CENTRAL CITY EXTRA

No. 45, April 2005

Unseen peril

Manicurists, most of them Vietnamese, face health risk
by Lorraine Sanders and Tom Carter

A hot health issue in the Bay Area that hasn’t hit San Francisco yet involves nail salons, a cottage industry that is licensed by the state but has little oversight and is largely self-policing. Nail salons pose health risks to the public, and hidden long-term risks to the workers.

It started in December, when state health inspectors cracked down on salons in San Jose after scores of customers broke out with skin rashes that wouldn’t heal and oozing sores that had baffled doctors. Then, in January in Oakland, instances of mold cropped up after manicures and pedicures. And in February, health inspectors were sent to check salons in Martinez after six patrons who’d had pedicures contracted mycobacterial furunculosis, which causes boils on the lower legs.

These hygiene-related problems aren’t the potentially biggest health risks at nail salons. We didn’t find or hear of any cases of toxic injuries caused by the chemical-laden workplace that is a nail salon or beauty shop. Yet there is plenty of concern that the pleasant ritual of providing manicures and pedicures may pose hidden health risks that a single ethnic population would bear the brunt of – the Vietnamese, especially women.

It’s a business that is dominated by women, a preponderance of them Vietnamese American, who comprise upward of 82% of California’s 42,000 licensed manicurists, according to Tin Nguyen, the founder of a new organization, Vietnamese Nail Care Professional Association based in Modesto. (see sidebar.) And it’s a business that is easy and inexpensive to to get into. Shops seem to be proliferating everywhere but in the Tenderloin.

Surprisingly, there aren’t many nail salons here – The Extra located six – though there are as many as 5,000 Vietnamese in the neighborhood, and some work in nail salons, says Philip Nguyen, CEO of Southeast Asian Community Center. In an e-mail interview he explains why the Vietnamese have gravitated to the salon business:

“Most if not all Vietnamese are refugees and they want to work desperately for their living, to get themselves out of public assistance, and to support their loved ones still in Vietnam. Only a very small percentage can speak fluent English. They will jump into any businesses which do not require much English, have short training and or training in Vietnamese and low capital for opening the business: Nail salons fit in very well with their expectation.”

They are taught about the toxic dangers hidden inside the glitzy packaging of the glamour products they use in their work. Sections of the manicurist curriculum in beauty schools stress the potential peril and offer safety tips and procedures. But, unlike the hygiene problems, the toxic risks are likely long-term.

Nail salons use products with names like Pink Champagne and Dewy Fawn that, environmental specialists say, contain countless untested chemicals, posing toxic risks.

The bottles and vials, cans and tubes of beauty products ubiquitous in nail salons also can sicken and, potentially, even kill you. This assortment of containers and dispensers holds chemicals that are volatile, toxic and at the very least irritating if they come in contact with skin or are breathed in over a period of time.

According to Danette Schmidt, a former nail technician who heads the nail technology program at San Francisco Institute of Esthetics and Cosmetology on Folsom Street: “If you do it for eight or 10 years, you can get really sick from it.”

One especially loathsome, illegal product that is sometimes used when applying acrylic nails is methyl methacrylate, or MMA, an adhesive developed for dentistry.  MMA was banned by the federal Food and Drug Administration in 1974. The institute has a brochure warning consumers about it. MMA has excessive and unusual odor, toxic vapors, eternal gripping power and it’s  cheap.

“Sure,” says Aaron Palm, the institute’s manager, “for 10 bucks you can get a big bag of it. And it just doesn’t come off. You need a drill to get it off—which is legal—but that can lead to infections. If you are paying less than $20 for a full set (of plastic nails) you are getting MMA.”

Because legal adhesives smell almost as bad as MMA, the colorless liquid may be hard for a consumer to distinguish when it’s being applied. But women who later accidentally fall down discover it the hard way. They don’t break a nail, according to Palm, their whole nail peels back. 

