This week, I tried to book in for some knotless braids at the last minute. I knew I was going to be writing about how the simple pleasure of getting a head of box braids is starting to feel increasingly complicated, and thought that it would be good to get some pictures of the process. Then, I found myself getting wound up as the subject of this newsletter began to play out on a sort of meta-level.
When I decided to get my hair done for this piece, I knew that booking a next-day braiding slot would prove to be a kafkaesque task. My usual place asks that you schedule around a month in advance. My second option says that we’d need a “private room” to bring a photographer, bumping the bill up to £600. While trying to write an immersive report on the difficulties that come with getting braids, I suddenly realise that I am living the report.
