Page 28 of New Growth
“We don’t have a specific course for it, no,” she said, her tone carefully neutral. “But a lot of the principles we teach for curly hair can be applied to different textures. Are you looking for something more specialized?”
I nodded. “Yes. I’ve noticed that most of what you’re teaching here is focused on loosely curled hair. But with natural Black hair, like coily, kinky textures, it’s so different. The techniques don’t alwaystranslate.”
The instructor leaned against the counter, thoughtfully crossing her arms. She nodded slowly, taking in what I said.
“I get what you mean. A lot of the beauty industry tends to cater to one standard, and that doesn’t always work for everyone. Black hair is beautiful in its own right, but it’s different, and it’s often treated as something that needs to be ‘fixed’.”
I felt thankful that she understood.
“You’re right,” I said, the words coming out before I could stop them. “It’s frustrating sometimes. I love my hair, but the way it’s treated, even in schools like this… it doesn’t always feel like it’s represented.”
The instructor nodded again. “You’re not wrong. There’s a lot of education missing when it comes to Black hair care. But look,” she said, moving to a counter where she had some tools laid out. “I’m not going to pretend I’m an expert in natural hair. I’ve worked with curly hair types before, but I haven’t had much training specifically on Black hair,” she explained.
“What I can do, though, is teach you the basics of cutting and styling curly hair in general, and you can build on that. Maybe you can develop your own technique based on what you learn here.”
I took a step closer, listening intently. “What do you mean, ‘develop my own technique’?”
“Well,” she said, her hands gesturing as she spoke, “Natural hair is unique. It’s dense, features a wide range of textures, and often requires a specialized approach. My suggestion would be for you to take what you learn in this class, adapt it, and build on it. Create your own methods based on your experience styling your own hair. I know it might sound like a lot of work, but that’s how innovation happens.”
I thought about it.
“So you’re saying I can learn the basics from you and then go from there?” I repeated her words so that I could process them.
“Exactly,” she replied, a small smile on her face. “That way, you’re not just following some pre-defined standard, you’re creating something that works for your future clients.”
Future clients.
I couldn’t help but smile at the thought. The more I thought about it, the more the idea excited me. “That sounds amazing, actually. I really appreciate you being open to teaching me.”
She nodded. “Of course. It’s important to me that everyone feels included in the beauty world. Just remember to take your time, experiment, and don’t be afraid to make mistakes. You’ll find your own path.”
“I appreciate you saying that.” I offered my hand. “My name’s Elliot, by the way.”
“Welcome, Elliot. I’m Sunday. I’m glad to have you join us. Why don’t you join everyone else, and I’ll continue the demonstration?”
I glanced around the classroom at the sea of confused faces, realizing I had disrupted their lesson. Offering a sheepish smile, I mumbled an apology and quietly slipped in to join the rest of the group.
?
I hesitated for a moment after knocking on Esther’s door, adjusting the bag on my shoulder. Laughter and faint music drifted through the door, making me second-guess if I should have come. It sounded like she already had company, and I didn’t want to intrude.
Just as I was debating whether to turn around, the door swung open.
“E! You made it!” Esther’s bright smile greeted me before I could even respond. “Come in, come in!”
I stepped inside, the smell of lavender incense mingling with the faint aroma of takeout wafting through the small apartment. Her space was as inviting as ever, filled with soft lighting, mismatched cushions, and little trinkets from her travels. But my gaze was immediately drawn to the woman sprawled on the couch.
She looked like some picture-perfect influencer, the kind of person who made you feel underdressed just by existing. Her makeup was flawless, not a single smudge or blemish. And it all blended seamlessly into her smooth, brown skin. Her dark hair was pressed as pin-straight to match her sleek, tailored outfit, completed with a bag that probably cost more than my rent back home.
It screamed effortless wealth.
She was scrolling on her phone, her manicured fingers tapping the screen, but her eyes flicked to me as I walked in.
“Hope, this is Elliot,” Esther said brightly, shutting the door behind me. “Elliot, Hope.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said, forcing a polite smile.
“Likewise,” Hope said, glancing at me briefly. Her smile was small and controlled, the kind you’d give when you were humoring someone. “Esther’s mentioned you. I was wondering when I’d finally get to meet her latestproject.”
