There are Saturdays when the universe seems to have a personal problem with you.
This particular Saturday? The universe wasn't just upset. It was being dramatic.
In the past two years, I don't think I've had a day quite this chaotic. On Thursday, a client cancelled because of a fever. This morning, another cancelled because of food poisoning. By noon, I was sitting in a rooftop parking lot, calling my colleague to figure out where she was.
Turns out, she'd mixed up the time.
And our client was waiting for us at 1:30.
At that point, I was ready to declare the entire day a professional disaster. But then I met our client, and suddenly, my little problems didn't seem so little anymore.
She was supposed to be celebrating her birthday. Not just any birthday, but the kind you've carefully planned, postponed, and rearranged so everyone you love can be there. The cake was ordered. The DJ was booked. The outfit was probably hanging somewhere, waiting for its big moment.
And the venue?
Double-booked.
Someone else was already celebrating a baby shower in the space she'd reserved.
Because apparently, one celebration wasn't enough for that room.
She found another place, but you could tell that something in her had already switched off. The excitement she'd probably been building up for weeks had been replaced by disappointment.
And isn't that the worst part about making plans? It's not always the actual problem that hurts. Sometimes, it's watching the version of the day you imagined slowly disappear.
My colleague and I started working on her hair and makeup. My colleague, being the optimist she is, told her, "We're going to create beautiful makeup and hair, and you'll feel better right away."
I looked at our client's eyes.
They said, I'm not convinced.
And honestly? I understood.
Sometimes, when you're upset, the last thing you want to hear is that everything will be fine. Especially when everything has, in fact, not been fine.
She wasn't being difficult. She wasn't ungrateful. She was simply a person who had a hard time accepting that things weren't going according to plan.
We've all been there, haven't we? Some of us just hide it better.
So I tried a different approach. A compliment here. A random question there. A little conversation, a little reassurance. Nothing too obvious. I could tell she knew what I was doing, but I kept going anyway.
In my head, I was having a very serious conversation with myself.
Keep going, Katerina. Just keep going. By the end of this appointment, you'll see her smile.
Then her boyfriend announced that he wouldn't be able to make it on time because the celebration had been pushed back by an hour.
Another disappointment.
At this point, I was beginning to wonder whether this birthday needed an event planner, a therapist, or an exorcist.
But then he gave her a compliment, telling her she looked like she was from Hollywood.
And something shifted.
Maybe it was the compliment. Maybe it was seeing herself in the mirror. Maybe it was the combination of being cared for, feeling beautiful, and finally having something go right.
Whatever it was, the room started to feel different.
Of course, we weren't quite done yet.
At one point, I did her under-eye makeup in a way she wasn't used to wearing, and she panicked. I could see that she was close to tears.
You know those moments when you've already had enough, and suddenly, one tiny detail feels like the final straw? When it's not really about the makeup, the outfit, or the plans anymore, but about the fact that you simply cannot deal with one more thing going wrong?
I knew that feeling was somewhere in the room.
So I stayed calm and told her it wasn't a problem. We could change it and do it her way without ruining the makeup.
She looked surprised. Then she thanked me.
And I thought, It's such a small thing. But maybe it isn't small to her.
I don't believe makeup artists are therapists. We don't have the answers to everything, and we're certainly not responsible for fixing everyone's life before they leave the chair.
But I've started to think that beauty appointments can be a kind of therapy in their own way.
Not because a perfect hairstyle solves your problems. It doesn't. A flawless eyeliner won't fix a double-booked venue, and a good contour won't magically make everyone arrive on time.
But sometimes, having someone stay calm when you're falling apart a little can make a difference.
Sometimes, it's having someone notice that you're disappointed without making you feel embarrassed about it.
Sometimes, it's being told that something can be fixed — and actually believing it.
By the end of the appointment, she looked beautiful. More importantly, she seemed to feel beautiful, too. She was smiling, her energy had changed, and the disappointment she'd walked in with no longer seemed to fill the entire room.
We hugged, and I left in peace.
Which was interesting, considering that just a few hours earlier, I'd been convinced the day was ruined.
And it got me thinking: how much of our work is actually about what we do with our hands, and how much is about what we bring into the room with us?
As a stylist, sometimes I have to be the professional, sometimes the problem-solver, and sometimes, somehow, the older sister — regardless of whether my client is older or younger than me.
And yes, sometimes the hardest part is keeping my own emotions in check while helping someone else manage theirs.
But I love my clients. I really do.
And I don't stop encouraging people just because my first attempt doesn't work.
Because maybe happiness doesn't always arrive in one big, dramatic moment. Maybe it accumulates.
A compliment. A reassuring smile. A little patience. A detail you take the time to fix. Someone who doesn't make you feel silly for being upset.
One small thing after another, until the room feels lighter and you remember that the day isn't necessarily ruined after all.
And if there's one thing this chaotic Saturday taught me, it's that sometimes, you can't change someone's plans, their circumstances, or even their mood right away.
But you can keep showing up with care until something shifts.
And isn't that, in its own way, a kind of beauty?