Her hair was 5-6 inches of dark brown regrowth with 12 inches of over processed platinum blonde ends, but this was about more than her hair…
Let me take you back to Hair Perfections. (Some of you remember. It’s the first shop I worked at.)
Amalia walks in a little hesitantly, and says, “I don’t really know what I want. I just need to fix this.”
And she points to the five inches of dark brown regrowth contrasting sharply with the pale yellow of over lightened hair.
My practical brain sorts out the color correction processes as we talk about what she needs.
She’s been platinum blonde since middle school, but she needs something different now to match her lifestyle.
Something simple and natural that still makes her feel a little special.
And I’m like, “Say no more, we’re doing balayage!”
She has no idea what that is, but she eyes me and says, “Imma gonna trust you, Caitlin.”
I get started on the first process, and she sits quietly with her head slightly lowered. I recognize the posture as not-open-to-talking-right-now.
As a fellow introvert, I do not require conversation, so I think nothing of it.
Then about half-way through she starts as if she just woke up, “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t tryin’ to be rude and not talk to you. I jist sat down, and I’m so tired.”
Now, I have no problem if people come and just relax in my chair. In fact, I take it as a compliment that they’re so relaxed.
She kinda laughs when I mention people actually do fall asleep in my chair, “Well, I could. I just got off work at the Dunkin Donuts across the street,” Her eyes get kinda hazy, and she speaks softly, “It’s not a very good job. But it’s the one I got. And I decided I put this off too long.
“Really, I should’ve called my mom first, but I was afraid she’d say no. She’s watching my baby while I work. But I can’t stand it anymore. Every morning I wake up, take care of the baby, and I’m faced with…life.
“I’m a high school dropout, teen mom who let down her mom and dad and everyone. Even my boyfriend broke up with me when he found out I was pregnant.
And then, I look in the mirror at my ratchet hair and I see this ugly mistake.”
I distinctly remember freezing with my comb in my hand about to section her hair.
Remember, I was young. I have an incredible husband, no kids at that time, and I was working at a job and place I love. So it took me a few minutes to process everything she had just said.
She was sixteen.
Her boyfriend – and father of her child left her, (what a piece of junk!).
She’d dropped out of high school to care for her baby.
She feels like a mistake for letting her mom down.
…and she thinks she’s ugly…
Well, I can’t do anything about the first three. But y’all know me well enough to know I don’t tolerate that kinda self-talk from my chair.
I look at her in my mirror and say, “Amalia, you are made in the image of God. You are gorgeous because you are His daughter.
“It’s not your hair or your family or your boyfriend. It’s you.”
She gets quiet again, and I wonder if overstepped those unspoken hairdresser rules, when she speaks again.
“Ms. Caitlin” — I remember she called me Ms. — “You’re right. I made a mistake. I wasn’t living the way God said. But I’m not a mistake. That baby is NOT a mistake.
“Imma gonna be the best Mom to my daughter because children are a blessing from God.
“That’s why I’m here. I don’t have time or money to waste on my own vanity anymore. I need to put her first.”
Well, I didn’t have anything better to add to her pep talk so I just nodded and said, “Dat’s right!”
She shows me pictures of her baby girl. She was 9 months old. Her parents were not happy with her. Her mom had agreed to watch the baby, so she could work to provide for her daughter. But that was the only support she was getting.
I finish her blow dry, and when she looked in my mirror…
She catches her breath and stares. “Dat’s me!?”
“Yeah girl, dat’s you!”
She shakes out her hair, runs her fingers through it, “It’s different…But it’s so right on.”
She sits up straight, and then it happens…
She smiles.
Not the “Oooh, I’m pretty” superficial smile.
But that real smile of a woman who knows her worth.
“Dat’s right,” she says, more to herself than to me, “I’m a woman now.”
As I check her out, she thanks me profusely, and I get the feeling that something BIG just happened.
…only I had no idea what.
When she was gone, Shawn (another hairdresser), she says, “Caitlin, you just changed her life.”
I raise a skeptical eyebrow and reply practically, “I did her hair. That’s it.”
Shawn shakes her head, “No, you listened. You showed her how to respect herself. That’s life changing.”
Today as I look back on Amalia’s photo, I wonder why she’s still my favorite after-photo.
Practically speaking, there’s nothing that special. It’s not even my best work if I’m being honest—I’ve grown a lot since then.
No make-up, no cute outfit, no jewelry.
It’s just Amalia—and that gorgeous smile.
A woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life. Not because she looks different. But because when she looks in the mirror every morning, she sees something different.
I only met her once. And I haven’t seen her since. But I know Amalia changed.
Because now, when she gets up and looks in the mirror, she doesn’t see a failed daughter, a high school dropout, a teen mother…
She sees a woman who is made in the image of God. That’s life changing.
Such a simple shift in perspective makes it a lot easier to Go Be Gorgeous!
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