sounds like an odd request. For others, it sounds pretty normal.
One of the main trending topics in the black beauty community is that beauticians are requiring clients to come "washed". I'm sure some of you may have turned your face up at that.
A shampoo at the salon is an experience that most people, if not all, look forward to within their salon experience. I mean, who doesn't like to lean back in a shampoo bowl and experience that lovely scalp massage and cleaning! My eyes just rolled in the back of my head thinking about it.
Across various social media platforms, memes and tweets alike have triggered this conversation.
you’re not a stylist if I have to come with my hair washed, blow-dried, conditioned, and with the hair.
— Cam🥂 (@_threehunna) August 30, 2019
Question if your going to a hair salon for braids why do you have to come with your hair already washed 🤔
— 👑Myeeeee (@_MeOhMyeee) August 28, 2019
For my daughter hair y’all want me to come washed & blow dryed then gonna charge me 65-70 dollars tf wrong wit y’all
— ForeverRELL🕊💙 (@Tionaaa___) August 22, 2019
I need to go somewhere to get my hair washed really good and braided down but y’all “stylist” be wanting us to come with our hair already washed so I doubt y’all providing that service 🙄
— Kilo (@DontLoseYour_Ki) August 29, 2019
I want this girl to do my closure but I gotta come washed and braided 🥴🥴🥴 who tf just braids hair for a sew in ??!!
— 𝕷𝖊𝖝 𝕲𝖆𝖑𝖔𝖗𝖊 🕸 (@LexxGalore) August 28, 2019
detroit hair stylist be like come washed bring your own hair, flat-irons, edge control, and chair.
— Es. (@theessieb) August 28, 2019
these Miami stylist really lost they damn mind! This bitch wanna charge $250 for some basic ass braids AND want you to come washed, pressed, AND bring your own edge control? Bitch i might as well do my own damn hair, tf? 🤨
— Ash🌞 (@SincerelyAnese) August 31, 2019
Let's dive into this "come washed" hair movement, shall we?
There's thousands of West African owned braiding salons across the U.S., and most aren't licensed cosmetologists or hair stylists. They have the natural gift for braiding so, why not profit? As a result, you have to come shampooed and dry to be serviced (for most of those salons). Mostly, so they can maximize the productivity and turnover rate of clients in and out of the salon. African-Americans have tapped into this market with their love of braiding using some, if not all, of the same business style.
Formal training and theory of hair and scalp is what beauty school gives, so if you didn't attend an institution to learn the science behind caring for hair, there are so many things you don't know. The benefits of shampooing, proper sanitation, infection control and many other things are commonly reinforced in the teachings of cosmetology, barbering and esthetics. Imagine going into a braiding salon for passion twists, and the braider starts parting your hair with the same comb she used on an earlier client who has a severe dandruff condition. To make matters worse, you see no proof of sanitation like an EPA grade cleanser or Barbicide Jar. What face did you just make at that moment when you thought about it? Riiiight!
Since most states across the country don't require the licensing of braiders, most won't know this very important information unless they take it upon themselves to do the research, or if a client disaster happens.
This isn't to shame braiders who don't know, simply because...they don't know. But let's tap into trained stylists who DO know. The harmful ideology of "Well I know better, I just won't do it," is what's dangerous to the public. Skills such as product selection, a client using a specific shampoo, or choosing conditioner or leave-in may not guarantee a bomb-end result of a style such as a silk press. Think about it. Finally, there's the proper terminology of washed versus shampooing...but that's another conversation for another day.
Right or wrong, it's the public's responsibility to decide who they will patronize based on the information given by a stylist. Most states offer online access which allows you to view a list of stylists who are properly licensed. If a customer chooses to support a stylist who is not licensed, they unconsciously waive their right to expect professionalism because that stylist is, by law, unprofessional. That doesn't demote their kindness or skill at all. In so many words, don't expect professionalism in unprofessional spaces, and you won't be disappointed.
There, I said it.
To keep up with Lakia and The Kia Xperience Salon, follow her on Instagram @thekiaxperience or visit www.thekiaxperience.com.
Featured image via Giphy
ItGirl 100 Honors Black Women Who Create Culture & Put On For Their Cities
As they say, create the change you want to see in this world, besties. That’s why xoNecole linked up with Hyundai for the inaugural ItGirl 100 List, a celebration of 100 Genzennial women who aren’t afraid to pull up their own seats to the table. Across regions and industries, these women embody the essence of discovering self-value through purpose, honey! They're fierce, they’re ultra-creative, and we know they make their cities proud.
VIEW THE FULL ITGIRL 100 LIST HERE.
Don’t forget to also check out the ItGirl Directory, featuring 50 Black-woman-owned marketing and branding agencies, photographers and videographers, publicists, and more.
