For the homeless residents of Skid Row, hair salons, barbers and beauty supplies can be hard to come by.
That is, unless they’ve heard the name “Miss Shirley,” otherwise known as Long Beach resident Shirley Raines, founder of the nonprofit Beauty 2 the Streetz.
Every Saturday for the past five years, Raines has driven to Downtown Los Angeles to hand out food, supplies and makeup to the homeless residents of Skid Row—California’s most dense enclave of residents experiencing homelessness.
Along the way, she gained 257,000 Instagram followers and 3.8 million TikTok followers. She’s added a warehouse in Signal Hill to store supplies. In 2021, she was honored as a “Hero of the Year” by CNN and awarded $100,000 to continue her work.
“I don’t believe in heroes,” Raines said. “I believe in humanity.”
Around 8 a.m. on Saturday, June 11, Julie “Kricket” Ansbach leaned her head back in a makeshift salon bowl connected to a 10-gallon water cooler.
“It’s my first time ever! 50 years old and I’ve never dyed my hair,” Ansbach said while a volunteer sectioned her hair with clips. She’s lived on Skid Row for over a decade.
“I lost my apartment first. Then I lost my job. I’ve been down here ever since,” she said as a hairstylist wrapped a trash bag around her shoulders. “People ask me why I stay down here. I like the people.”
After stylist London Chaney brushed thick dye onto the tips of her hair, Ansbach sat on a bench and chatted with other Skid Row residents waiting for their turn in the sidewalk salon chair.
“I’m just here to wash hair and give love,” said Chaney, a model and nurse by profession who was homeless from the ages of 15 to 17. “It was people like this community right here helping communities like me when I was homeless. That’s why I want to give back. That’s why I’m here.”
As Chaney began washing the hair of her next client, Ansbach searched through her bag of self-care items: a facial mist, crushed glitter lip gloss, mascara, eyeliner, ultra-matte lipstick and false eyelashes.
“I still put on a little makeup here and there but I don’t need much to bring out my features,” Ansbach said. “I have what they call natural beauty.”
After 30 minutes and a rinse in the salon bowl, the tips of her light brown hair were bright purple.
A few women lingered nearby in plastic hair nets, their locks soaking in a deep conditioner. Others clutched bags of extensions labeled “Fabulous look! Freedom of movement! Fantastic feel!”
Across the way, a barber in a Beauty 2 the Streetz T-shirt wielded a pair of clippers, layering fades into clients’ hair.
Makeshift salons aren’t common in Skid Row. The nonprofits that serve the area typically focus on basic needs like food and shelter.
But Raines believes that personal care services like these offer something that others don’t: an opportunity to escape life on the streets for a moment, “a game of adult make-believe.”
Six years ago, Raines began volunteering with the homeless to deal with trauma from the death of her 2-year-old son in 1990.
“I was trying to make sense of what was going on in my life and trying to find a purpose behind my pain,” Raines said about her journey into volunteering. “A friend from church asked if I wanted to come out and feed the homeless. My first time out there was like, my love at first sight moment. I felt like this community was just like me, broken just like me, that I wasn’t alone.”
Though she was tasked with handing out food, her personal style—a hot pink buzz cut, supersized hoop earrings, neon technicolor nails and false eyelashes that curl up and graze her eyebrows—piqued the interest of the homeless residents she was serving.
Soon, homeless women began asking her for beauty supplies—eyelashes, wigs, makeup, hair dye—and with thousands of Sephora points in tow, she was happy to oblige.
Eventually, she splintered off from the group to start her own venture: Beauty 2 the Streetz.
In 2017, homeless women lined up on the streets of Downtown Los Angeles to have their hair done. Seated in a chair with a Hefty trash bag around their necks, Raines would dip red solo cups into an Igloo cooler full of water to wash and rinse their hair—she hadn’t yet ironed out the mechanics of her mobile salon.
“It was a lot of trial and error,” Raines said. “I realized, homelessness is just a long-term camping trip, you know, on the open streets. So I was like, ‘Let me go to the camping section.’ And that’s where I hit gold. That’s when we really started moving.”
Now, Beauty 2 the Streetz has two salon chairs with attached water bowls and an upgraded water storage system. Raines enlisted the help of a volunteer barber who does haircuts and fades on men and women, as well as a volunteer makeup artist.
Her work is supported mainly through donations from her social media followers, as well as donations from beauty supply companies.
“Over time, our system slowly improved, and is still improving,” she said.
Raines has received plenty of criticism on social media for her focus on self-care—though the nonprofit also provides hot meals, cleaning supplies, clothing and, to the delight of many residents, bowls of ice cream.
“They say, ‘You’re not doing anything. All you’re doing is hair and makeup,’” Raines said. “Hair and makeup is what got me through losing a child. An adult game of make-believe is what got me through.”
Volunteer Cherish Benham was living in Skid Row with her husband and son just two years ago.
“The price of housing is astronomical. I lost my job, then my husband’s hours got reduced, and then COVID hit. That’s what brought us to downtown,” Benham said. “It’s that easy, literally in the blink of an eye. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”
Now, she and her family have their own place, but she still comes back to Skid Row every Saturday to volunteer. She credits Raines, and her own ingenuity, with getting her off the streets.
“When I first came down [to Skid Row], I was going through it. Then I came down here, I got my hair done, I got my makeup done, and it literally boosted my self-esteem to the point where I was able to go get another job,” Benham said. “I knew I was presentable, that I could associate myself with the outside world. That was a wonderful feeling.”
For three hours on Saturday, Skid Row residents walked in a procession through tables lined with supplies: hot broccoli and chicken in takeout containers, hand sanitizer, purple bottles of Fabuloso cleaner, miniature bottles of Tide, makeup and fresh T-shirts.
Every so often, Raines would hear her call to action, “Miss Shirley, Miss Shirley!” She’d walk over to talk to one of her regulars, asking about their lives or plans for the day, or give volunteers advice on what products to use on a person’s hair.
Mid-conversation, her eyes would dart to someone with dirty clothes or empty hands— “Hey baby do you need a shirt? Come over here. Did you get your bag? Get in line over there and we’ll get you taken care of.”
It would be that way for four hours, as residents swept in and out of the street corner lined with tents and makeshift shelters.
“This is not a job, this is not for social media. This is not for likes and blue checkmarks. This is literally my purpose,” Raines said. “I feel like everything that happened to me led me to this place. I don’t feel like I’m Beauty 2 the Streetz despite what I’ve been through, I feel like I’m Beauty 2 the Streetz because of what I’ve been through.”
