Let me tell you about my hair.
It is an unruly, awful mess. You can't take this head of hair to Supercuts - although in moments of weakness, I have. The year my hair stylist at Salon Thalia got pregnant was the turning point for this white girl afro. I called the salon to make an appointment with another stylist and was given Juaquin. My follicles rejoiced.
Juaquin scolded me for using box color, but would always fix my mistakes. He would tease me for going to Supercuts, but always managed to erase the damage. I would never make an appointment for the right service (single color? full highlights? partial?), but no matter what he would always make sure I was taken care of. He would always make me walk out feeling like a numba one stunnah. My first straight, male stylist, Juaquin, is not only adorable, but very talented. Juaquin switched salons at one point, and I followed him over to Rittenhouse to see him at Richard Nicholas Salon. A pain in the ass to park there, but so worth it.
Unfortunately, duty called, and I was relocated to California. Having ten days to move, I waited until the last second to make an appointment with Juaquin before my departure... he was booked. I had to make an appointment at a subpar salon, and as I sat down in her chair, got a text from him saying he would make time for me. Unfortunately, I was already in too deep, and didn't get my final session with Juaquin. Traumatizing. Anytime I would venture out to another salon I would come home with crappy color, a choppy cut, and an empty wallet.
Today, I am making a bold move and going to Sally Beauty Salon to try to do my color on my own. If it doesn't work out, a trip to Philadelphia might be in order.
If you live in Philadelphia, and want to look pretty, please go to Richard Nicholas salon and see Juaquin.
