A few years ago, a haircut experience for Joe Daniels was much like it was for his father, his father’s father and scores of other black men.
The barber’s chair was one of those overstuffed, Naugahyde jobs; the atmosphere was heavy on the machismo; and the wait for service — often up to a couple of hours — was at best quadruple the length of time for the actual haircut.
But within the growing black middle class, men are finding that they don’t have time to sit in a barbershop for half the day. Instead of soaking up some culture while awaiting their turn, more and more men are (gasp!) soaking their hair follicles and their cuticles in the same hair salons that cater to their spouses and girlfriends.
Daniels, now a regular customer at Leigh Jones, a black-owned hair salon on the Gold Coast, is one such convert. And for him, a haircut is just the beginning.
“I get a hair styling with a little tint and a manicure every other week,” said Daniels, who owns the Old Orchard Chevrolet-Mazda dealership in Skokie.
He spends about $100 each visit — covering the service and some generous tips — not so much because he can afford to, but because Daniels likes getting what he pays for. That includes an offering of gourmet coffee, sweet rolls and popcorn to pamper his palate while he waits for a prompt appointment with his stylist.
With a mostly white clientele and a multicultural salon staff, Leigh Jones is a galaxy away from the barbershops in the ‘hood that Daniels grew up patronizing. These were often respected, much-needed black businesses with a virtually guaranteed stream of customers.
Sandwiched between storefront churches and confectioneries, black barber shops were places where men could be men and little boys would pick up manhood tips. Day laborers rubbed elbows with doctors, judges and celebrities and talked openly about racial matters, sports or the Jet magazine photo of the month. And they smelled of Pall Malls and steamy, hot shaving cream.
Today, Daniels and a growing number of black men are going to places that greet them with scents of Colombian coffee and cream-cheese Danish.
These sensory teasers are alluring, but the essential appeal of a salon to Daniels and others like him is pretty basic: They enable these men to better manage their schedules and, yes, to better manage their looks.
“I’m pretty picky about my appearance,” Daniels said. “I like the atmosphere (in a salon). It’s more relaxed and I don’t have to sit around all day listening to guys talking about (nothing).”
Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But chatter takes up time that could otherwise be spent in the care of a stylist, according to the eponymous owner of Leigh Jones.
“We’ve gotten our knuckles off the ground,” said Jones, 52, who started cutting his own hair at age 12. “Just like women, men want to look good too. It’s more hair care than haircut.”
According to Jones, men are requesting an array of services, including hair replacement, coloring, conditioning, manicures and neck massages. Adds Jones: “It’s a matter of taking care of yourself. It’s a head trip.”
That’s also the philosophy behind Therapy, a salon in the South Loop where co-owner Carron Woods has noticed a recent upswing in black male customers. In addition to the standard shampoo, conditioning and haircut, some guys request texturizing (“we just comb in a little relaxer”) or see an aesthetician for a facial.
“It’s TLC,” Woods said. “Men are just more into grooming these days. Not just because of their significant others. Men are doing this for men.”
At other black-owned salons around Chicago — with names like Van Cleef, Darnee’s and Strands — the buzz is similar. A good number of these establishments are Loop-based, catering to downtown workers; many employ at least one designated barber to handle male customers.
By no means, however, is this male incursion into the realm of perms and pedicures a death knell for black barbershops. That business is thriving, too, at least for the moment.
At McCoy’s Barber College in South Shore, co-owner Andre Rideau is producing 20 to 25 graduates annually while wannabe barbers sit on a waiting list for 10 months to a year. That is partly due to the small and declining number of Chicago barber colleges, he said, but also because the market for traditional barbers remains vibrant.
“Go down 79th Street west to Pulaski and see how many shops there are,” Rideau said. “A lot of guys are just paying more attention to their looks — going in every other week for their hair or beard.”
That would mean expenditures in the $20 to $40 range for patrons who average a visit to a traditional barbershop twice a month. At most salons, those prices would cover a single visit at best.
But figuring out who goes to a barbershop and who goes to a salon isn’t as cut and dried as it might seem. Though cost may be a significant factor for a man choosing between a higher-end salon and the neighborhood barbershop, don’t depend on stereotypes to figure out who goes where.
Jones lists construction workers among his regular clients, many of whom aren’t ready to tell the world who does their hair. Meanwhile, in the West Side’s “K Town” area, Rev. Ellis Price continues to service doctors and lawyers along with working-class residents in a barbershop across the street from his Pentecostal church.
“I’m aware of people going there (to salons),” said Price, whose best-known customer used to be Michael Jordan, before His Airness went hairless. “People come to my place because they love the atmosphere. I think there’s room for everybody.”
That may be true today. But local barbers’ union leader Herdie Sykes predicts that most black barbershops will eventually fade away and that unisex hair salons will become the norm.
“I give it 20 years and probably less,” said Sykes, secretary treasurer of Barber’s Union Local 939, which represents about 700 Chicago-area barbers. “I think most of these guys are not capable of staying around because they’re not informed enough. If a cosmetologist can do men’s and women’s hair, doesn’t it make sense that there wouldn’t be a need for the barbershop?”
