Why Your Hairstylist Might Just Be Your Most Important Ally

A writer's experience reveals how Southeast Michigan professionals hold the power to affirm LGBTQ+ identity

Hairstylist Brooke Hale working on Raevynn's new do. Courtesy photo

Aster Asem

Published: September 15, 2025 | Last Updated: September 19, 2025

Note: The non-public sources in this story have requested Pride Source use only their first names as a privacy and safety precaution.

Before my transition, I’d spent decades in barbershops and tolerated barely competent bargain snips for decades, describing exactly what I wanted but leaving with whatever the stylist thought I should have. It was like shopping for a car in the early 1900s: ”Do you want a Model T or a Model A?” I could have anything I wanted, as long as it was what they wanted to give me.

But, to paraphrase author John Green, most things that look dichotomous are really spectra. Self-expression is not multiple-choice; it’s an essay question.

And to help LGBTQ+ people especially answer that question, there are hairstylists beyond the places offering $10 specials, stylists who flout uniforms and norms, connecting with each individual client to understand what we want to display and help bring it to show.

LGBTQ+ people have always had flair. Being queer is inherently a rejection of the normative — and perhaps the most accessible way to flout expectations and express your aesthetic is with your hair.

Known professionally in the Ypsilanti area as "Anna Mopchopper," Anna Parks understands this power. "Seeing people [in my chair] see themselves for the first time is a powerful moment," they say. "When you see yourself present a certain way, especially for the first time — I've seen it change people."

Parks compares it to creating your own "mask" — not for concealing yourself, but sculpting the way you portray your character.

Katie Parks, aka Anna Mopchopper. Courtesy photo — Anna Parks, aka Anna Mopchopper. Courtesy photo

Raevynn, a trans woman in Southeast Michigan, used to present as masculine at work. But "as soon as I would change [at home] and see myself presenting feminine," she says, "it lifted [a weight] off my shoulder. My wife had helped me out with a wig [and] makeup for the first time. That was when my egg cracked. I said, 'Yep, this is it.'"

"Egg" is an affectionate term for trans people who haven't realized their gender yet. Given downy warmth and time to figure themselves out, they might peck and chip their way into a world of possibilities.

After I “hatched,” I began to home in on the person I was. I couldn’t alter my body shape (for the moment!), but I could change my aesthetic.However, I had no idea where to start; I’d always been a jeans-and-tee “guy” with a hands-off hairdo. Clothes aside, I was sure a typical barber would give me the same haircut as ever.

Ren, another trans person in Southeast Michigan, faced similar challenges. "I prefer to have short hair, [but] growing up, it's either like a feminine pixie cut or a 'boy cut.' There's no in-between, so I like that Brooke listens well to what you're looking for and what you're comfortable with. They're very sensitive to what you're looking for and how it makes you feel."

"Brooke" is Brooke Hale of Spellbound Hair Studio in Livonia. She agrees with Ren's assessment. Clients, she says, "usually have pictures and tell me what they're going for — something a little more femme, a little more masc — and I love some of the things [they] will tell me. One of my trans men was like, 'I want like '90s surfer-douche fuckboy.' And we nailed it."

This is peak queer: choosing your own adjectives, your own nouns. You create your gender and performance, coloring outside the lines — whether to embellish the original picture or to "do your own thing" until the mass-print cartoon becomes unrecognizable beneath.

Parks tries to affirm every client's gender on their own terms. "I have a lot of clients [who are] cis-straight, but even then, I make sure to ask about little things: 'Would you like it to be more cutesy or more masculine?'"

They use gender-neutral language when possible. "For cute little sideburns, I use the term 'doilies.' 'Swoopy' ... fun little descriptive terms. Based on the vibe of people, I try to feel out how they feel about things."

This intuitive understanding sets affirming stylists apart. Every person I spoke with agreed this sensitivity is rare at most salons. Ren describes the typical experience: "I prefer to have short hair. I don't feel like myself with long hair." Yet at a traditional salon, "the person cutting my hair would say, 'Oh, but you would look so much better with long hair! You'd look so much prettier with your hair like this!' They'd be like, 'Are you sure you want to do this?' and then by the end of it, you'd have this super-hairsprayed, Long Island-looking thing on top of your head, this big bouffant bob. It was so frustrating."

I know this frustration intimately. I've left salons near tears, staring at a reflection that felt like a costume I never asked to wear. The stylist meant well, but they saw what they thought I should want instead of what I actually needed.

Parks says less-affirming stylists "decide they're going to do something masculine or feminine, and they just do what they think is right for you."

It's the "What's in your pants?" question — the assumption that appearance should match perceived gender rather than personal identity.

Beyond poor communication, typical salons can make LGBTQ+ people feel uncomfortable and even unsafe. Samantha Ollis, who works with Hale, speaks of queer clients being stared at as they passed by other customers, of rushing to check out to protect them from "uncomfortable situations" and apologizing for others' conversations.

Hale created her safe space after working at a similar establishment. "My salon owner was conservative and couldn't grasp they/them pronouns. They screwed up on one of my clients. There would be conversations I didn't support, and I'd have to whisper to my client that I didn't agree. That's why I had to leave, and get my clients out of there too."

I understand why these stylists left conventional salons. When you've experienced the relief of finding someone who truly sees you, it becomes impossible to compromise. The difference between a good haircut and a life-changing one often comes down to whether your stylist understands that you're not just changing your hair — you're expressing your truth.

Love drives stylists like Parks, Hale and Ollis into private practice. Parks recalls working at a barbershop "plastered" with the slogan "The Boys Club" and getting queer women as clients who couldn't find what they wanted at traditional salons.

"I got an overwhelming amount of 'Oh my gosh, I'm so glad that I found you. I never know where to get my hair cut.'"

Locating affirming cosmetology appears to be less of a problem for queer folks in Southeast Michigan now. When I asked about local affirming stylists at the Scrambled Eggs trans support group in Dearborn Heights, Raevynn responded immediately about Hale. "Anna Mopchopper" is well-known, too, and resources like Strands for Trans and the Everywhere is Queer phone app exist to help LGBTQ+ folks find businesses that actively support the community.

"I'm happy to see more options being created," Parks says. "I hope the industry continues to break up this mold that's so outdated."

The heart of what makes our community incredible is captured in the image of a queer person draped in a hairdresser's gown, face glowing into a mirror at the first glimmer of the self they want to show the world.

When I think about my own journey with hair and identity, I'm grateful for every stylist who understood that scissors can be tools of liberation. To all the professionals who have opened safe spaces for us, thank you for helping us become ourselves.