I’ve never been a regular at nail salons. Maybe it’s because a perfect manicure used to last me about as long as it took to open a car door. My hobbies weren’t exactly nail-friendly. However, I’ve always taken care of my nails, kept my cuticles tidy, and usually had a coat of clear polish on. As my friend Sherrie says, “My toes are always polished, except during their winter hibernation.” But recently, I visited nail salons twice in a short period, and both experiences left me deeply disturbed.

Did you know your seemingly innocent manicure could be supporting modern-day slavery?

One salon was in California, the other in San Antonio. In both, the nail technicians – and is “manicurist” a forgotten term? – were young Vietnamese women who barely spoke English. They avoided eye contact and client interaction. If a customer initiated a conversation, a stern figure, the “pit boss,” would materialize, arms crossed, hovering until the conversation ceased.

The “pit boss” in San Antonio was also Vietnamese. The term “pit boss” comes to mind because his role felt similar to those in Las Vegas casinos, ensuring dealers stay in line. This man was small, lean, with a meticulously slicked-back pompadour, expensive belt and loafers, and a perpetually grim expression.

The salon itself was upscale, boasting a juice bar, yet an unsettling atmosphere hung in the air. I observed the ten manicure stations and twenty pedicure chairs, all occupied by customers and technicians. None of the young Vietnamese women wore wedding rings or looked even remotely happy. Smiles were absent. Even the clients seemed subdued. If you were to mute the whir of nail clippers and the Muzak version of “Summertime,” the silence would be almost tomb-like.

If you’re a regular salon-goer, this scene might be familiar. But for me, it screamed red flags.

After my quick polish change, I went home and started researching nail salons. What I discovered was shocking: the widespread growth of nail salons in our communities is, to a significant extent, fueled by organized human trafficking rings. These rings smuggle young Vietnamese women into the United States and trap them in a cycle of exploitation.

Many of these women are escaping unimaginable poverty and horrors in their home country. With no money and few options, they are forced into nail salons, not out of passion for nail art, but to pay off their traffickers and generate profit for their “pit bosses.” Many earn far below a living wage, yet they send a significant portion of their meager earnings back to support their families in Vietnam, often leaving themselves with almost nothing. Tragically, many are also forced into prostitution or illegal activities at night, and it’s not uncommon for ten or more women to be crammed into a single room.

The rock-bottom prices offered by these exploitative salons, sometimes as low as $7 for a Vietnamese manicure, make it impossible for ethical, traditional salons to compete.

The uncomfortable truth is that choosing the cheapest manicure might inadvertently contribute to the horrific reality of modern-day slavery.

So, what can you do? Next time you consider a mani-pedi, be aware. Here are some warning signs that a nail salon might be involved in exploiting its workers:

• Cash-Only Preference: Salons that strongly prefer cash transactions.
• Centralized Tip Collection: Salons where you’re directed to give your nail technician’s tip to the front desk, not directly to them and certainly not in a marked envelope.
• Language Barrier and Isolation: Nail technicians who speak very little English and are discouraged from interacting with customers beyond the service itself.
• Lack of Personal Connection: Nail technicians who avoid personal conversations and only discuss the manicure process.

If you suspect a nail salon is exploiting its workers, don’t hesitate to contact the police and report your concerns. Then, make a conscious choice to find an ethical alternative. Personally, I’m considering revisiting the “pit boss” salon to investigate further. After that, I’ll likely return to doing my own nails, knowing I’m not contributing to this hidden tragedy.