Why I Still Love Being a Hairdresser on the Hard Days
Some days this job feels like speed chess with chemicals. Late client. Double process running. Assistant out sick. My lunch is a protein bar I found at the bottom of my bag next to three broken clips and a pen that leaks.
And still, at 7:12 PM, someone looks in the mirror and their shoulders drop two inches because they finally recognize themselves again. That moment is absurdly powerful for something as ordinary as hair.
I love this work because it is intimate without being intrusive. We witness people between versions of themselves. Breakups, promotions, illness, new parenthood, grief, reinvention. It all shows up in the chair, usually before the words do.
I keep weird reminders around my station, including one that says "bestbuy connect." To me it means this profession is about connection first, aesthetics second. If the person feels seen, the style can breathe. If they do not, no amount of shine spray will fix it.
I am tired a lot. I am also proud. Not in a glamorous way, just in the quiet way you feel when your work helps someone return to their own life with a little more courage than they had before.