I always tell people I have two modes. I’m either incredibly overdressed—and leaning into my Leo nature—or throwing on anything to get by. Sometimes that’s what my capacity can handle and usually my priorities are elsewhere.
The other day my friend said my style is season agnostic. She’s right; I’ll wear a sweater in the summer or shorts in the winter. I’ll wear a cheetah-printed bucket hat with a silk skirt to an upscale pre-wedding wine tasting and won’t think twice about it.
I am always thinking about what I want to feel like and what I have to offer that day, maybe even too much. I do what feels good for me and I’ll figure out how to make it work. As long as it makes sense for me, well then, it makes sense.
One very embarrassing time, I showed up to my college friend’s wedding accidentally wearing a white dress. I was horrified, 23, and previously uninformed about the taboo of wearing a white dress to someone else’s wedding.
Same goes for my hair. I’m going to get a silk press in the summer even if it’s 90 degrees. And that’s exactly what I did. I texted my go-to silk press hairstylist and got on her calendar to refresh my hair, but my spirit most importantly.
Maintenance day has become a recurring appointment where, beforehand, you take an audit of who you are and how you’d like to show up, then collaborate with professionals who help you shapeshift, mindshift, even time travel back to a version of yourself you recognize and deeply want to be in the company of again. They have a vested interest in you, and you in them—even if only for a few hours.
More than upkeep, maintenance becomes a connection touchpoint—a recurring opportunity to reconnect with ourselves and with the people helping us care for what we want to preserve.
Appointments like this aren’t just your check engine light coming on reminding you, “Hey, you need an oil change.”
They’re an act of rebellion against shrinking.
Recently, I woke up in desperate need of a mood change. I was frustrated that I’d been dealing with a red eye for three months. I needed to get back into my body. Get back to myself.
So I booked one of my favorite appointments: a silk press.
I like to think of it as an everyday physical—but for your hair. It’s classic. It’s the foundational style that every other hairstyle can be built from. Well, that’s how I see it. You can see where your hair is, what’s working or not and what you want to change.
When my hair is done, I’m done.
I was raised by a Libra mother and in true Libra fashion she valued presentation, beauty, aesthetics and pleasing others very much. So, even if I’m not able to show up like myself every day—which ideally would be overdressed and well maintained—my soul and spirit deeply care about how I’m presenting and being put together.
I wish I was the person where every day was maintenance day.
I aspire to be her.
But for now, I always look forward to the days where I can make it happen. As the saying goes: look good, feel good. If you asked me what beauty appointment I’d be, I’d be a hair appointment. It’s my favorite chair to sit in.
There’s a stereotype that maintenance appointments—whether it be hair, nails or skin—are about vanity.
Underneath the perceived vanity of maintenance appointments lies something much deeper.
My favorite internet rabbit holes are videos and pictures of Black women who prioritize maintenance days.
Maintenance content tells me a lot about the person behind the screen. They believe they’re worth loving, investing in, and willing to take up space for themselves. This looks differently for everyone. Even if maintenance looks like binging your favorite TV show, spending time with family, or simply resting. It’s knowing what revitalizes you—and maintaining it.
There’s no better feeling or way to return to myself than sitting in a chair and getting my hair styled.
It could be a return to those times when my mother was teaching me I am someone worth loving.
She’d iron my clothes and lay them out on our couch before school.
Or the lessons she taught me around showing up when sometimes I’d rather call in sick for school to spend more time studying for an exam.
She reminded me to prepare, present, and show up.
It’s these simple—or sometimes very difficult—acts of care that we give to each other in our day-to-day lives that remind each other we are worth it.
Maintenance culture is that same friendly reminder.
I began realizing how much this appointment meant to me, even before stepping through the salon door.
As much as my stylist was pouring into me, it’s my job to leave her with something as well.
So, I baked her cookies.
It’s my way of showing her that I appreciate what she has to offer.
Her services are worth preserving and protecting. Every appointment is another reminder that caring for ourselves is rarely something we do alone. She helps me return to myself, and it’s my pleasure to remind her that what she gives to others is worth preserving, too.
Hair doesn’t stay pressed forever. That’s exactly why maintenance exists.
Every maintenance appointment becomes another opportunity to reconnect—with ourselves, with the people who care for us, and with the people we care for in return.
Maintenance becomes a connection touchpoint.
We preserve the hairstyle, but through preserving it, we also preserve something else. The relationship. The consistency.
The recurring opportunity to care for someone—and to let someone care for us.
Maybe that’s the real longevity of maintenance culture.
Not simply that we maintain our hair.
But that maintenance gives us another reason to return.
To ourselves. To one another.
And that’s worth preserving.
Los Angeles Silk Press Hairstylist: https://www.instagram.com/cuedidmyhair?igsh=NTc4MTIwNjQ2YQ==
Cue’s Silk Press Essentials
Clip Ins from: Eden Beauty Supply Eden Beauty Supply
Cazza Dry Shampoo: Join our waitlist. www.cazzadryshampoo.com