Life Is Too Short to Grow Out a Bad Haircut
That phrase has lived rent-free in my head for years.
It came from a mentor of mine, Ron — a longtime stylist and floor manager at Avant, a salon that used to be on West 5th Street in Austin. Avant isn't there anymore, but its influence on me absolutely is. Ron's structure and approach were shaped in part by the Bumble company, and it showed in the way he carried himself on the floor.
Ron's clientele told you everything you needed to know about him: elegant, beautifully aged silver women who carried themselves with confidence and quiet authority. He charged $100–$150 per haircut back when that was considered bold, and his clients never questioned it.
One day, early in my career, I asked him why these women were willing to pay that much for a haircut.
He smiled, leaned in with that very specific, funny, slightly sexy, very 1980s hairdresser energy — confident, playful, completely platonic — and said:
"Life's too short to grow out a bad haircut, baby."
It wasn't flippant. It was perspective.
What He Was Really Teaching Me
What Ron meant wasn't that hair is everything — it's that time is. These women weren't paying for vanity. They were paying for confidence, ease, and not having to think about it. They had lived enough life to know that waiting months for something to grow out isn't worth the quiet dissatisfaction it creates.
That lesson stayed with me far beyond hair.
A Moment That Changed How I Saw Myself
Not long after, during a quiet moment behind the scenes, Ron asked me how I was really doing.
I wasn't someone who opened up easily, but for some reason, I felt comfortable with him. He had a way of sensing who needed to be checked in on — and when. No pressure. No spotlight. Just presence.
That's something hairstylists are uniquely good at. Maybe it's the nature of the work. Maybe it's because people who've lived through hardship often gravitate toward roles that hold space for others. Either way, that awareness lives deep in this industry.
I told him I felt behind. Unsure. Like everyone else seemed to have life figured out while I was still finding my footing.
He reminded me that most people don't show what's really going on. You never know who's looking at you — building something new, living independently, taking risks — and wishing they had your courage.
That perspective helped me keep going.
Why This Matters in My Work Today
I carry those lessons with me every day behind the chair.
I'm detail-oriented because I care. I respect time because I understand how precious it is. I'm intentional with scheduling because rhythm matters — for the work, for the client in my chair, and for the client who comes next.
I don't rush hair, and I don't treat it like an assembly line. Every appointment has a beginning, a middle, and an end — and when that flow is respected, the work is better for everyone.
Timing Is Part of the Experience
Being a few minutes late happens. Life happens. Five minutes is usually manageable. But when someone arrives more than 10 minutes late or misses an appointment without communication, it affects more than just one appointment. It disrupts the rhythm of the day, shortens the time available for the service, and impacts the next client — often someone who arrived early and ready.
I'll always do my best with the time we have, but the service may need to be adjusted to respect the rest of the schedule. The appointment is still charged at full price, because that time was reserved intentionally, just for you.
This isn't about punishment — it's about fairness and flow.
The Common Thread Is Communication
If you're unsure what to book, ask. If you're running late, let me know. If something comes up, communicate. Texting is always okay. You don't have to call. Anxiety-friendly communication is built into how I work — on purpose.
My goal has always been to create a space that feels thoughtful, calm, and human. A place where detail is respected, time is valued, and nobody feels rushed, shamed, or talked down to.
Because at the end of the day, it's just hair — but it's also trust. And as Ron taught me, life really is too short to grow out a bad haircut.
Dedicated to Ron — for the perspective, the timing, and the reminder that confidence is worth investing in. 🙏