The Long Way- 10 Years of Learning, Building, and Becoming
Learning
When I opened The Hair Mansion a decade ago, I thought I knew what I needed to know. I had business classes under my belt, years of experience behind the chair, and a designer who helped shape my first vision — but nothing truly prepares you for building something that’s entirely yours.
The quiet beginning of a new chapter — the first Hair Mansion suite before setup.
When I first stepped into this space, it was a room with walls. I saw what it could become—clean lines, intention in every corner, a space designed for presence and connection.
I quickly realized how much I didn’t know—and how much those I’d worked for before me didn’t know either. Everything looked different when it was mine to shape. And so began the real learning. Not just about brand aesthetics or salon flow, but about running a business with intention, managing life’s curveballs, and slowly letting go of what didn’t align with my future.
The first full expression of my vision — every detail chosen with intention.
Of everything in that first room, it was the logo on the wall that meant the most. Designed by Lisa, it was born from a vision I had for something that didn’t exist yet. Seeing it in real life made it all feel possible. Guests loved taking photos in front of it, and so did I. That simple square held so much pride, possibility, and presence. It was harder than I expected to walk away from that space… but especially from that wall.
Building
Over the years, I had to unlearn the jack-of-all-trades mentality that was so deeply ingrained. Yes, I can do almost anything—but that doesn’t mean I should.
As a teen, I had perms and thought they were beautiful — until I saw the photos. What I imagined as cascading curls was really a frizzy poodle mess. I still laugh about it. While I know stylists who love them, I focus on what lights me up — the work I can stand behind completely
The only photo I have of myself working in my first space — unposed, real, and present.
A few years in, my life took a hard turn. I had to downsize my space, become a single mom, and restructure everything—including my schedule—to prioritize what mattered most. During that time, I refined my services and focused on the work I loved most, the work I knew I could deliver at the highest level.
My second space — smaller, quieter, more sacred. Every detail was intentional, holding me while I rebuilt.
When the pandemic hit, it brought new challenges—but also unexpected clarity. Ideas that once seemed unconventional —like disposable towels and exclusive solo appointments—became part of the new normal. They stuck because they worked. They made sense for me, my guests, and my space.
Every inch of this room worked hard. Small in size, big in energy.
Becoming
Somewhere along the way, my designer and I parted ways. Suddenly, it was all me. In February of this year, I sat in front of my computer and completely redesigned my website. No help. No professionals. Just me, pulling from everything I had learned—technically, visually, and emotionally—over the last 10 years.
Today, I create all of my own graphics, content, layouts, blog posts, and marketing. Every piece you see—every gallery, every page, every story—comes directly from me. I’ve spent more time outside the salon chair working on this business than most people realize.
A cozy corner where comfort meets care.
I’ve grown from “not sure if this is working” to knowing exactly who I am and what I want to offer. And now I’m finally able to deliver it—from A to Z.
One chair, one guest, one experience at a time.
This was the moment I chose to work with one chair, one guest, and one experience at a time.
That chair has heard stories, witnessed transformations, and held space for real connection. It’s not just where you sit—it’s where you become.
You deserve more than a spot in a row. This chair is yours—every visit, every time.
Forward
The Hair Mansion is evolving — a renewed space for a renewed era, built with the same care, creativity, and intention that shaped the first ten years.
Ten years in, I’ve learned that evolution isn’t an ending — it’s the art of arriving, again and again.
