Part Two: The Illusion of Education
Leaving What Felt Safe
After the Finding Nemo moment, I knew something wasn’t right. I wasn’t expecting perfection — but I was expecting education. I was investing years of my life and tens of thousands of dollars, and I could feel that something foundational was missing. Around that time, I started thinking seriously about transferring schools.
Baldwin Beauty School had a long-standing name in Austin. When I worked at The Color Salon, I had witnessed the outpouring of love after Baldwin Senior passed away.
Hundreds of stylists — many of them established professionals — spoke about him with deep respect. His impact on the industry was undeniable. That legacy mattered to me.
So before I reached the halfway mark of my hours at Regency, I made the decision to transfer. I believed I was moving toward something better.
When Reputation Didn’t Match Reality
What I found at Baldwin was not what I expected.
Very quickly, I realized the environment operated on favoritism rather than fairness. Certain students — particularly those already strong in color — were given priority, opportunity, and visibility. Others were quietly sidelined. I was eager to learn color. I begged for color clients. Instead, I was repeatedly assigned perm services.
At one point, while I was already working on the salon floor, a teacher told me I needed to “go back to the classroom.” I remember standing there completely confused. I thought that was what this was — learning by doing. What made it more disorienting was that other instructors would privately acknowledge my creativity. One color instructor asked me personally to do her best friend’s hair because she saw my artistic ability.
The contradiction was impossible to ignore. It became clear that talent wasn’t being developed — it was being leveraged.
Opportunity was not evenly distributed. It followed money. That realization was deeply unsettling.
Starting Over Without a Reset Button
After only a few months, I made the decision to leave Baldwin. I learned something devastating: none of my Baldwin hours would transfer.
I was forced to restart below the halfway point — even though I had been close to graduating before I left.
That moment broke something in me. I felt embarrassed. Defeated. Lost.
I had done what I believed was responsible — tried to seek better education — and instead, I had set myself back years.
Shortly after, depression set in. For the next two to two-and-a-half years, I stepped away entirely. I returned to the service industry and focused on surviving. During that time, I was also in a deeply unhealthy relationship that further drained my sense of direction.
I wasn’t lazy. I wasn’t unmotivated. I was lost. And sometimes, that’s harder to admit.
The Quiet Pressure of Time
As my late twenties approached, a quiet panic set in. I was nearing thirty, and I had nothing completed to show for the years I had invested — except debt. I didn’t want to be one of the many people I had watched drop out of beauty school and still owe the money. I didn’t want to finish school only to abandon the industry altogether.
If I was going to carry this debt, then hair had to become real. Not optional. Not a backup. Real.
So I made myself a promise.
I would finish beauty school before I turned thirty. No matter how humbling it felt.
I returned to Regency Beauty Institute with one goal: completion.
What I Learned Later
At the time, I believed my experience was personal — that maybe I had just chosen poorly, or lacked guidance.
Years later, I learned it wasn’t just me.
After the early 2000s, cosmetology school tuition across the United States rose dramatically. Programs that once cost closer to $8,000–$10,000 quietly climbed into the $15,000–$25,000 range.
Much of that increase came as beauty schools shifted toward for-profit models. Unlike public colleges, most cosmetology schools receive no state funding, meaning tuition is not tied to educational quality — it is tied to what students can borrow.
As federal student aid became more accessible, schools were able to raise prices while bundling kits, fees, and equipment into inflated totals. Licensing hour requirements increased in many states, extending program length without necessarily improving instruction. In short, the cost rose — but the education often did not. Understanding that later didn’t erase the debt. But it did remove the shame.
Finishing Anyway
When I finally graduated, it wasn’t glamorous.
There was no triumphant moment. No applause. Just relief. I had done the thing I promised myself I would do.
That alone mattered. But finishing beauty school didn’t suddenly make the industry kinder.
Over the years, instructors, coworkers, and even employers would tell me I wasn’t good enough. That I needed more education. That I should go back into a classroom. I listened carefully — but selectively.
I learned to trust the few voices who truly saw my ability instead of the many who projected their limitations onto me. That discernment would change everything. Because sometimes the people who shape you most are not the ones who teach you — but the ones who quietly show you what not to accept.
And it was those lessons that prepared me for what came next.
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