Racial Fingernail Politics
Blacks and Asians find a strange harmony at the beauty shop
Each shop sports mounted plaques of every overwrought design your 14-year-old heart could desire. One person can have a virtual mural spread across her 10 fingers--two crossed green palms, the black silhouette of a couple with two red hearts over their heads, and a silver star on a background of cotton candy pink, intense lavender, and baby blue. For $7. (Some places, it's $5). Most designs are not political but merely busy: plaids, rhinestones, piercings with shiny doodads allowed to dangle.
Black patrons routinely sing the praises of their shop of choice. Natasha, who favors Corner Nails, says, "Ain't nobody made me come here. The Chinese shops are everywhere, and they cheap." Why doesn't she root out a black shop? "Why should I? Anybody could do this--just go to one of them schools." Does she like the experience? "It's kinda boring, 'cause they can't really talk American ... but that's all right. I just like having pretty hands."
And indeed they were. She sported simple, 2-inch acrylic nails painted a dramatic slate color called "Take It For Granite." (Mine were "How to Jamaica Million" icy plum.) Did she realize they were Vietnamese and not Chinese? "Oh," she said, clearly uninterested.
I asked the owners if they were afraid of their customers or neighborhood. Most looked blankly at my translator and seemed not to understand the question. As we spoke, another customer entered, and through the open door, random expletives wafted in, perhaps from some young blacks en route to the nearby liquor store. We all froze for a moment but then, when the door shut, picked up the conversation. "Why I stay someplace I having problems?" asks the owner. "No problems. I get along with everyone. Specially my customer. I minority, too."
Indeed, many of the Vietnamese live in the neighborhood. Many have black landlords or tenants (both retail and residential) and patronize other area businesses. Their tax dollars stay put, something not lost on the blacks in the area. Vietnamese gravitate to this field, in part because there is a manicure and pedicure tradition in Vietnam. Also, in Massachusetts, certification requires only 100 hours of training. It takes about $5,000 and an English vocabulary of less than 50 words to open a shop of one's own. Vietnamese entrepreneurs also have opened two beauty schools, and theirs is the only language other than English in which the state licensing exam is offered.
Competition has become fierce. Vivian, owner of Perfect Nails (now Beverly Nails), notes that her costs are going up while her prices go down. "Too many new shop," she lamented. How long had she been open? "Four month." How many other shops within three blocks? "Five [one was just three doors away]. But they no good. You come here. Better." Like most, she had masking tape over her price list, with new, lower prices markered in. Like most, her old sign was crudely corrected to show longer hours (most stay as late as 10 p.m.) and a stubborn new one declaring herself open on Sundays. In the afternoons, you will find children sleeping on coats piled behind their mothers' stations, older ones running up and down the street plugging parking meters and buying burgers for customers.
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