Trouble of Beauty Industry

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Beauty Industry

The glamour that comes with the stigma of working in the beauty industry is just a facade. Long hours and late nights to stay open for customers to come in for their treatments after their work day, no weekends as the salon needs to be open to customers who do have the luxury of having a weekend, the back-breaking labor of being on your feet for hours doing massages, facials, waxing.

Then there’s the chemicals and dust you inadvertently inhale from doing a full set of acrylic nails. Apart from all that, a beauty therapist must also play the role of a guidance counselor. You are used as an emotional punching bag as clients tend to open up and tell you everything about themselves and about the problems they are having at work, with their partners, their sex lives. No holds are barred. By the end of the day you are drained, mentally exhausted and your body feels like it has run a dozen marathons with no rest. And the best part of the job? You have to get up the next morning and do it all over again.

Defining Beauty

This is a pretty good insight as to how my life runs its course. My name is Lisa; I am a beauty therapist and have been working in beauty salons for the past seven years. I am qualified in all aspects of beauty – acrylic nails, relaxation massage, body wraps, facials, waxing, you get the idea. I fell into the industry right after high school, with nothing better to do and no huge corporate businesses knocking down my door to offer me a high paying job in a clean, comfortable office like I had previously imagined. I had no idea as to which direction I wanted my life to lead into after school. I was 18 years old, no official skills or qualifications however I was ready to make some money to save for my future. Working part time in a bakery was not going to one day buy me my own house, nor could I stand the smell of freshly baked bread any longer (as much as it is a delicious aroma to most people).

I walked into a nearby salon one early afternoon on my lunch break from the bakery after catching a glimpse of my unruly eyebrows in the reflection of the gigantic stainless steel oven. A middle-aged woman with beautifully manicured fingernails, impeccably styled blonde hair and carefully applied make-up greeted me with a warm smile and a gentle handshake. She was dressed in charcoal tailored pin-stripe trousers and a crisp white shirt, complete with stylish gold jewellery decorating her ears and neckline.