Meet your average ghetto female, and there’s a 70% chance she has one of two occupations. Doing hair, and singing. Since these girls never really sing unless their song happens to come on 106 and Park while they’re in the shower, we’ll focus on the doing hair part.
How can a ghetto female from 17-70 not get her thalers up on any given Saturday? Chicks always want their coiff did up, to get ready for the club, chu’uch, court, that hot date with the next sugar daddy, er, baby daddy, er potential deadbeat dad, whatever. (Can’t forget the dudes that want the braids, rows, or “dreads” hooked up, but let’s not lose focus here.) Rent or the car note is due, or the kids gotta eat, or old girl wants to stack to get a new pair of heels? Do a couple of heads and be good to go. Hey, why let the semester in cosmetology up under nosy loudmouth chickenheads and gay guys go to waste?
In some cases, all that skilled living room stylist has to do is show up with her hands ready to make magic, as it’s often the client’s responsibility to hit the Koreans up for all the supplies. Otherwise, she might already have that blackened pressing comb that doesn’t even require a dedicated stove, as she only needs to throw it on the range. And she can take her time, as girls are always prepared to be around all damn day to get it done (and some styles still require that lucky girl to come back the next day). The stylist can watch her shows, talk about the latest neighborhood highlights, smoke a tree or two, cuss her boyfriend out on the phone, smack the kids up for spilling the quarter waters on the originally white carpet and all that. Might even dance a little. The client is fully entertained for the trouble, and the stylist will still get paid, lest the client wants water thrown on her dome (you know the ghetto girls hate to get their hair wet) or the fake hair yanked clean out.
Some of these ladies who do hair for the hustle are able to parlay it into renting a booth at virtually any beauty shop in the hood, secure that the buzzer-activated iron door will keep the clients in and the ex-boyfriends out. (Some even ban children! Great quick vacation.) And there’s plenty of these shops to choose from, as some streets have them lined up two to four in a row on the same block. Veterans of visiting Crenshaw Blvd. in Los Angeles know what this author speaks.
It’s a seller’s market.