I have been going to Urban Nirvana
Salon for the majority of my five years in Charleston. I have the kind of thick, long hair that really can’t be messed up from a trim — I trust most reputable salons with my crazier than a horse’s mane, mane. Which means whenever I go for a cut, I don’t request a stylist, I know all the Urban crew is solid. Which also means every time I forget to remind them that I have a lot of hair. Washing time? Yeah you’re gonna need to add 10 minutes. Drying time? Hah! It will set you back another 30, at least. And every time I cringe in the chair as the stylist’s next appointment shows up and I’m still staring at my visage, my hair being transformed into a luscious, soft crown upon my head. “Shit! I’m sorry!” They’re always forgiving, patient, and gentle as they yank my inevitable buried tangles out. And for that I (and my scalp) will always be grateful.