Bottleneckers. William Mellor
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board, observing, “They had to pass a mountain of drug activity at the corner of West Adams to get to me.”95 Instead, she said, the actions were designed to stifle competition.96
But observers at the time identified a second reason for the raid on Reece’s salon: During the prior year, Dr. JoAnne Cornwell had sued the state of California over the requirement that braiders obtain a cosmetology license to practice. Cornwell, an associate professor of French and Africana studies at San Diego State University, is also a third-generation hairstylist and entrepreneur. Both her mother and grandmother owned hair salons in Detroit, and these businesses allowed them to gain a level of independence unheard of for most black women during that time. Cornwell first learned to braid as a young girl and then in the early 1990s created a new braiding technique called “sisterlocks,” using small, finely manicured locks. After trademarking the technique, she designed training materials and led workshops all over the country to teach it to others.
Cornwell then sought to expand her training program by opening her own salon in California, but she chose not to do so since it was illegal for someone who was not a licensed cosmetologist. Expanding her training program would not only have been personally profitable for her; it would also be a way of creating opportunities for black women to pursue entrepreneurship using their cultural heritage of braiding. On January 28, 1997, she sued the California Board of Barbering and Cosmetology, arguing that the cosmetology licensing requirement for African hair braiders violated her rights and the rights of others to pursue their profession free of onerous and unnecessary government regulation.
By July 1998, when the undercover investigators from California’s Department of Consumer Affairs raided Sabrina Reece’s braiding salon, Cornwell’s lawsuit was still ongoing. “That the sting was authorized while the lawsuit filed on behalf of California braiders [was] still pending was a heavy-handed show of authority, rather than a case of pressing public concern,” wrote a commentator for the Village Voice.97
The Village Voice was not alone in its skepticism about the need to impose—and enforce—a cosmetology license on hair braiders for the purpose of public safety. On August 19, 1999, US district judge Rudi Brewster struck down California’s requirement that African American hairstylists secure a cosmetology license. In a twenty-six-page decision, Brewster wrote, “There are limits to what the State may require before its dictates are deemed arbitrary and irrational.”98 On the basis that only 7 percent of the required training was even “possibly relevant” to hair braiding, the judge ruled that the licensure requirements were “wholly irrelevant to the achievement of the state’s objectives,” namely protecting public safety.99 The 1999 ruling confirmed an earlier decision in which the judge concluded that the regulations placed “an almost insurmountable barrier in front of anyone who seeks to practice African hair styling,” suggesting that the effect was “to force African hair stylists out of business in favor of mainstream hair stylists and barbers.”100
BOTTLENECKING INTO THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY
Despite such positive decisions and legislative changes, braiders continued, at the dawn of the new century, to find themselves caught in the cosmetology bottleneck. Essence Farmer, an Arizona native, sought to open a hair-braiding salon in her hometown of Glendale. To do so, Essence was required by the state of Arizona to complete a 1,600-hour training program, at an approximate cost of $10,000, to earn a cosmetology license.101 The skills she needed to run her business, however, she had learned at the age of ten. As a teenager, she began braiding out of her parents’ home for money, serving five to six clients a week, some traveling forty miles or more for her services.
As Essence recalled about her early years,
There were not a lot of braiders at the time, and my client-base grew by word of mouth. Some of my clients were going to California or other long distances to have their hair done, so even though I was a teenager, I had a talent for braiding and clients liked going to someone local.102
Essence moved to Maryland in 2000 to attend Prince George’s Community College. Because Maryland exempts hair braiders from cosmetology licensing laws, she was able to braid many clients’ hair at Blowouts Salon and a barbershop called Hairstons.103 When she moved back to Arizona in 2003, she began braiding out of her house but soon learned she was doing so illegally. “I was reading an article in a magazine about someone who was arrested for braiding in California,” she explained, “and thought, ‘That’s crazy, why would she be arrested for braiding hair?’ But it made me cognizant of the idea that there might be a license in Arizona.” In a call to the state cosmetology board, her suspicion was confirmed. Moreover, she was informed that her years of professional experience were not sufficient: “They told me anything that involved touching hair was considered cosmetology and required the full license.”104
Essence was caught in the bottleneck, but she refused to remain stuck there. “I was discouraged, but I knew something had to be done about this. So I began looking for representation to sue the state board.” Her search led her to the Institute for Justice, which had represented Taalib and other braiders before her. In December 2003, Essence sued the state cosmetology board over her right to pursue the occupation of her passion. Her suit never made it to trial.
During the 2004 legislative session, Arizona lawmakers—in direct response to Essence’s lawsuit—did what the state board wouldn’t: it allowed people to practice the art of hair braiding without a cosmetology license. Representative Deb Gullett took up the cause, tacking the exemption onto a broader measure dealing with mobile cosmetology salons.105 “It just seemed to me that [forcing braiders to train as cosmetologists] was the stupidest thing that I had ever heard of,” recalled Gullett. “And thankfully people agreed with me.”106 On April 12, 2004, the provision passed Arizona’s legislature, opening the door for Essence and others to braid freely.
Four months after Arizona’s bottleneck was dislodged, Melony Armstrong, a hair braider in Tupelo, Mississippi, sued her state cosmetology board to achieve the same end. Similar to what happened in Arizona, the Mississippi legislature eventually changed the law to allow hair braiders to practice without a cosmetology license, but not before a fierce months-long battle, the roots of which can be traced back to a 1995 hair appointment for Melony.
The $75 appointment lasted about an hour. Melony had never had her hair braided professionally before, but she decided to try something new. One the day of her appointment, she and her husband, Kevin, drove about ninety minutes north into Memphis, the closest braiding salon to their home. While she was getting her hair done, Melony faced away from the mirror and chatted with the friendly stylist as she glanced curiously around the room at the styles other braiders were creating. Upon completion of the relatively simple style, the braider slowly turned her chair to face the mirror. As she did, Melony made a life-changing decision.107
“After having my hair braided and looking in the mirror, it immediately clicked—this hair thing, these braids, is what I want to do,” Melony remembered. “Even during the process, seeing this is a real live business. On the drive back—and that drive is one-and-a-half hours—it’s all I talked about to my husband. I’m going to be a professional hairbraider.”108
“She’s crazy,” Kevin thought to himself. They had a toddler at home. Besides Melony’s formal education was in psychology; she had worked at a battered women’s shelter, a boys’ home, and a state hospital. She knew nothing of braiding. Unlike many black women, she had never learned how to braid hair as a child. But she longed to create a business of her own.109
“I’ve always had that entrepreneurial spirit flowing in me,” she said. “My mind was clicking, ticking. It was just itching, gnawing at me, to do something else.”110 Melony saw the opportunity braiding presented for the Tupelo area. On the ride home from Memphis, Kevin couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Melony was suddenly on a mission that, unbeknownst to either of them at the time, would make headlines.
After a series of workshops, classes, and endless hours of practicing braiding, Melony began working on clients in her home in late 1995—first for free to gain experience and then for a fee. Because she was the only