Things I’ve Learned About People While They Sit in My Chair

One of the first things I learned as a stylist had nothing to do with hair.

It had to do with silence.

Early on, I thought silence meant something was wrong. Awkward. Uncomfortable. A cue to fill the space with conversation, jokes, questions — anything to keep things moving. I think a lot of stylists start there. You’re eager, you want to connect, you want to do a good job.

But somewhere along the way, I realized something important:

silence doesn’t mean awkward. Silence often means peace.

For the person in my chair, it’s a reset. A pause. A rare moment where nothing is being asked of them.

For me, it’s focus — a chance to really see what I’m doing and give someone something they may not have gotten before: care without distraction.

That realization clicked for me back in 2016.

I was working at Floyd’s on Brodie, still early in my career and figuring out my place as a stylist. I had come from a more structured, high-end salon environment and was eager to become well-rounded — to understand people just as much as technique.

One afternoon, an older gentleman sat in my chair. He unfolded his newspaper and settled in quietly. I did what I thought I was supposed to do — filled the air with conversation and enthusiasm, trying to create that instant connection.

At one point he gently stopped me and said something I’ve never forgotten.

“You know what I love about coming here?”

“For thirty minutes, I get to sit here and feel like a king.”

Then he smiled and added, “I’ve got a wife and a daughter at home who treat me like their personal bank account and chauffeur.”

It was said with humor, not resentment. But the meaning landed.

What he was really saying was this:

this chair is a break.

This moment is mine.

That was the moment I understood we offer more than just a haircut and a quick laugh. We offer an escape. A chance to unwind. A moment where someone doesn’t have to perform or provide for anyone else.

Over the years, I’ve watched how people physically exhale once they sit down. Shoulders drop. The outside world softens. Sometimes conversation flows easily. Sometimes it fades naturally. Both are welcome.

Stylists tend to be empathetic by nature. There’s a lot of silent understanding between clients and myself — reading the room without words, knowing when to talk and when to simply let someone be.

Some people come in wanting connection.

Others come in needing calm.

Both are valid. Both are part of what makes this work meaningful.

What I’ve learned is that trust isn’t always built through conversation. Sometimes it’s built by allowing someone to be quiet without feeling like they need to fill the space.

As March approaches and the city starts to pick up its pace, I’m reminded how important these small pockets of quiet really are. Before the festivals, the crowds, and the long days ahead, there’s something grounding about the simple ritual of sitting in a chair and taking a breath.

Being trusted with someone’s appearance is never just cosmetic. It’s personal.

And every time someone sits down — whether we talk or sit in easy silence — I’m reminded that sometimes the most meaningful part of a haircut is simply giving someone a moment that feels like their own.