The Intimacy of Strangers
As a hairstylist, I’ve spent decades standing closer to people than most of their friends ever will.
Think about that for a minute.
At a first appointment, I am touching, staring at, and conversing with someone more intimately than many of the people in their lives.
I’m running my fingers through their hair.
Examining their scalp.
Looking at every angle of their face.
Listening carefully, asking questions.
And somehow, neither of us finds this strange...At least not anymore.
What fascinates me is that I don’t remember exactly when this stopped feeling awkward.
When did I learn this level of discernment?
When did I become comfortable standing inches from a stranger’s face?
When did I learn how to separate professional intimacy from personal intimacy?
And maybe the bigger question is: why do some professions require it at all?
There are parts of people’s appearance that I notice professionally that would feel incredibly intrusive in almost any other context.
A new gray hair. A thinning area. A scar. A change in skin tone.
Weight loss. Weight gain.
Stress. Fatigue. Even posture.
As a fitness coach, I’ve noticed something similar happens there too.
I watch how people move.
How they compensate for injuries.
Which side is stronger.
Which side hurts.
How they carry themselves when they walk into a room.
Sometimes I can guess which knee hurts before they tell me.
Sometimes I can tell they’ve had a rough week before they say a word.
And yet none of this feels invasive.
Somewhere along the way, it became information instead of judgment.
That may be the strangest part of all.
In most relationships, staring at someone this closely would be uncomfortable.
In my professions, it’s necessary.
The goal isn’t criticism.
The goal is helping.
Maybe that’s why clients tell us things.
Not because we’re therapists.
Not because we’re family.
But because there’s a strange safety in talking to someone who is close enough to care, yet removed enough not to judge.
Over the years, I’ve heard stories about marriages, divorces, children, illnesses, career changes, grief, celebrations, fears, dreams, and disappointments.
I’ve watched people transform physically and emotionally.
I’ve watched shy people become confident.
I’ve watched confident people become vulnerable.
I’ve watched people reinvent themselves after heartbreak.
I’ve watched others quietly lose themselves for a while and then slowly find their way back.
The longer I do this work, the more I realize that hair was never really just about hair.
Fitness was never really just about fitness.
Both professions begin with appearance.
But they almost always end up being about trust.
Trust that I can see what needs to be seen without making someone feel exposed.
Trust that I can help without judging.
Trust that I can notice things without making those things define a person.
Maybe that’s the skill I was really learning all those years.
Not cutting hair.
Not coaching movement.
Learning how to look closely without judgment.
And when I think about it that way, it might be one of the most human parts of both professions.
Two strangers.
Standing just inches apart.
Trusting each other enough to make the whole thing feel completely normal.
Now. That being said. One word I used that may have some of you thinking- Bullshit!
That word is judgement. Let me elaberate.
I said “I learned how to look closely without judgment.”
it’s beautiful… but maybe not completely true.
I sometimes I did judge.
But often what I was judging in someone else was something I was struggling with myself.
Not harshly, but quietly.
Why does she keep going back to him?
Why won’t he take better care of himself?
Why does she keep making the same choices?
But age has a funny way of humbling us.
Eventually I realized most of us are repeating some version of our own mistakes.
The details are different, but the patterns are often the same.
And once you recognize yourself in enough other people, judgment slowly turns into understanding.
That's where compassion and empathy show up.
And that's where the magic happens