No one really knows what these products can do; they can only offer educated guesses based on known characteristics of the ingredients. There are more than 10,000 ingredients in uncounted products, according to a June 2004 report on nail products by the Environmental Working Group, a D.C. nonprofit with an Oakland office. And the Food and Drug Administration has no control over their use in cosmetics, the group reports in “Skin Deep,” its in-depth study of the problem.


The desire for arty fingernails keeps the job market rosy for manicuists.

Acetone, benzene, ethyl ether, fiberglass, formaldehyde, toluene are among the more familiar chemicals used in the vast assortment of polishes, glues, thickeners, hardeners and other compounds that are employed by cosmetologists. A recent U.S. Environmental Protection Agency report lists 26 potentially dangerous chemicals found in nail products alone. Prolonged exposure to any of these chemicals could be harmful, the EPA says, potentially causing a range of health effects from minor rashes to cancer. But how much salon workers are at risk is largely unknown. 

In partnership with the University of California’s San Francisco Community Occupational Health Project (COHP) and School of Nursing, the Asian Law Caucus has visited more than 100 Oakland nail salons to assess environmental and safety issues and provide education about workers’ health and legal rights.  But at this time the project will not go as far as offering nail technicians clinical exams to test for illnesses, according to Nan Lashuay, COHP’s director and an assistant professor at UC’s School of Nursing.

Small nail shops are notoriously tight-lipped about their operations. That’s because a large proportion of them are family-owned and operated by recent immigrants,  said T. Van Do, a community advocate for the Asian Law Caucus.

Many Southeast Asian workers come to the United States without the English language skills necessary for most jobs, and the nail technician licensing exam is available in Vietnamese. Once licensed, most people work for relatives or family friends, Do said. In talking with Oakland nail technicians, Do found few who understood their rights or the possible health hazards of their jobs. But even if they did, she is not sure they would act differently.

“The nonconventional employer-employee relationship really complicates matters,” she said. “In many instances, it makes it really difficult to assert their rights, even if the workers know they have rights.”

If workers do understand the health risks they face in salons, they are likely to consider them a necessary part of the job.

Nail salons are largely left to themselves to implement health safeguards, unless consumers complain to the state Board of Cosmetology and Barbering.

“We encourage people to file complaints,” said Patti Roberts, the board’s spokeswoman. 

With only 18 inspectors statewide, consumer complaints play a role in how inspectors are deployed. In December, for example, seven inspectors were sent to San Jose after skin infections broke out at nail salons.

Jessica Easterling, a former nail technician, said: “The majority of nail salons I’ve seen barely clean up after the last customer before ushering the next customer into the ‘relaxing heat and massage chair/foot bath,’” she said. “The prospect of disease doesn’t relax me in the least.”

The Asian Law Caucus, the COHP, and the newly created Vietnamese Nail Care Professional Association (VNCPA) are trying to improve workers’ conditions. Tin Nguyen, a son of nail professionals and founder of the VNCPA in November, said change would only come from better communication, which his organization aims to improve by contacting salon owners, compiling an industry newsletter, and assisting workers with everything from form completion to communication with the state board.

“They are really underserved, and the communication is just not there,” he said. “Some chemicals are dangerous, and nail care professionals just don’t know that.”

The demand for manicurists is rising rapidly in the beauty industry, according to the U.S. Department of Labor. Employment of manicurists and pedicurists is expected to increase by a third in five years, almost twice the rate as for hairdressers, cosmetologists and skin care specialists, the department reports.

Vietnamese in California are responding in record numbers, too. Projecting from  the first eight months of 2004-05 data, it’s likely that 3,000 more Vietnamese-Americans will have taken the manicurist test than last fiscal year’s 5,246, a 43% increase. 

Results of the manicurist written test—given by a private company under contract with the state both in English and, since 1996, in Vietnamese—show a rise in the number taking the English version, too. Last fiscal year, 2,333 took it in English. In the first eight months of 2004-05, that total had been bested by 18.  

