Fashioning the Body: Versions of the Citizen, the Self, and the Subject

            When I think of a beauty parlor, there are a few images that come to mind. I think of the Supercuts, the Hairmasters and the other chain stores that focus on selling bodies services to make their hair look more attractive. However, those images don’t really capture the essence of what a beauty parlor is, in my humble opinion.  These are not places where communities can come together and share information. There is no rich history behind these shiny superficial bastions of consumer culture. When I think of a beauty parlor, I think of Los Angeles County Jail.

            When I was eighteen, I was arrested in Los Angeles County for a warrant from Thurston County and was a guest of that county for about three months. During those months, I experienced and saw some of the cruelest and kindest human behavior that I have ever seen in my life. For most of my stay there, I was locked in a dormitory with about one hundred and eighty other women. I would say that out of that number between one hundred and forty and one hundred and fifty were Black or African-American, between twenty and thirty were Latina or Hispanic and then there were about ten White women. After a short time in jail, I caught the attention of a Black woman who really liked me for some reason. I feel the need to mention that the only reason I knew she was a woman was we were in an all female facility. If I would have seen her on the street; I would have assumed she was a male bodybuilder. She would walk around it front of me, point to me and say, “You fuck with the White girl and I’ll kill you”. Later I found out that this was no idle threat as she was in jail for manslaughter and attempted manslaughter. On the other hand, this gave me some freedom to walk around and interact with the other people that were locked up with me. I quickly found out that this was a dorm that was meant for women who were either expected to be going to prison or were expected to be some kind of security risk. I was considered to be some kind of security risk because of my then husband’s arrest record. The other women that were locked up in there were there for one of a few reasons. Drugs were the most common charge. One reason was violence that might or might not have been gang related. Another reason was prostitution. There were also a few women in there for probation violations. While I was there, an English woman passed through. She had been arrested for drugs and was hoping to get deported because she couldn’t afford to pay for her own way home. Then they were the women that would sit and do each others hair. At first I couldn’t understand why they were spending so much time (I’m estimating at least eight hours per hairstyle) doing hair when it was obvious that they weren’t going anywhere. I sat with them a few times and eventually worked up the nerve to ask them why they spent so much time doing their hair. One of the first answers was obvious and I feel a little foolish for not recognizing it myself. When you’re in jail, you’re issued a uniform. The only outlet that you have to express your individuality is your hair and makeup. They also told me that sometimes it was just good to sit and talk. I also picked up on the fact that there was physical contact with the other people that wouldn’t be considered an infraction of the rules. In fact, touching was against the rules. But most guards didn’t feel like filling out paperwork over a hair do. Over time, I found out that if I didn’t talk, I could sit there long enough that they would start talking to each other as if I wasn’t there. They talked about their families, their men and their children. They talked about drugs and how hard it was to stay clean. They talked about the gangs that they were in. While I was sitting and listening to them talk, I was able to learn about their issues in a way that wouldn’t have been available to me in the normal routine of my day to day life. I also got to watch the interactions that happen when people don’t have any space between them.

A woman came running up to me to ask me if I had seen anyone with hair like hers. Her weave had been stolen off of her head while she was sleeping.

I was sitting between two women when one leaned around me and grabbed the other one by the throat and threatened to kill her. It turns out that the reason she was so angry was she had given the other woman 50 cents to call her boyfriend and give him a message. Apparently, she had not returned the money or passed on the message. She claimed that the phone was busy when she called. The other woman was convinced she was lying because her boyfriend had caller ID.

Somebody gave me $10.

I saw a woman get caught with contraband that added years on to her sentence. She had set up a system for getting people into dorms that they weren’t assigned too. I was told that she did this to provide people with a way to visit with friends or relatives that were in the same facility. I don’t know if that was true or not but I do know that while the guards were walking her out they were starting to shove her around. Later during a trip to the infirmary, I saw her in one of the cells there.

            This may not be the best example of a beauty parlor but this was definitely the first time that I had ever seen and felt that sense of community.