Months ago, I went to get my hair pressed at one of the few natural hair salons in my area. The salon is run by a dark-brown skinned mom of two daughters, who often are with her when she works. The youngest daughter was very clearly biracial; she pranced around in her little cute dress, hair combed, and couldn’t have been older than thirteen. Her oldest daughter looked almost exactly like herself except a little darker and a little taller. However, I noticed that unlike her younger sister, she wore old beat up clothes, her hair is uncombed and matted looking.
While her sister was free to run about the shop doing whatever, without so much of a plea to sit down, she was barked at constantly to sweep the floor or clean some tools and wasn’t even allowed to sit down for a few minutes and read. Like many hairstylists, she overbooked and made the oldest daughter wash my hair, where I was lucky enough to have a conversation with her.