Thinking back to a friend’s wedding and an encounter I had with the makeup artist. Before the day, I had already seen her work. I knew she was good. Her Instagram feed was full of flawless blends and effortless finishes but because I’ve sat in many chairs before, I came prepared with an inspiration picture in hand.
It wasn’t doubt in her skill. It was self-preservation. I know too well how easy it is to give full trust, sink into the chair, and then end up staring at a mirror wishing you could start over. The lighting, the undertone, the way one small detail changes your whole face, these things matter. And sometimes, no matter how brilliant the artist, your idea of “soft glam” and theirs are not the same thing.
So I wanted her to see what I had in mind and then work from there. Like ordering food from a chef, you tell them what you want, but you still let them season it with their own touch. I wasn’t trying to limit her creativity; I was trying to make sure we were on the same page from the start.
When we finally got to talking, I surprised myself by saying, “You can go ahead and do your thing.” It was a last-minute surrender, born from the way she carried herself, steady and assured. That’s when she laughed and admitted she had first thought I was like those overly picky women at weddings. The ones who come in with a list of demands and no room for creative flow.
I could understand why she thought that. She had probably met more than a few who left her drained, fighting to please without being allowed to simply create. In her world, a client with a photo in hand wasn’t just “clear on their vision.” It was someone who might nitpick every brushstroke. From her perspective, she saw another client with a fixed idea. From mine, I saw a professional I respected but didn’t want to leave all the way to chance. Two truths coexisting, both shaped by past encounters, both quietly valid.
And here’s the thing I’ve come to notice: you can come with the softest tone, the clearest intention, and still meet a wall of “oh come on” energy. Not because you did anything wrong, but because the other person is already carrying the memory of the last five people who weren’t so gentle.
It’s the same thing that happens when a customer says “no ice” or “no, let’s take this route” and the server or driver rolls their eyes before even hearing the reason. Or when someone asks for a “chicken cheeseburger, but without the cheese” and the staff resists, not realizing the kitchen makes it differently from a plain chicken burger. Every request has a story behind it, but the story isn’t always read before the judgment is made.
The truth is, there’s an emotional tax to asking for anything, even politely. Some people pay it so often they’ve learned to come in defensive, prepared for resistance. Service professionals pay their own tax too, meeting request after request until they start assuming every one will be harder. In that cycle, kindness doesn’t always pierce through.
But here’s where the lesson sits: we can’t control whether the other person receives us warmly, but we can choose not to add more sharpness to the room. If someone is already bracing for a fight, let’s not hand them proof they were right from the start. If we’re the one bracing, maybe we pause and let the moment prove itself before we decide it’s going to go wrong.
Because as much as it’s easy to say “well, that’s just how people are,” it’s also true that people soften faster when they feel safe. And sometimes, the smallest shift, a lighter tone, a second of patience, the benefit of the doubt can break a pattern that’s been rehearsed for years.
It’s not about pretending kindness always gets kindness back. It’s about easing up on ourselves, on each other so we leave more space for those moments where it actually can.
-Nnenna
Nene's Corner 