An Intricate Weave of Friendship and Art

Vera Smith discovered her knack for braiding in the second grade. She was ecstatic when she made her first perfect cornrow. And once word of her talent got around her Cincinnati neighborhood, she’d spend weekends giggling and chatting as she plaited her sisters’ hair, her friends’ hair and her friends’ sisters’ hair.

Years later, the exhausting ritual endures.

But for Smith, braiding is as much about laughing, gossiping and catching up on family news as it is a way to make a living.

“We talk about everything,” she says about her clients. “They’ll come with their kids, we’ll have some food, make a day out of it. A lot of my regulars come to see me every two to three months, so by that time we have a lot of stuff to talk about.”

Four to 12 hours and $65 to $175 later, they’ve covered relationships, who’s engaged, who’s having a baby, the day’s headlines.

Any African American woman or man who has had braids--or perhaps such styles as corkscrews, twists or flat twists--knows that marathon sessions are part of the deal. Yet the styles, touted for their easy upkeep, are so popular that Braids & Beauty and similar magazines devote pages to the spectrum of looks, from classic to outrageous.

Influential celebrities like Brandy, rapper Da Brat and the Fugees’ Lauryn Hill all wear some variation on the theme, inspiring countless imitators who, whether they realize it or not, are carrying on a tradition.

“Wrapping and threading are ancient hairdressing methods that originated in Africa,” writes Lonnice Brittenum Bonner in “Plaited Glory: For Colored Girls Who’ve Considered Braids, Locks and Twists” (Crown Trade Paperbacks, 1996). “ ... When Africans were first brought to these shores, wrapping and braiding were among the arts that they continued to practice.”

Creating the intricate ‘dos can be tedious for braider and braidee, but they say the time invested forges lasting friendships. True, many women treat their hairstylists as ersatz therapists, sharing secrets. But an hour or two in a salon chair can’t match the intimacy achieved in a full day at someone’s home, where most braiders work. (See related story on licensing, E4.)

“Some of my friends work in salons, and they might have someone there for four or five hours, but they really don’t have that click,” says Smith, who either works out of her home in Orange County or travels to clients’ homes.

Of course, being in a braider’s home for hours can mean intrusions--dogs, children and phone calls interrupting. But, on the upside, says Bonner, “you’re dishing back and forth and kind of get to know a person--it can be a really nice, relaxing experience.”

“I went to one locktician who was really great,” she says. “Not only was she professional, but she made a great meal, and you didn’t feel that you couldn’t be yourself. She also shared a lot of useful hair maintenance tips that some braiders won’t share with you.”

It didn’t take long for actress Tasha Smith of the NBC sitcom “Boston Common” to bond with her braider, who was recommended by a friend two years ago.

“When I first met her,” Smith recalls, “I fell in love with her kids, number one. And she was just a nice person. Actually, I knew she was great, but she didn’t know the kind of person I was, and thought I was a prissy little actress chick. But after we sat down she said, ‘You’re pretty cool!’ and I said, ‘You are too!’ ”

Smith, who also learned to braid as a child and freelanced briefly as an adult, recaps a typical two-day session: “I’d go and pick her and her kids up and buy a bunch of food and rent 10 to 20 videos and they’d spend the weekend at my house, and we’d just have a big slumber party.”

Although Smith recently took out the long individual braids she had worn for two years, she and the braider remain friends.

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Noliwe Rooks has also seen strong bonds develop through braiding. The author of “Hair Raising: Beauty, Culture, and African American Women” (Rutgers University Press, 1996), she practiced braiding as a child on Barbies and palm fronds. Rooks parlayed her skills into extra cash while a student at Spellman College.

“You’d be hard-pressed to find an African American woman who has not had her hair braided as a child,” she says. “And when you go to have your hair braided for 12 hours straight, it sort of takes your relationship with your hairdresser to the nth degree. . . .It’s so intimate, and you have to have that trust level. Very often you’re in someone’s home, and you’re treated more like a friend than a client. Even if you’re in a shop, you become a part of experience in the shop.”

That’s exactly what Rosario Schuler set out to do with her Oh! My Nappy Hair salons in Oakland and Los Angeles, which offer braiding, among other styles. She hoped to create a community where women could become close to not only their stylists but to fellow clients as well.

“Relationships are developed, especially if you’re going to be sitting in a place a long time,” she explains. “ . . . I created the salon with my house in mind. I wanted everyone who entered to feel just like that, to be able to communicate like you’re at home. It’s an excellent way to communicate and network. And it makes you feel like you didn’t waste your time. And [visitors] talk about everything--sex, men, spirituality. I encourage it.”

Stylist Keeshone Cook found that braiding even helped cure her of chronic shyness.

“I didn’t like being a shy person,” explains Cook, who has worked out of the Nubian Creations salon in Pasadena for seven months. “I wanted to be able to talk to people. I used to be really shy when I’d braid hair at home. I would talk to them, but now I’m starting to open up more, and ask more questions, talk about their kids. I want to get to know them, but also let them know about me. Then they know a little more about you than someone who just braids hair.”