The fight to get right

I looked at the last task on my list and sighed. It was true — as hard as I tried to maintain my curly bohemian braids, the curls were now knotted, and it was time for something new. I grabbed my hair scissors and got to work, gearing up for the multiday ordeal.

Since moving to Los Angeles almost four years ago, there hasn’t been a single hairstylist whom I’ve visited twice. Whether the stylist used too much oil or the parts were a bit wide, there’s always something wrong with the finished product.

In the pursuit of perfection, I called up nearly every Black girl at USC whose hair I admired, begging for them to refer me to their stylists. Unfortunately, my calls led to a dead end — the most common response was, “Oh, I never get my hair done in L.A.” As frustrating as that answer was, I understood where they were coming from.

Had I been back in my hometown of Upper Marlboro, Maryland, I wouldn’t have to think twice about refreshing my hair. Living in the biggest African American majority county in the country spoiled me; there’s an affordable hair salon or braiding shop in just about every shopping complex. From sleek silk presses to wake-up-and-go knotless braids, any hairstyle you could dream of can be achieved with little to no hassle.

However, in L.A. — a much larger region with only an 8.6% Black population — I’d be lucky if I find a salon that I won’t be turned away from.

Kayla Rocha, a senior majoring in business administration, found this out the hard way.

“You’d be surprised how many people straight up [refuse to style] curly hair,” Rocha said.

Two years ago, Rocha spent an annoying morning contacting as many L.A. stylists as possible but returned with no leads. Eventually, Rocha found a stylist that takes good care of her hair, at an affordable price. The catch? She has to purchase a $40 Lyft to and from the San Fernando Valley.

Rocha’s not alone. In my interviews with her and three other Black women on campus, they all expressed their trials, frustrations and revelations with the Black hair industry around the USC area.

While L.A. native Vincetta Primus has found luck with her aunt styling her hair, she admits that the process is not as straightforward as it should be.

“Being in L.A. is hard,” said Primus, a junior majoring in political science. “It’s very difficult to find people to do your hair and to care about your hair the way you do.”

Anecdotes like Primus’ beg the question: In a city where Black culture influences fashion, music and art, why is such a staple of Black womanhood so inaccessible?

Just two months ago, Gov. Gavin Newsom required all California cosmetology students to be educated in “textured hair” such as mine. However, when it comes to “African hair braiding,” one of the more popular protective hairstyles, it is not considered an act of cosmetology, and is therefore not taught in schools. Since braiders are excused from obtaining a license to do hair, they have to go out of their way to learn the proper techniques.

In response to the shortage of L.A. stylists trained in Black hair, there has been a rise in unlicensed braiding business found in local apartments or USC dorm rooms. While these options are more accessible and inexpensive, a few of the interviewees were not the biggest fans of such businesses.

“People who just [learn how to braid from] a YouTube video don’t take the time to cultivate their skills,” Primus said. “They really think it’s just all fun and games because they didn’t put anything into it or any work to get to where they are. I just feel like they waste other people’s time because they themselves have not put enough time into learning what they’re doing.”

So if you do find a high-quality stylist that works with Black hair — be prepared to pay for it.

I’m a bit ashamed to confess that I’ve spent more than $400 dollars on a set of braids before — more than double what I’m used to paying at home. While the style took from 4:00 p.m. to 2:30 a.m. to complete, they were the best braids I’d ever received. Would I ever pay that much again? Absolutely not … but I also have no regrets about doing so. After months of receiving styles that were either not what I asked for or had surprise detangling fees at the end of the appointment, in the city of angels and models, I felt beautiful. I felt like I finally belonged.

In L.A., Black girls can feel pressured to maintain a certain “look” — having their hair done at all times can make them feel confident navigating a city that sometimes feels hyperfocused on physical beauty. Back in her home state of Connecticut, Rocha didn’t feel pressured to switch up styles that often, but at USC, her demeanor began to shift.

“I look around and I’m like, ‘Wow, everybody’s edges are laid, hair looks good, it looks clean, it looks fresh,’ you know? I don’t want to be caught lacking,” Rocha said.

For those who can afford it, a high cost and long styling time is a small price to pay to achieve crisp, flawless hair. But what about those who can’t afford such egregious prices?

Morgan Wright, a junior majoring in public relations, explained that the end product is going to be a gamble. She recalled an incident where her friend booked a braid appointment online with a new stylist, and put down a $50 nonrefundable deposit to secure her spot. But when the day came, Wright’s friend arrived at the location, but no one was there.

“She stopped texting my friend as soon as the money went through,” Wright said. “[Those kinds of incidents] stopped me from getting my hair done in L.A. … I get really scared because I don’t know if they’re scamming or not.”

But for the stylists who aren’t scammers, Wright criticizes their “get-rich-quick hustle,” explaining stylists churn customers in and out the door, sacrificing the art of Black hair in the process.

“I really feel like people don’t really care about anything else but the aesthetic of making sure you look nice or put together,” Wright said.

Since stylists prioritize the end product so much, being heavy handed with hair gel or creating abnormally long baby hairs is normal and looks good in the Instagram post the stylist uploads immediately after the appointment, but it rarely lasts past then.

“I feel like that’s kind of the direction that the community is kind of going,” Rocha said. “Like, let’s just make as much money in as many different ways as possible.”

With the sky-high costs of living in L.A., some may empathize with the stylists’ choice in their prices. However, Primus expressed that high costs don’t always translate to a higher quality of service.

“I’ve heard too many traumatizing stories [from Black girls at the salon],” Primus said.

In addition to nonsustainable styling methods, customers are expected to do much of the heavy lifting themselves. They must wash, detangle and blow dry their hair before most services, and if they’re getting braids with hair extensions, several stylists expect them to provide this expense out of pocket.

Sure, to an outsider it seems like a small ask, but because hair wash routines for 4a, 4b and 4c textures can take several hours for one to do on their own head (which is why it is called wash day), having such services included with the appointment just makes one less hoop for Black women to jump through.

I look back at my to-do list in frustration. I would never have to deal with all these obstacles at home — why do I now? As I type this article, braids only half removed from my head, I yearn for the sense of community I found in the stylists in my quaint East Coast neighborhood. However, since I won’t be back any time soon, I’m learning that if I can’t find a tight-knit network in L.A., it’s time to make one of my own.

“Last week, I had these microbraids in my hair, and it took me nine hours to take them out, but me and my roommate were doing it [together],” said Sydney Rudolph, a junior majoring in computer science games. “So I definitely feel like, for Black people, hair is something that definitely connects us all.”

In on-campus clubs such as Curly Vision SC and local nonprofits like The Collective Identity, Black leaders across different backgrounds promote positive conversations around textured hair. The Collective Identity, Rudolph explains, even empowers them to learn themselves.

“We brought in these two braiders. One of them is this Hollywood braider, I think she does North West’s hair,” Rudolph said. “We [practiced braiding on] different mannequins, and they were teaching us the correct way to actually braid; should you actually be [plaiting underhanded], how do you grip and how do you feed in hair [extensions]? It was honestly pretty helpful.”

And so, I followed in her footsteps. I recruited my roommate to help remove the rest of my braids, successfully washing and detangling my hair in record time. Instead of scouring the Internet for a stylist that may be too expensive or too inexperienced, I’m going to try (and probably fail) to do new styles on my own.

While it will be a moment before I return to the complex web of the L.A. hair industry, Wright and I look forward to a future where Black students can walk into any salon across the city, and be welcomed with open arms.

“Hopefully,” Wright said, “One day, we’ll live in a world where, you know, Black hair isn’t like, you know, an anomaly.”