But when she looks in my mirror...

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There’s always that point and the end of your hair appointment when you turn her around to look in the mirror and you see her face…And that’s where it all started for me.  

 

I was 11. George Lucas had just released the prequels to his iconic Star Wars trilogy, and my imagination was on fire. In my friend's room, using combs and brightly colored ponytail holders and hairspray, I learned something that I would always carry with me.

 

I finished my masterpiece. A piece of art on her head. She looked in the mirror, and said,

 “I look like Queen Amidala!” 

 

She was something special.

 

When I was in high school, I had another friend who suffered from social anxiety. I never understood her. I never understood why she was so anxious about everything. I never understood why she cared what other people thought. 

 

But I loved her anyway.

 

We had class together with an amazing teacher, and on hard days she would say, “J, why don’t we take the last ten minutes of class to relax. You can work on homework for other classes, you can talk, or you can just sleep. Whatever you need to do to relax.”

 

As it was just us in that class, J usually decided to talk to me, and I would play with her hair. Or sometimes I would just brush it. It was an agreeable arrangement for both of us as I was much of a talker, and she always got frustrated with her hair. 

 

Our senior year she confided in me that she didn’t know how she would’ve made it some days without those few minutes of me just brushing her hair. A gesture as simple as brushing her hair let her know that no matter her imperfections, I was still her friend.

 

She was accepted.

 

Have you figured out what I’m passionate about yet?...

 

I went to college and lived in an all girls dorm...Please. Read that again. 

 

Now understand the depth of the culture shock I went through when I moved from a lifetime of dealing with three brothers, being a Cub Scout volunteer, going through Venturing Scouts, and working at Boy Scout camps to a house full of girls! 

 

Anyone who says there’s no real difference between boys and girls is lying to you! I stepped on plenty of toes for “insensitively” telling the truth to my new dorm mates. And I, of course, furthered my transgressions by not caring what they thought.

 

I learned the problem was not in our actions but in our communications. I had just never developed the filters necessary to communicate with my fellow females on a daily basis. In its place, I had developed an unerring confidence that I was right.

 

But there was one way that I knew how to communicate compassion with females…

 

I brushed their hair. I braided their curls. I massaged their scalps. And that’s how I learned something else…

 

Every year in my dorm room I set up a bootleg salon the day of the formal banquet. Girls would put their names on my board outside, and I would do as much hair as possible. They brought me pictures of what they wanted, and I would recreate it on their head. 

 

One year two girls who were on the shy side asked me, “What can you do with this?” Gesturing to their board-straight hair. I saw that they gestured to their hair, but somehow, I knew it wasn’t about their hair. 

 

Maybe the girls were rubbing off on me after all, but when she gestured to her hair, I knew she meant herself. She didn’t consider herself to be pretty. 

 

She didn’t see what I saw. 

 

So I did her hair. I did her hair in a simple, elegant French twist. There was nothing special about the hairstyle. But when she looked in the mirror…

 

Her face lit up. She covered her mouth and looked a little embarrassed. “This is beautiful. I didn’t know I could even look like this. My hair is gorgeous.”

 

And I – in all my eloquence – said, “No, it’s not. The hair is just hair. You are gorgeous.”

 

And you know something, she walked out of my room a little taller and held her chin a little higher.

 

She was gorgeous.

 

Have you figured out what I’m passionate about yet? No? Okay, let me tell you another story.

 

I went to hair school right around the corner from where my grandma lives. She had one of her longtime friends in town, and they were going to a show together. Well, my grandma is no spring chicken, and neither is her friend, so she brought Ms. Fran to me to get her hair done. 

 

She didn’t tell me what to do. She just told me to do something nice, and I gave her a flattering blow dry. 

 

Now when Ms. Fran looked in the mirror, she gave me a mischievous little sly eye that made me think this was the “fun” friend who would get my grandma in trouble when they were younger. 

 

“Now this is a little fancy for me. Makes me feel 20 years younger.”

 

She was young.

 

Aha! You think I’m passionate about beauty?...

 

...Let's try this again…

 

Fast forward several years to 2020. I’m finally back in my salon after the shut down, and one of my clients who I haven’t seen in three months comes in.

 

She’s quieter than usual, but I respect and appreciate fellow introverts, so I just let her enjoy the companionship of not having to talk.

 

When she was about to leave, she apologized for not talking. I shrug it off and tell her not to worry. She was relaxing, and that’s what I want for all my clients. Then she said this…

 

“You’re the first person who’s touched me in 3 months. I feel human again.”

 

I just stopped. I never even thought about people who live alone or with some random roommate not having to touch anyone. I never thought about how incredibly – yes – dehumanizing that must feel. 

 

So I hugged her again – not a six foot away pretend hug. A real human hug.

 

She is human. 

 

You know those lessons I learned?

 

I make people feel special, accepted, gorgeous, young...human. And all I have to do is something as simple as brushing their hair.

 

That’s right I’m a beautician – hair stylist, cosmetologist, call it what you like – but I’m not passionate about beauty. 

 

Nah, that stuff doesn't last.

 

I'm passionate about sharing God’s love by reminding women that they are gorgeous! Not because of a haircut or color, not because of their makeup, or their weight.

 

But because you and I are made in the image of God, we are inherently gorgeous. My vision for Go Be Gorgeous Studio is to be the place you come to remember your worth.

 

I want every woman who walks out of my studio to feel deep in her being that she is a daughter of the Most High God. And as such, she is worthy of love, respect, and dignity. 

 

Not because of something so temporary as her hair. But because Christ looked down on her when she was still in her sin and said, “You’re worth it.” 

 

Christ’s sacrifice gives us that inherent value, and His blood gives us the confidence to go be gorgeous for His glory. 

 

My God is too big to have only created one kind of beauty. 

 

He created a spectrum of beauty. That’s why I tell you to go be gorgeous!

 

God made you beautiful. My passion is getting you to see it.