Beauty parlours that are forced to operate covertly say they are worn down by the Taliban’s systematic extortion and blackmail. They explain that they work out of sheer necessity—to earn a piece of bread for themselves and their children—yet Taliban security sectors continually threaten them and demand pay-offs. These hairdressers add that some of their clients, exploiting connections within the Taliban, also issue threats. If the stylists charge a normal fee or refuse to cut prices, the customers warn that they will inform the Taliban about the hidden salon. In addition, Taliban fighters who come ostensibly to “inspect” the salons often carry off beauty supplies such as make-up, hair dye, and other cosmetics.
This report draws on interviews with ten hairdressers and several of their customers. Three of the stylists declined to be named even under aliases. Yet, confirmed they are compelled to pay the Taliban, citing security threats and family problems, they refused to make an on-record statement. All names that do appear in this article are pseudonyms.
Following the decree that outlawed women’s beauty parlours, hairdressers have had no choice but to take clients secretly into their own homes to make ends meet—an act fraught with hazards. They say they live under continuous Taliban pressure, threats, and extortion, and at any moment they may be arrested, their homes confiscated, or even their customers placed in mortal danger.
Mahnaz (pseudonym), one such beauty parlour, tells the Hasht-e Subh Daily that Taliban fighters call at their houses under various pretexts and exact payments. “Every time the Talibs (Taliban fighters) come, they search the house,” she says. “We plead with them not to arrest us or close the salon. After we beg, they say their salaries have not arrived or are too low, and that they are ‘co-operating’ with us, so we must give them something sweet. Each time we hand over two or three thousand Afghanis, they leave, but another group soon shows up.”
Mahnaz explains that fighters from the local Taliban police station arrive two or three times a month. On one visit, they ask from outside the home, “Is anyone bothering you?” or instruct, “Do not allow men into the house,” then come inside and compel the women to hand over money. “We were forced to pay every time. I have since relocated, and for now, they have not found my new place.”
Shabnam (pseudonym), another stylist, describes the same pattern of extortion. “At first, they threaten us: ‘Your work is illegal. Why are you working? Where are your husbands? Report to the station.’ Once they agree to take money, they say their wages are small, and sometimes they even carry off a make-up kit or hair-dye.”
She notes that two or three Taliban fighters usually enter while others wait outside. “One does the talking; the rest stand behind him, confirming every word. We have to pay them what they call shirini—a bribe—and even thank them, because if we do not, they become offended and claim they have shown us favour.”
Shakila (pseudonym), another Kabul hairdresser, says she has lost many clients; only a few long-standing ones come, and only rarely. Customers, fearing Taliban detention or trouble, seldom dare visit hidden salons. “Under the previous government, the least I took from a bride was ten thousand Afghanis,” she recounts. “Now, with the economy ruined, I must set prices according to what each client can afford.”
For clients who still have means, she can charge fifteen or eighteen thousand Afghanis for bridal styling; those with limited means pay as little as five thousand. “The Taliban then take their cut,” she adds, “sometimes extorting up to one hundred thousand Afghanis in a single month. During the republic, I earned fourteen thousand for a hair highlight, but now I must do the same job for four to five thousand.”
Mehrsa (pseudonym), once owner of a licensed salon, used to pay a fixed monthly tax to the state, contributing legitimately to the economy. Now she works in a hidden corner, unsure how or where the money she pays the Taliban is spent. “I have set up a tiny salon just to survive,” she says. “We groom one or two brides, yet nothing remains for us. The Taliban member insists that if we do not pay, they will shut us down. We have apprentices, household expenses, and children whose schooling the Taliban have already cut off. You tell me: after styling one or two brides, what is left for us?”
Shamsia (pseudonym) has been a stylist for eight years and was trained for three. “I am thirty-two and have two children,” she explains. “I started to earn alongside my husband, but a few years ago he died, so now I must support the family. Under the Taliban, our work volume dropped to half, and then they closed many salons altogether.”
Back when she could work openly, women visited cheerfully, spending on beauty. “The Taliban first imposed restrictions, and we obeyed—but it was not enough for them, and finally they closed all salons,” she says. When the closures came, she could not style hair for a long time. “The home is private, so out of sheer need, we let clients inside and trust them, even though bringing strangers into a house poses countless risks of theft or insecurity.” Sometimes, customers threaten them, assistants move away, and the salon shuts. “But when I face severe financial need, I start again. The Taliban arrive, we discuss our problems, they extract a shirini and leave. Paying rent, children’s expenses, apprentices’ wages, and Taliban bribes is nearly impossible.”
Some stylists also complain about customers who threaten them, saying they will tip off Taliban district offices unless prices are slashed below even the cost of materials. “We are hounded from every side, by men and women alike,” says one. “They extort us, and we have no idea how long this will continue. If the Taliban leave us no livelihood, they must decide something for women. Many of us are heads of household. They cut off even our nightly bread. Under this crisis, what are we supposed to do? We have no option but to migrate—but we cannot even afford that. We are trapped in bewilderment.”
