Stop being a yes person

When I tell you I’m a yes person in recovery, I’m not exaggerating.

I literally got an award at Paul Mitchell school for being the “Best Yes Person” in the entire school from Be Nice or Else club leading up to our graduation. Yes, that was a real thing.

(Please excuse me while I go scream into a pillow.)

Okay, I’m back.

So many of us—especially women—are raised to be yes people from the jump.I’m talking infancy. Taught that “no” is a bad word. Taught that being agreeable, helpful, and accommodating is how we earn our place in the world. From home, to school, to cosmetology school, to makeup school—I was taught to be a yes person. And let me tell you: it has never done me any good.I’ve lived through the consequences, and I’ve watched it blow up on people around me.

People-pleasing is poison. And I’ve been detoxing for years.

I really started breaking the habit when I was working on set. I was constantly thrown into situations with big personalities and high expectations, and I had to learn fast how to say:

That won’t work. Here’s what will.

When I was in makeup school, one of my teachers told me:

“If a director asks you to do something and you don’t know how, don’t say no. Just say yes—and figure it out later.”

That’s probably the worst advice I’ve ever been given.

It teaches you to overpromise, underdeliver, and to not stand in your expertise. And if you go back to set with a look that doesn’t work? Congrats—you’ve just wasted everyone’s time.

Our job as artists—and as professionals—is to say:

That won’t work because of XYZ… but here’s an alternative. It’s about communicating clearly and offering real solutions, not just saying yes to avoid discomfort.

A yes story gone wrong

Let me paint you a picture.

I was working as an assistant at a corporate salon—the kind where saying yes to a client was the golden rule. Say yes, get them in the chair, ring up a service. That was the whole vibe.

One day, a walk-in client came in with bleached hair. She had previously dark, curly hair, and wanted her curls back. So what did she ask for?

A perm… I think you already know where this is going.

I walked by during her consultation. The client literally pointed at me and said, “I want my curls to look like hers.”

At the time, my hair was virgin, healthy, and living its best curly life. But trust me—if bleach touches my curls, they vanish.

The stylist smiled and said, “Absolutely! I can do that.”

Not just yes—but a full-blown promise.

And I just stood there, silently thinking: Are you seriously about to do this?

But I was an assistant. And assistants, at that point in the industry, were like mid-century children: seen but not heard.

So the stylist went through with it and it was a disaster.

The perm didn’t bring back curls. It caused more damage. Like… hair melting off kind of damage.

The client cried. The manager had to come over, apologize profusely, comp the entire service, and offer every product under the sun to make it right.

And all of that could’ve been avoided… if the stylist had just said no.

The moment I finally told someone to fuck off—well, not literally, but close enough—remains one of my most cherished memories.

And not just someone—a photographer—A department head.

A man named… well let’s call him Nick.

When I started at this photo studio as a hair and makeup artist, I thought, This is it. Career-level shit. I’ve made it. I was determined to prove myself—my skills, my value, my place on the team. And like so many of us do, I proved it by always saying yes. To everything. To everyone.

Enter Nick. Head photographer. Resident ego in the building. He thought he was so cool. Knew everything. Ran the show—even when he wasn’t supposed to.

During marketing campaigns, every department was supposed to collaborate:

• Photographer picks the lighting + setting

• Stylists handle wardrobe

• HMU team handles the beauty

• Creative Director guides the overall vibe

But one day, the Creative Director wasn’t in—and Nick decided he was in charge of everything.

We were shooting a gown. He wanted the model outside with her hair down. Cool idea—except we were in the middle of a fucking windstorm.

At this point I’d been there a year and a half. I was over it. I started getting more comfortable pushing back with coworkers, but I still held my tongue around department heads. Especially Nick. Big fragile ego.

But that day? I pushed back. I said, “No. We can’t shoot outside—it’s a windstorm. Her hair’s gonna be flying everywhere.”

Did he listen? Of course not.

We go outside. Not just outside—up on the roof. And not just the roof—he puts the model on a platform ten feet in the air, which she has to climb up to with a ladder.

Cool cool cool. Now I can’t even reach her to fix her hair.

He’s on the ladder himself, half-perched, trying to get a low angle shot.

The wind is doing its best Wizard of Oz impression. Her hair is whipping in circles like it’s trying to levitate.

Then he turns to me and snaps, “Julia, are you going to do anything about this?”

I looked him dead in the eyes and said:

“What the fuck do you want me to do, Nick? You think I’m a fucking magician? You think I can control the weather? I can’t even fucking reach her.”

Silence. Then: “FINE. We’ll go back inside.”

And now—not only did we waste time—I had to fix the chaos. Her hair was tangled, full of dust and air pollution. I told him, “We can’t shoot with her hair down now. It’s wrecked. I’ll have to put it up.”He finally listened. I did the updo. We got the shot.

Was I “difficult”? Probably. Do I give a shit? Absolutely not.

That moment was one of the best of my time there. I finally said no. I stood up for myself. And I told a man with a god complex that I was not a weather-controlling beauty sorceress.

Still proud of it.

Got your own story ? A did that really just happen moment?

Or maybe you just need advice on how to stand up for yourself without spiraling after?

Submit your questions right here for the advice column.

Sometimes we do hair, sometimes we scream in the alley behind the salon. Either way I got you !