Part Three: Becoming
Learning Who Not to Listen To
After graduating, I did what most people do — I kept going. I worked. I assisted. I learned on the floor. I absorbed everything I could. And along the way, I encountered a familiar pattern. There were people in positions of authority who believed their role was to shrink others rather than grow them. I was told more than once that I wasn’t good enough. That I didn’t have enough experience to want more.
At one salon in particular — Avant — I remember telling my mentor that I wanted to become a Pure Professional with Aveda. She laughed.
Not kindly. Not playfully. She laughed as if the idea itself was unrealistic. I remember standing there thinking, not angrily but clearly: I don’t think you get to decide that.
That moment didn’t make me bitter. It made me selective.
Trusting the Few Who Saw Me
As much as some voices tried to diminish me, there were others — quieter, steadier — who saw my potential and spoke to it honestly. I learned to listen differently. Not to the loudest opinions. Not to the most critical ones.
But to the people whose actions matched their words.
In 2016, I made the decision to leave Avant. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t impulsive.
It was necessary. Sometimes growth requires walking away from environments that benefit from you staying small.
A Year That Changed Everything
About a year after leaving, my life shifted in a way I could never have predicted. I became part of Esquire Men's Grooming barber team — traveling across the United States, working hair shows, and standing on stages I had once believed were out of reach. The same industry that had once told me I wasn’t ready now trusted me to represent it. I remember thinking back to that moment of being laughed at — and realizing how small that voice felt now.
Not because I had proven anyone wrong. But because I had finally proven myself right.
The Conversation That Planted the Seed
One night during that time, I was sitting with a teammate after a show. His name is Pasquale.
In a casual conversation — the kind that doesn’t feel important until years later — he asked me why I hadn’t opened my own suite yet.
I told him it felt terrifying.
He smiled and calmly broke everything down for me.
How much rent would be.
What my weekly overhead would look like. What I’d need to charge. What was actually required — and what wasn’t.
He didn’t hype it. He didn’t romanticize it. He made it practical. That conversation changed the way I saw independence.
It wasn’t reckless. It was math.
Opening My Own Chair
In 2018, I opened Cuts By Lulu. Not because I felt fearless — but because I finally felt informed.
I didn’t open it with the goal of being the biggest or the loudest. I opened it with the intention of creating a space rooted in respect, consistency, and care. Everything I had experienced — good and bad — shaped how I chose to work. I knew how it felt to feel unseen. I knew how damaging favoritism could be. I knew how powerful it was when someone simply believed in you.
So I built my business differently.
The People Who Stayed With Me
When I look back now, the people who changed my life weren’t always the ones with titles.
They were:
The salon owner who showed me what professionalism under pressure looks like.
The instructor who told me not to waste my natural talent.
Miss TT, who taught in human language and made learning feel possible.
The teammate who explained independence without fear.
And just as importantly — the people who showed me what I would never accept again. Every one of them shaped the way I stand behind my chair today.
What This Journey Gave Me
I didn’t come from a perfect education system. I came from persistence. I came from starting over more than once. From finishing late but finishing anyway. From learning that confidence is built — not granted.
When someone sits in my chair now, they’re not just receiving a service. They’re sitting in years of lived experience.
They’re sitting in resilience they’ll never see — but they’ll feel.
And that, more than anything, is what changed my life before I ever opened my chair.
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