            How the test came to be offered in Vietnamese is a bit of a mystery. According to one story, Tippi Hedren, the tortured female lead in Alfred Hitchcock’s film “The Birds,” was the influence. Known more as an animal-rights advocate, Hendren was moved by the plight of refugees coming to America in the late 1970s and visited a Vietnamese resettlement center in Southern California. There, a Vietnamese woman gave her a manicure. Apparently charmed by the woman’s manner and concerned by her lack of English, Hedren pushed the state to offer the language option on the written test.

Tin Nguyen of the Vietnamese Nail Care Professional Association doesn’t buy it. “The timing isn’t right,” he says.

All that state board spokeswoman Patti Roberts is certain of is that the state responded in the 1990s to “many requests” for the test in Vietnamese. 

Regardless, the job was a natural fit for hardworking refugees.

Salary and tips for manicurists can bring as much as $50,000 a year—depending on the salon site and the worker’s personality. It’s cheaper and easier to become a manicurist than a cosmetologist. To be licensed in California, the cosmetologist course of study is  1,600 hours and can cost $10,000; manicurists need 400 hours at a fraction of the cost.  The Board of Barbering and Cosmetology determines the minimum curriculum for schools.

“The occupation doesn’t require a lot of skills—more about learning the tricks of the trade and you’re pretty set,” Tin Nguyen explained. “Most either enter the business because they know there’s support, from family and friends. We’re a close-knit community. Another reason is, we’ve established hui.”

Hui is a centuries-old Vietnamese practice much like the Chinese mutual aid societies that provide credit and investment opportunities. It’s an alternative to banks and loan sharks.

Lorraine Sanders writes for the Neighborhood Environmental Newswire, which provided critical support for this story. Tom Carter is the Central City Extra’s staff reporter. Geoff Link and Marjorie Beggs of The Extra contributed to this piece.

(sidebar) Cozy shop in the Tenderloin

“Oh honey,” says Angel Martinez, glancing over her shoulder, “I can tell you this is an excellent shop.” She is getting a full set of acrylic nails and the Vietnamese woman hunched over her hands sitting across from her is wearing glasses and a mask.

“Yes, I have been to all of them,” Martinez says in a husky, authoritative sigh. “And the rest are rude and rough. They don’t care about the consumer. And they giggle and laugh at you. But this woman—I call her sweetheart—is very gentle and takes her time.”

The woman is Lan Chau, married and with two grown children. Her husband, Wong, is sitting in the back of the unassuming shop at 409 Eddy they have operated for almost four years. When anyone comes in for a haircut, he’ll hop up and accommodate them in one of the two chairs in the middle of the room.

It’s a cozy place. His wife’s manicure table is up front by the window, a display of nails and polishes nearby. Here and there are decorative touches of their Asian culture and hanging on the wall across from the table are a half dozen colored acrylic blankets in transparent plastic, more evidence of the former refugees’ drive to supplement their income.

The shop is called “Lyn’s,” an Americanized version of Lan. There are at least six salons in the Tenderloin doing nails and many more serving the hotels along the neighborhood’s northern and eastern borders. Some are exclusively nails, others also offer hair cuts, or it’s barbering and nails. Seldom will anyone talk to a reporter. They are simply not interested, can’t see the point of it and perhaps are offended by the intrusion.

Martinez stumbled on Lyn’s a year ago after Tony’s nail shop at Eddy and Hyde closed, whereupon she drove herself crazy trying places on Polk and elsewhere, getting pushed out of shape by young Vietnamese girls who she thought were “vicious and ornery and prejudiced.” She could have tried Lyn’s first. It was right across the street from the Jefferson Hotel where she lives. Now, she estimates she has been to Lyn’s 40 times.

“I refuse to go to other places,” Martinez continues, “and I tell all my girlfriends that, too. I send them here. How many? Oh, I dunno. Yes, more than two or three.”

Lyn says very little as she works. She’s the antithesis of the gabby barber, and so the shop is peaceful and unobtrusive. Her husband, who laughs frequently in conversation and isn’t rendered shy by his struggle with English, is more inclined to talk to a reporter. But at some point he does not want to be quoted in a newspaper. With his permission, I move over to sit in the chair next to Lyn and Martinez where the nail enhancement process has been going on 25 minutes. 

