Hair Studio - By Ryane Adeniran

When my mother was sixteen, she was surrounded by the effects of the rising crack epidemic and its accompanying “war on drugs”. She was given an invitation from her cousin to join his endeavor to sell drugs, but a high school field trip to the local Historical Black College and University (HBCU) opened her mind to a different possibility. She went off to attend college at Central State University in Wilberforce, Ohio, and a year later, convinced her younger sister to apply and join her on the journey of higher education. It was at Central State University that my mom met my Nigerian father (who’d come Stateside to further his education) but it's also where she overcame the statistics of poverty and being born to a teen mom and instead became a first-generation college graduate.

Following graduation, she and my dad decided to move to the up-and-coming city of Atlanta, Georgia to start their new lives, families, and careers. My mom (once again) convinced her younger sister to follow along and together the both of them embarked on a dream to enter cosmetology school to become hair stylists and later small business owners; opening up a salon called Hair Studio (but affectionately referred to amongst family and friends as “the shop”).

Growing up, ”the shop” was the family meet-up spot when trying to outsmart city traffic for drop-offs or pick-ups. It was also the unofficial family venue for special events like birthday parties or cookouts. And to my siblings, first cousins, and me, it was a daycare center, homework station, and home away from home. For me, Hair Studio functioned as the headquarters of cultural identity, influence, and development as a black woman.

Many meals, laughs, and conversations were shared at the salon. A designated person would take food orders from all who were present and then be sent to purchase, pick up, and bring back what would become a community meal. My aunt would often eat while working—sneaking bites between clients. Special days would be when a soul-food-cookin’-small-business- owner would stop by the salon with their pre-made meals on display for us to purchase and enjoy. I embraced the sharing of hearts and meals; Hair Studio first showed me how to break bread.

There were traveling neighbors who we came to know and call: “The CD Man”, “The DVD Man”, “The Purse Man”, “The Perfume Man”, etc. They were walking markets who’d cycle into the salon with the latest goods of entertainment and fashion to display and sell. We’d quickly insert a newly purchased CD into the boombox and increase the volume. The bass and beat of the music would engulf everyone in the space and soon we’d all be encouraged to clap, move, dance, and/or catwalk down an invisible runway. It was here that I first embraced black art, music, and fashion; Hair Studio taught me how to uplift and praise.

I observed different hues of black women and learned to celebrate them well beyond the aches of colorism and texturism at Hair Studio. I watched black mothers engage in self-care which sometimes meant having to bring their children along to their appointment. These children became my playmates and our playground became the space between the sitting, laughing, crying, and talking of the clients and/or men and women who’d stop by the salon without the need for hair servicing, but perhaps social, mental, emotional, or financial service. I embraced engagement and togetherness; Hair Studio revealed to me the power of community.

Hair, for many black women, is so much more than hair; but will often carry, communicate, or cultivate things such as culture, connection, and community. Hair Studio created space for these things. And it was at Hair Studio, my cultural headquarters, that I first learned the importance of breaking bread, uplifting and praise, and community. I’m grateful for a God of all nations who utilizes heritage and culture to lay foundational principles such as these.