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This feature builds on findings from ������Ƶ’s report Cut Short, which reveals how many for-profit cosmetology schools leave students undertrained, in debt, and underpaid—despite receiving federal aid. 

In the United States, beauty is big business—an industry , powered largely by the labor of cosmetologists, barbers, braiders, and nail techs who do far more than cut, color, or style. Many of us know them as cultural translators, mental health buffers, and economic anchors in their communities. Yet behind the chairs and ring lights lies a schooling system so poorly structured, so under-resourced, and so deeply exclusionary that it often leaves even the most passionate students disillusioned—or in debt, with no career to show for it.

For Kenyth, Bobby, and Taiwo—three people who strapped into cosmetology school with different goals and experiences—the journey revealed a troubling truth: The institutions meant to prepare beauty professionals often exploit their aspirations to extract profit, reinforcing a racial and economic hierarchy baked into the industry itself. Cosmetology education’s failing of the very people who keep beauty culture alive includes curriculum gaps that erase textured hair and underpaid instructors unable to support students meaningfully.

Below we showcase their stories, not just as individual experiences but as evidence of a broader problem with how we undervalue care work, aesthetic labor, and those who perform it: the majority of whom are women, Black and brown people, and immigrants. And with the Trump administration’s rollback of , an already broken system could become even worse. Cosmetologists are essential caretakers in their communities—offering not just beauty, but comfort, confidence, and connection. It’s time we recognize their contributions and ensure they’re protected, not the ones left paying the price for our beauty.

To protect the privacy of the individuals interviewed, last names and locations have been omitted.

“It Was the Wild West Out There”: Kenyth’s Story

Kenyth enrolled at Paul Mitchell, a hair and beauty juggernaut that runs for-profit schools around the country, with high hopes. She was excited to turn a passion into a career, but from day one, she realized something was off. “We spent the first five hours of the day talking about our favorite Starbucks orders,” she says. “That’s how [my education] started. Not at all what I signed up for.”

Initially, in the day program, Kenyth switched to night classes after having her daughter. Still, she found the same gaps in instruction, especially on “the floor,” the part of cosmetology school where students are supposed to get hands-on training with real clients. “Once we got enough hours to work the floor, we were expected to perform like full-time stylists—with no guidance. It was the Wild West out there.”

What made things worse was the instability behind the scenes. After the school director passed away unexpectedly, a new one took over. And with that change, trust fell apart. “They were pocketing money from donation days meant to support charitable causes, and instructors weren’t showing up for students. No one was being held accountable.”

The gaps were everywhere: Despite the school’s promises, students received no lessons on the business of being a stylist, no training on building a social media presence, and no help with transitioning into the workforce. “Salons assume you’ve been trained. But schools like mine weren’t doing that job.”

While Kenyth was fortunate—her grandmother helped pay her tuition, sparing her the burden of debt—many of her classmates weren’t. As the Paul Mitchell branch they attended began shutting down, those students were left in limbo, uncertain if they’d graduate and increasingly anxious about what they actually owed. “When the school started closing, students realized their loans hadn’t been covered. They were left chasing down paperwork to prove payments.”

In the end, she never got licensed. “The whole experience left a bad taste in my mouth. I could’ve been working, supporting my daughter—instead, I wasted time and money on a system that didn’t care if we made it.” Our Education Policy program’s research finds that many cosmetology students are parents, yet the industry provides little support for them, which blocks their return to school and limits economic opportunities for their families.

“We Need to Get Back to Teaching”: Bobby’s Story

When Bobby finished cosmetology school in 2009, he walked away feeling empowered. While the Paul Mitchell location was still in the early stages and learning materials were still being developed and refined, he recalls that “even though we didn’t have all the best tools, our teachers were invested. They wanted us to succeed.” Just a year later, he returned—not as a student, but as an instructor, stepping into a classroom at Paul Mitchell, where he taught for over a decade.

