The Beauty Supply Shop

A short story about Black girlhood, outrunning your past, and the power of a good wig.

A mannequin head wearing a curly, chestnut-brown wig catches my eye at the beauty supply store. It sits amongst a crowd of identical heads sporting varying styles of wigs: bobs, bangs, straight, wavy, short, long.

I look at myself in a nearby mirror. I’m wearing a baseball cap pulled low, covering the overgrown roots of my frizzy, black box braids.

I reach out and touch the curly brown wig. It’s soft. Luxurious, almost. Visions of fine men mistaking me for SZA dance in my head.

“Alex! I need you! Tell me if this wig makes me look like a bad bitch!” Isabelle yells from the end of the aisle.

I pull my cap lower, roll my eyes, and walk back to the well-lit pink vanity I left her at. She has on a long, blonde wig with body waves.

“You look bad as hell. Like, booking info in your bio bad.” I say.

“I know, right?” She’s cheesing. I can’t help but smile back. “I just needed my bestie to co-sign. I’m copping it.”

“You’ve finally made a choice?” A female employee calls out from the store’s backroom.

“This is the one for me.” Isabelle carefully takes the wig off of her head and places it back into its plastic case.

“Wonderful. Follow me to the register.” The worker walks towards the front of the store.

“I’m going to wear this in a music video!” Isabelle says in a singsong tone. She realizes the worker is already halfway through the store and begins to jog to keep up with her.

I walk back to the mannequin sporting my dream wig and pull an identical, unopened wig from the shelf below. I do a little happy dance in the middle of the aisle.

I pat my black tote bag to find my wallet. My stomach drops. I immediately remember where I’ve left it: back at the apartment, on my nightstand, next to my camcorder.

I look at the wig, to my tote bag, and back at the wig.

My friends and I used to shoplift at a beauty supply store just like this one. I was 14, taking glittery lip glosses from a makeup display near the back of the store. We always got away with it. Always.

“Hey, can I help you?”

I jump, almost causing the mob of mannequin heads to topple over. I feel like a child caught grabbing a fist full of someone else’s birthday cake.

Behind me is a male employee with a questionable look on his face.

“N-no. I’m just waiting for a friend.” I put the wig back and scurry to Isabelle, who’s standing near the entrance.

“You alright, Alex?” Isabelle says as we walk to her car.

I let out a long sigh, hoping to dispel my urge to cry, “…am I a good person, Isabelle?

She looks surprised, “The best person. Smart, funny, a bad bitch, and you work super, freakin’ hard. You spend 99% of your time at work or in your room typing away at your screenplay.”

“You’ll never know — “

“Who’ll ask you to see it. I know.” She puts her wig in the backseat of her car and secures it with a seatbelt, “Do I need to go kick someone’s ass?” She slams the car door and begins to walk towards the store.

“Isabelle, no!” I say. She stops and turns around. I continue, “It’s just me. My thoughts. And, sadly, you can’t jump my negative thoughts.”

“But, I can buy us some Chinese food and watch that one movie you like with you, Sorry to Bother You?”

“That’s a step in the right direction.” I say, forcing myself to smile.

Author’s Note: I grew up in the beauty supply store. There, I made so many decisions about how I wanted to present myself to the world. I learned about what beauty meant to me.

That’s why it feels so odd to rarely see the beauty supply store in Black media. Black hair, in general, is never represented realistically. For example, the amount of Black characters I see going to sleep without a bonnet, scarf, or silk pillowcase is astounding.

It’s those small, seemingly inconsequential parts of the Black experience that clearly communicate there isn’t a Black writer in the room.

This is my first attempt of bringing the beauty supply store into my writing. Of course, I had to feature the homies Alex and Isabelle. If you’d like to read another story featuring the dynamic duo, check out this one below:

Nia Simone McLeod is a writer, content creator, and pop culture enthusiast from Richmond, Virginia. She’s the creator and editor of the Medium publications oh, write and coiled. In her newsletter, she shares writing prompts, the best in pop culture, and sneak peeks at her upcoming work.