There’s something sacred about Saturday mornings in the Black community. The sound of clippers buzzing in the back, somebody hollering “who got next?” and the smell of pressing oil mixing with gossip, laughter and love. Before we even knew what self-care was, the barbershop and beauty salon were our sanctuaries, the places where confidence got lined up and identity got set under a dryer. Long before we had to book an appointment for fades, a weave, or when hairstylists actually washed your hair, these spaces were open doors for connection, storytelling and a sense of belonging. They weren’t just places to get fly for Sunday service or picture day; they were community hubs, therapy sessions, and cultural classrooms all in one.

This holiday season, between the big dinners and family reunion

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