We treat our hair like décor. Our scalps like an afterthought. Our shampoos like household cleaners. Our hair color like a guilty secret.
The inconvenient truth is this: hair is dead. Once it leaves the scalp, it’s no longer alive. The biology ends at the root. Everything beyond that point is cosmetic, optical, perceptual. In a category where the chemistry largely plateaus at the follicle, innovation quickly gives way to illusion: shine, texture, fragrance, confidence. That’s what makes haircare such a difficult category. It’s deeply personal, but poorly understood. Most people don’t start with scalp health. They start with shampoo and conditioner, and only go looking for answers once something goes wrong: damage from heat, years of coloring, thinning hair, grays, shedding. For men and women alike, aging turns hair into a problem to manage rather than an expression to enjoy. And yet, unlike skincare, haircare has never fully crossed into cultural seriousness. Skincare has clinical language, professional treatments, a hierarchy of expertise. Haircare has keratin treatments and salon rituals, but much of the outcome is attributed to the stylist, the cut, the blowout. If it works, it looks good. If it works really well, it looks great. But the credit rarely belongs to the product alone.
That ambiguity makes loyalty fragile. Haircare loyalty isn’t built just on efficacy. It’s built on trust, identity, and a person’s emotional relationship with their hair. Hair can empower you or hold you back. It can feel like an asset or an obstacle. Brands that understand and celebrate those nuances tend to resonate more deeply than those that promise universal fixes. In recent years, celebrity haircare has dominated the conversation. Beyoncé, Blake Lively, Shakira. Incredible hair, undeniable presence. But also extensions, wigs, professional teams. Hair as signature, not reality. The fantasy sells, but it widens the credibility gap.
Outside of Oribe, it’s surprisingly hard to name a true luxury haircare brand with both cultural authority and professional respect. Many of today’s leaders lean hard into function. Olaplex, Aquis, even Cécred frame themselves around technology, bonds, systems. Useful, yes. But rarely aspirational in the way a fashion house or iconic beauty brand is. What made brands like Oribe, or once, Bumble & bumble, matter wasn’t just performance. It was point of view. Texture as taste. Hair as culture. A sense of authorship over what looks modern, desirable, in fashion. Backstage credibility paired with editorial authority.
There’s an opening here. Not for more science alone, but for leadership. For a brand willing to move beyond repair and optimization, and instead shape how we see hair altogether. Until then, haircare will remain what it’s always been: intimate, emotional, and oddly underserved for how much it defines us.