THE ITGIRL MEMO
I. An ItGirl puts on for her city and masters her self-worth through purpose.
II. An ItGirl celebrates all the things that make her unique.
III. An ItGirl empowers others to become the best versions of themselves.
IV. An ItGirl leads by example, inspiring others through her actions and integrity.
V. An ItGirl paves the way for authenticity and diversity in all aspects of life.
VI. An ItGirl uses the power of her voice to advocate for positive change in the world.
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It’s been nearly twenty years since India.Arie’s crown anthem, “I am not my hair,” gave Black women an affirmation to live by. What followed was a natural hair revolution that birthed a new level of self-love and acceptance. Concerns around how to better care for our hair birthed an entire new generation of entrepreneurs who benefitted from the power of the Black dollar. Retailers made room for product lines made for us, by us, on their shelves, and we further affirmed that though our hair doesn’t define us, it is part of our unique self-expression.
Today, that movement has turned into a wig uprising where Black women are able to experiment with colors, styles, and more without causing irreparable damage to our hair. It could even be said that we’ve arrived at a new level of acceptance: one that does not equate love of oneself to one’s willingness or lack thereof to wear her hair the way others deem acceptable. Not even other people who look like us.
However, as with Blackness itself, the issue of Black women’s hair is layered.
On the surface, it’s nothing more than a matter of personal preference. However, in a deeper dive, issues of texture, curl pattern, and of course, proximity to social acceptance, as well as other runoff streams from the waters of racism and patriarchy, rear their heads. The natural hair movement, though a wide-reaching and liberating community builder, also gave way to colorism and often upheld mainstream beauty standards.
Sometimes, favoring lighter-skinned influencers/creators with very specific hair textures, the white gaze leaked into our safe space and forced us to reckon with it. Accurate representations of natural hair in various states of being—undefined curls, kinks, and unlaid edges—are still absent from brand marketing. Protective styles, though intended to provide breaks from styling for our sensitive hair, have become a mask to help our hair be more palatable. A figurative straddle of the fence in order to appease the comfort of others in the face of our hair’s power.
And then there’s the issue of length.
Giphy
As a woman who has spent much of the last decade voluntarily wearing her hair in many variations of short hairstyles, from a pixie cut to a curly fro and a sleek bob, what I’ve gleaned throughout the years is that there is a glaring difference between how I am treated when wearing my hair short than when I opt for weaves, extensions or even grow it out slightly longer than my chin.
The differential treatment comes from women and men alike and spans professional and personal settings, including friends, coworkers, and industry peers.
What has become abundantly clear is that long hair is often conflated with beauty, softness, and any number of other words we relate to femininity in a way that short hair is not. That perceived marker of the essence of womanhood shows up in how I am received, communicated with, and complimented.
Even more so than texture, length has a way of deciding who among us is deserving of our attention, affection, and adoration. Whether naturally grown or proudly bought, the commentary around someone’s look or image greatly shifts when “inches” are present.
When it comes to long hair, we really, really do care.
In an effort to understand whether I had simply been misinterpreting the energy around my hair, I decided to take my findings to social media. I began with two side-by-side photos of myself. In both pictures, my hair is straightened; however, in one, I am wearing my signature pixie cut, and in the other, I am wearing extensions.
I posited that treatment based on hair length is a real thing, and what followed was confirmation that I was not alone in my feelings. “Long hair, like light skin, button noses, and being thin are all forms of social capital,” one user commented. “Some Black women enforce the status quo too, why wouldn’t we?”
Courtesy
This also brought to mind the many times celebrity women (like most recently Beyoncé's Cécred hair tutorial) have done big reveals of their own natural tresses in an attempt to silence any doubt that Black women are able to grow their hair beyond a certain length. Of course, we all know that to be true, so why do we still feel the need to prove it so?
The responses continued to pour in from women of all skin tones, who felt that hair length played a role in people’s treatment of them. “When I have short hair I always feel like people don’t treat me like a woman, they treat me like a kid,” another user commented. “When my hair is long I get a lot more respect for some reason.”
From revelations about feeling invisible to admitted shifts in their own perceived beauty, Black woman after Black woman poured out her experience as it relates to hair length. Though affirmed by their shared realities, knowing that reactions to something so trivial have become yet another hair battle for Black women to fight was disheartening. Though we continue to defy gravity and push the bounds of imagination and creativity by way of our strands, will it always be in response to the idea that we are, somehow, falling short?
Unlike more obvious instances of hair discrimination, the glorification of longer length is sneakier in its connection to Eurocentric beauty standards. Hair commercials, beauty ads, and even hip-hop music have long celebrated the idea of gloriously long tresses while holding onto the ignorant notion that it is inaccessible for Black women.
Even as we continue to fight to prove our hair professional, elegant, and worthy in its natural state to the world at large, we’ve also adopted harmful value markers of our own as a community. It’s evident in how we talk about who has the right to start a haircare line and which influencers we easily platform. It’s evident in the language we use to identify those with long hair versus short hair. And it’s painfully obvious in how we treat one another.
It makes me wonder if India.Arie’s brave rallying cry, almost two decades old in its existence, will ever actually hold true for us. Or will we just continue to invent new ways to uphold the harmful status quo?
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Feature image by Willie B. Thomas/ Getty Images