The forced closures of Afghanistan’s beauty salons have cost women much more than their blowouts and manicures. In Kabul, Vogue Arabia learns that despite the obstacles, and loss of their safe spaces, women remain resilient.
Photo: Sara Wais
Beautifying oneself at the salon can be a deeply cathartic experience. Hairstylists, makeup artists, nail techs, or aestheticians become unofficial therapists. And in those moments, secrets are shared without fear of judgment. In Afghanistan, mental health services do not exist, and for Afghan women, the closest thing to a therapist’s couch is a chair in a beauty salon. Recently, that has been spun out from beneath them. In July 2023, the Taliban’s Ministry of Vice and Virtue decreed the closure of all female beauty salons across the country. With 30 days to comply, Kabul’s vibrant salon scene came to an abrupt halt. Having spent four months in Kabul, I’ve witnessed a dramatic transformation where the once-vibrant blocks, bustling with salons and brides emerging daily, have now lost their luster.
In Kabul, beauty salons stood as more than just places for bridal makeup and aesthetic transformation. These establishments evolved into sanctuaries, offering solace, camaraderie, and vocational opportunities for Afghan women. Neelofar Rasouli, the owner of Kabul’s beloved Neel Salon, shares that she was among the pioneers who sought to revolutionize the salon scene in Kabul. “I left my career in media to transform the experience,” says Rasouli. “And we were able to do that. In Kabul, salons became a safe space for women.” For her clients and workers, this was a location where women found emotional support and inner change. “I witnessed the transformative power of the salon; it became a place where women found relief from life’s pressures.”
Salons across the country have been boarded up, after a July 2023 decree by the Taliban’s Ministry of Vice and Virtue
One of her regular clients frequented the salon every two days under the guise of eyebrow-threading sessions. Her real reasons for going were stifling depression and marital problems. Another young woman was a client turned worker. Her dream of becoming an entertainer was stunted by unsupportive parents, and she attempted to end her life twice. Rasouli offered her a role as a makeup artist, convinced her parents to let her work, and witnessed a remarkable change in her attitude.
The women who worked at Neel Salon considered their work more than just a job; it was a matter of pride. They served Kabul’s socialites, politicians, and celebrities, which gave them a sense of self-worth. The salon was not just about aesthetics; it was a vibrant social hub for workers and clients. It was a place to relax, bond, and indulge in self-care, free from the constraints of conservative norms. Rasouli’s employees rarely took a day off because they were overjoyed to be in a space that fostered female camaraderie. Salons were the only male and child-free places in Kabul. With many women living in multi-family and co-ed situations, the salon was a place to relax with bare arms and legs. As women didn’t feel comfortable showing their bodies to a male doctor for skin concerns, salons provided a comfortable space for clients to address body acne and other dermatological concerns. At Neel, the service became so popular that Rasouli hired nurse consultants to cater to the holistic well-being of its clientele.
With the closure of these sanctuaries, women in Kabul now find themselves trapped – physically and mentally. Workers have lost their livelihoods, dignity, and a second home, while clients have lost essential self-care services and a vital space to nurture their mental health. For both clients and aestheticians, a sanctuary – a place where they could experience freedom, boost their confidence, and elevate their mood – has been ripped away. The abrupt loss of these spaces has left a void, one that may be irreplaceable.
Salons across the country have been boarded up, after a July 2023 decree by the Taliban’s Ministry of Vice and Virtue
Many salon workers were the sole wage earners of their families. Coming from disadvantaged backgrounds and having no formal education, the closure of these establishments saw stories of personal tragedies emerge. One worker said she lost her mother to a stress-induced heart attack shortly after the salons were shut down. Another woman now operates in secret from her flat. As the breadwinner for her family, she’s worried that someone might tip off the authorities, who’d place further bans on mobile and in-home services. And brides, who now rely on that, are apprehensive about their big day. One young bride expressed that the joy of having the full experience of a wedding day has been robbed. Following the ban, some beauticians shifted to mobile and home-based services, depending on private referrals for promotion. The woman I visited to have my brows threaded graciously invited me into her daughter’s room, where she had created a small and neat beauty area. A white vanity table, complete with drawers, a mirror, and a black salon chair with faux leather chipping at the elbows and seat, now serves as her makeshift salon. Due to space constraints, her services are limited to haircuts and threading. She spoke warmly of her previous workplace, reminiscing about the ample space and wide array of tools she once had at the salon where she worked, as well as the cherished moments she shared with colleagues and clients. Nevertheless, she maintains a deep sense of gratitude to continue doing what she loves. She expressed, “This is my talent: to make women feel good, regardless of the space.”
This transition to in-home services has deepened the connection between beauticians and clients, fostering a more personal and intimate beauty experience in each other’s houses. Despite the challenges, women in Kabul are resilient and continue to forge bonds, proving that beauty, camaraderie, safe spaces, and self-worth persist even without the physical spaces that once united them.”
Originally published in the October 2023 issue of Vogue Arabia
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