Sitayish (pseudonym) calls the closure of salons “painful and disastrous.” “They forbid women to work,” she says. “They should have allowed us to operate legally and pay tax, but instead, they take bribes through unlawful, covert means amounting to theft. This cannot continue. Stylists should be allowed to work openly and pay taxes. Right now, we are forced into illegal work and forced to pay bribes. Many women have no one to rely on. If they cannot work, what should they do?”
Parwana (pseudonym) states bluntly that the Taliban extort money from women’s salons. Some well-known stylists, she notes, now pay the local Taliban each month—“like a tax”—to keep their customer base. “At first, there was no permission at all, but now, because some stylists have many clients and do not want to lose them, they pay monthly, and the Talibs let them continue.”
Her shop was closed; she moved operations home, but “they threatened several times that they would arrest hairdressers along with their clients. Out of fear, I quit. Only in urgent cases do I style someone in secret and leave no trace for the Talibs to follow. Women are allowed to work neither outside nor at home.”
Suraya (pseudonym) says stylists who have a website or a visible address on social media are especially exposed to Taliban threats and extortion. Large salons employing many staff must hand over heavy bribes just to survive. “I have no apprentices,” she adds. “Sometimes only friends drop by, and I do very basic make-up.”
Among the ten stylists, three expressed satisfaction with the current arrangement, saying they feel at ease working from home and claiming that Taliban fighters treat them well and do not demand money.
Several women who frequent clandestine salons say that stylists operate in poor conditions, haunted by Taliban threats. When women feel trust and privacy, stylists complain more openly about their plight. Yet even in interviews with the media, despite assurances of anonymity, they cannot reveal the full truth, instead resorting to self-censorship out of fear for their safety.
One customer recounts: “Hairdressers have many grievances. They say they must bribe the Taliban; otherwise, the fighters will forbid them even from working at home and harass them under various pretences. Though some stylists trust journalists, they still cannot tell everything—they fear falling into Taliban hands. So, when we go in person, they open their hearts and speak of their problems.”
Mohammad Sadeq Akif Mohajer, then spokesperson for the Taliban’s Ministry for the Propagation of Virtue and Prevention of Vice, told the media in July 2023 that all women’s beauty salons had been closed on the verbal order of Hibatullah Akhundzada, the Taliban Supreme Leader. The ministry instructed Taliban-run municipalities not to issue licences for such centres.
After the order, a group of hairdressers staged protests in parts of Kabul, demanding to be allowed to keep working. Taliban fighters dispersed the gatherings with aerial gunfire and water cannon. Shouting “Bread, work, freedom!” and “You have taken my pure land; do not take my food and water!” women assembled outside several salons in central Kabul.
The United Nations Assistance Mission in Afghanistan (UNAMA) later wrote on X: “Reports of the violent suppression of women’s peaceful protest against the salon ban— the latest denial of women’s rights in Afghanistan—are deeply worrying. The people of Afghanistan have the right to express their views peacefully, and the de facto authorities must uphold that right.”
Human Rights Watch reacted in July 2023 by calling the prohibition “another sign of the Taliban’s war on women.” It urged the international community to condemn such restrictions forcefully and to expand tangible support for women of Afghanistan.
Amnesty International likewise described the closure of salons as “the deliberate use of power to remove women from society.” The organisation said the Taliban had stripped women not only of civil and political rights but also of their right to work, financial independence, and human dignity.
Since taking power, the Taliban have closed the doors of all schools and educational institutions above the sixth grade to girls and barred women from universities, gyms, parks, and employment in state institutions, the private sector, and even United Nations agencies. They have ordered women to dress so that only their eyes are visible and to travel more than seventy-two kilometres only with a male relative.
Under the Taliban’s virtue-and-vice law, a woman’s voice is labelled awrah (something to be concealed), and women are urged to stay at home.
Richard Bennett, the UN Special Rapporteur on human rights in Afghanistan, has said: “Severe, systemic and institutionalised discrimination against women and girls lies at the heart of Taliban ideology and governance, raising concerns that they may be responsible for establishing gender apartheid.”
Mr Bennett has repeatedly voiced concern over Afghanistan’s human-rights situation, particularly the rights of women. His reports highlight systematic discrimination, gender apartheid, violence, and the suppression of protests under Taliban rule.
Earlier, the Hasht-e Subh Daily published an investigative report from seven provinces showing that, after the Taliban’s bans on women’s education and employment, many women and girls had turned to addictive substances. They said smoking, “Tablet K,” “Tablet Zeegap,” and electronic hookahs were the only relief they knew from psychological pressure, depression, and hopelessness born of school closures, shrinking job prospects, escalating restrictions, forced migration, Taliban imprisonment, family pressures, and forced marriages.
You can read the Persian version of this investigative report here:
آرایشگاه حرام، اخاذی حلال؛ طالبان از زنان آرایشگر باج میگیرند | روزنامه ۸صبح
