Growing up, I never thought I’d bond with my dad over grooming. He was all about function: a quick shave with a disposable razor and a bar of soap for everything. Me? I hoarded skincare samples and spent hours crafting the perfect routine. But over the years, I came to realize that grooming, in all its forms, was something much deeper. It became our bridge to connect, understand, and strengthen our relationship.
My dad grew up in a generation where self-care, especially for men, wasn’t a topic of conversation. Grooming was basic, something you did to get ready for work or church. Anything beyond that was seen as unnecessary, even vain. “Back in my day, we didn’t have all these fancy products,” he’d say, looking at my shelf of cleansers, serums, and moisturizers with curiosity and confusion. But as I grew older, I noticed the little things about his routine—how he carefully cleaned up his face before shaving or always kept his hair shiny. Even if he didn’t call it self-care, my dad had his own rituals and way of presenting himself to the world.
For much of my childhood, we didn’t talk a lot about grooming or anything else, really. My dad and I weren’t the type to sit down and have heart-to-heart conversations. He worked long hours, and when he was home, he preferred to listen to jazz, watch documentaries about Jesus, or clean up the entire house. On the other hand, I was expressive, writing in my journal, being on the go, hanging out with my girls, and always spending time with my mom. My dad and I were opposites in many ways, and I often wondered if we’d ever truly understand each other.
The turning point came during the pandemic. I moved back to my hometown in Maryland and started experimenting with facial scrubs and masks, trying to keep my skin clear during the stressful time in the world. I started working in the beauty space, testing many products. One evening, my dad entered the room while I unboxed eye creams. “What’s that?” he asked, eyeing the box. When I explained, he chuckled and said, “Does it work?”
That simple question opened the door to a new kind of conversation. I showed him how to use the eye cream, and he liked it so much that he asked me to make a batch just for him. From there, our bond began to shift. Grooming became our thing—a way to spend time together and learn from each other. I introduced him to the joys of eye creams, exfoliation, and moisturizers while he taught me the importance of a good, close shave. My oily skin had always been frustrating, and I’ll never forget the day he shared his old-school shaving tips. He showed me how to soften my skin with warm water before shaving and angle the electric razor just right to avoid irritation.
I came out to my father during the pandemic. To my surprise, he took it well, saying, “it’s about time you came out to me. Nothing’s going to change that.” It was one of our favorite personal conversations, and grooming helped us navigate our evolving relationship. It wasn’t always easy, especially in the Black community, where masculinity and ego can take place in these topics of conversation. But this became a space where we could connect without judgment.
As our grooming routines leveled up, so did our relationship. Sunday sessions became our thing—we’d try out new products or bring back old favorites. Some days, we’d chat about skincare; other times, the convo would dive into deeper stuff—his childhood, my future goals, and the life lessons he wanted to share.
I wore a buzz-cut fade haircut for years because it was easy and low-maintenance, just like my dad’s style. But as I grew older, I started embracing my natural curls. It wasn’t an easy transition—learning to care for my hair took time and patience, and there were moments of frustration along the way. He’d even help me pick out products that helped my curls, when I couldn’t reach the barber. Through it all, I realized that our grooming journeys, while different, were rooted in the same desire: to feel confident and authentic in our skin.
What really hit me was how much pride my dad had in his appearance. He’d always had that confidence and vibe in how he carried himself. You couldn’t miss it when he stepped out of the house with a nice suit, fresh shave, and shoes shining like he owned the room. He got it from my grandfather.
My dad, brother Keith, and I are breaking stereotypes—such as it being weak or self-centered— in the Black community around self-care. Rather, it’s about self-respect, celebrating your roots, and owning your power. For us, it’s a way to say, ‘I see you, and I care.’
Now my dad’s the one teaching me all the grooming hacks—he’s basically a pro at this point. We’ve come such a long way from bar soap and disposable razors, and our bond has never been better.
My dad may never fully appreciate my love for face masks or matcha-scented scrubs, but that’s alright. What matters is that we’ve found a way to meet in the middle, to share a piece of ourselves that we might have otherwise kept hidden. And every time I see him rocking his perfectly lined beard or bragging about his “new skincare routine,” I’m reminded of how far we’ve come and how much further we can go.