Over the years, Bobby watched something shift. “We had more resources, better equipment, but the quality of education dropped,” he reflects. “The curriculum started to prioritize lectures and ‘business skills’ over actually teaching students how to do hair.” From his point of view, technique got buried under theory. Instructors became disconnected from the craft. “It became clear, a lot of them were just there for a paycheck.”

After a break to finish his bachelor’s degree and begin a master’s program, Bobby returned to cosmetology teaching in 2023, following the passing of a former classmate and mentor, JoJo. What he walked back into was worse than he remembered. Students were frustrated. Instructors were unmotivated or misinformed. “There’s no accountability, no feedback—no one making sure these students are actually learning.”

The school’s price tag, while often significantly less than a four-year degree, leaves students with significant student loan debt that can be difficult to repay, yet the education, Bobby says, doesn’t come close to justifying it. “Cosmetology school needs a total reimagination,” he says. “We need more investment in trade schools. We need adult learners to have more support. And we need to stop pretending you can teach someone to cut hair just by talking about it.”

Despite his frustration, Bobby remains hopeful. “I came back because I still believe in what this education can be, if we put students first again. We have to think outside the box and get back to what made the industry thrive in the first place: hands-on learning and care.”

“We Carried Each Other”: Taiwo’s Story

Before she ever set foot in a cosmetology school, Taiwo was already the go-to stylist for her sisters, friends, and classmates. By the time she enrolled at Empire Beauty School in 2014, she had years of experience—and she’s grateful she did, because the education she received would not have prepared her for a career on its own.

“I knew how to do hair,” Taiwo says. “But I went to get licensed—mostly to do chemicals, relaxers, color. If it weren’t for that, honestly, I wouldn’t have needed the school.”

Though her prior skills gave her a leg up, Taiwo quickly saw that many of her classmates were struggling, not from lack of talent, but lack of instruction. Nearly all of her early teachers were white and unfamiliar with textured hair; in most states, it is . “They didn’t know how to braid. My classmates and I had to teach the class ourselves. That’s how bad it was.” Even the few Black instructors she had weren’t trained in modern techniques. If she wanted to learn a silk press or proper weave install, she had to turn to her peers. “We really carried each other.”

The curriculum, Taiwo says, was thin—limited products, basic color theory, and barely any help with job placement. “They brought in one salon on career day: Supercuts.” But even after that disappointment, she ended up landing a job at JCPenney and grinding her way up to a master stylist role. For years, she balanced a 9-to-5 with salon work, before finally going full-time with her business in 2022.

Taiwo still believes in the industry, but wants to see change in the institutions. “Schools need to hire people who care. Pay them enough to teach. And stop pretending one mannequin with textured hair is diversity. We’re paying too much to be left figuring it out on our own.”

The System Is Failing the People Who Make It Work

Kenyth, Bobby, and Taiwo followed different paths through cosmetology school, but each encountered the same problem: a system more invested in profit than people. Whether arriving with years of skill or little experience and big dreams, students are often left to fend for themselves—under-taught, overcharged, and underprepared for the realities of the beauty industry.

This is about more than any individual “bad schools.” It’s about how cosmetology institutions have become expensive pipelines that too often offer students little in return for their tuition, devaluing labor rooted in care, culture, and creativity.

Now, ������Ƶ renewed efforts to dismantle the Department of Education are supercharging the problem. Although the so-called “Big Beautiful Bill” introduces provisions to hold eligible programs for federal student aid accountable for how much their graduates earn, the measures leave out undergraduate certificates such as cosmetology programs, treating them as second tier. The bill also dilutes loan repayment protections for students and introduces “workforce” Pell Grants, expanding funding to very-short programs, such as those for nail technicians and estheticians, with very weak accountability standards. The result will likely be higher costs, lower quality, and more students trapped in cycles of debt and disappointment.

Still, students are pushing back. Instructors are returning to rebuild. Graduates like Taiwo are finding success in spite of the system. Imagine what could be possible if schools prioritized mentorship, equity, and real preparation over lectures and bottom lines. The people behind the beauty industry deserve better. It’s about time that the institutions that train them caught up.