A few weeks after moving to a new town, I went to a local salon to have my roots touched up.
I was on the fence about getting a haircut. I loved the cut I had, and it had only been six weeks. But when they asked, I said yes anyway. I’m not sure why.
From the moment I walked in, something felt off. The place was quiet—too quiet—and not in a peaceful way. There was an old television playing dated shows at a volume just high enough to be distracting. The products they claimed were “organic” didn’t seem to match what I saw on the shelves, and when I asked about them, I didn’t get clear answers. Still, the couple running the salon was kind. Really kind. And maybe that’s what made it harder to trust what I was seeing.
At one point, while waiting longer than expected for the color to process, I had the sudden urge to just get up and leave—with the smock still on and dye in my hair. I didn’t. I stayed. I didn’t say no to the haircut either, even though every instinct was telling me to.
The result was exactly what you’d expect when you ignore your gut. I ended up with a haircut I didn’t want, uneven ends, and a lingering feeling that I had watched it all happen in slow motion.
For a few days, I let it go. The couple was nice, and I didn’t want to be critical. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized something bigger was bothering me. It wasn’t just the haircut.
Around the same time, we had purchased a new refrigerator that we hadn’t seen in person before ordering. It arrived with multiple small issues—nothing catastrophic, but enough to make daily use frustrating. The ice maker wouldn’t stay in place, the door didn’t always close properly, and the overall design just didn’t quite work. We also replaced a coffee maker that had lasted for years, only to return the new one within weeks. It looked sleek, but it was difficult to clean, didn’t pour well, and left us wondering how something so basic could be so poorly thought through.
There were other moments too—small ones, but consistent. A return process that took far longer than it should have, a service experience that felt disorganized, and restaurants with glowing reviews that didn’t match the reality. Individually, none of these things mattered all that much, but together they started to feel like a pattern.
I began to wonder whether the bar had shifted, or whether we have simply stopped being honest about it. We rely heavily on ratings and shared experiences to guide our decisions, yet five stars has come to mean something closer to “good enough,” or sometimes just “nice people trying their best.” Kindness absolutely matters, but it doesn’t replace quality.
At the same time, I understand the hesitation. It’s uncomfortable to leave a critical review. No one wants to hurt someone’s business or livelihood, and there is always a human on the other side of that feedback. But without honesty, the system doesn’t really work. If everything is five stars, then the distinction disappears.
So I went back and wrote a few thoughtful, honest reviews. Not harsh or emotional—just accurate. What worked, what didn’t, and what someone else might want to know before making the same decision. It felt like a small thing, but perhaps it’s not. It may be one of the quieter ways we shape the world we move through—not by complaining, but by telling the truth.
Thanks for taking the time to read. I’d love to hear your thoughts!
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