Lyn is coating the nails for polish to come. She does two to eight full acrylic nail jobs a week.

The vapors from the materials are so strong and harsh it is almost dizzying. At least one shop in the neighborhood won’t do acrylic nails for that very reason (see sidebar). My eyes sting slightly and I mention it.

“Yes, it is strong,” says Martinez. “I don’t see how they don’t get sick.”

Soon it’s done and Martinez is delighted with her full set in bold pink. She fishes in her purse for $25 and adds a $5 tip. Another customer is waiting.

The next week, concerned about the health issue, I return to the shop, one of two in the Tenderloin where someone was willing to talk to a reporter. I invited along Philip Nguyen of the Southeast Asian Community Center. He quickly established a rapport speaking in Vietnamese with Wong Chau whose wife was busy with a manicure.

Nguyen explained that the couple had been reluctant to talk because some of the questions were “too personal” about the shop and their lives. He said they didn’t want to say anything “bad” about anything and only wanted to say “nice” things.

I said that I hadn’t meant to offend, and perhaps we could continue, now that they feel more comfortable with Nguyen assisting.

“You know, these people were refugees and had nothing, zero, and left a horrendous situation,” Nguyen said. “They’ve all worked very hard, some even have taken three jobs.”

“We are boat people,” Wong said. “1980.”

Wong said that good weather means good business and people are freest with their money at the beginning of the month. The Chaus’ goal is to make “a good living.”

I asked about Lyn’s health and if she was ever affected by the materials she used for the acrylic nails.

“Feel fine so far,” said Wong. “No, never dizzy.” Wong said his wife always follows the right procedures and she observes all the warnings on bottle labels.

—Tom Carter

(sidebar) Geary Street salon  turns up nose at acrylic nails

Kathy Thai has been in the hair and nail salon industry more than 15 years but she won’t touch acrylic nails even if they are popular and her shop’s business is down. 

“Too smelly,” she said one Saturday afternoon at the 800 Geary St. shop she leased two years ago. “People just don’t like the smell, the chemicals.”

 The 44-year-old single mother of two, a licensed cosmetologist, was washing windows without a customer in sight for the manicure table next to her and the four black and chrome salon chairs in back. She hadn’t a clue why business has been off recently, she said, but suggested there just may be too many shops.

Hers is one of six hair and nail shops in the Tenderloin The Extra found. Although the industry is on the upswing, it is not as pronounced here as in Oakland where a Chronicle reporter found 11 in one two-block stretch.

Working two jobs, as a waitress and an electronic engineer, enabled Thai and a girlfriend to open a Larkin Street salon in the 1990s. But soon other shops popped up nearby and after five years they sold it to the employees, most of them Vietnamese. Thai found this spot on Geary and her girlfriend found another in the Sunset.

“You can’t keep help,” Thai said, running a squeegee down the front window.   “The girls come work for experience—they need the training—and after two or three years they quit and start their own business. Everybody opens a shop.”

Thai is in the shop Fridays and Saturdays, times that fit her waitress schedule at the Lucky Chances casino in Colma. — Tom Carter

(sidebar) Estimating ethnicity

The number of Vietnamese manicurists in the state is inexact but it is probably four out of five of the licensed 42,000. California “does not take any ethnicity information about licensees,” according to Patti Roberts, spokeswoman for the Barbering and Cosmetology board.

However, Tin Nguyen of VNCPA bought the state’s list of 7,905 salon owners and counted Vietnamese last names (among them, his parents) to arrive at an estimated 6,500. Nguyen further calculates that between “30,000 and 35,000,” or “80% to 82%,” of the licensed manicurists are Vietnamese American.

The figures roughly coincide with the ratio of applicants taking the written test in Vietnamese and English, keeping in mind that some new generation Vietnamese would take the test in English and others can’t be identified by name because they’ve married a non-Vietnamese. — Tom Carter

 

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