Afghanistan Times
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KABUL — In Taliban-controlled Afghanistan, survival for many women now begins behind unmarked doors and in whispered conversations. For Simin, 22, her once-thriving beauty salon has transformed into a hidden lifeline—operated in fear, veiled in secrecy, and driven by the necessity to feed her family.
Clients arrive cautiously, parking blocks away and avoiding Taliban patrols. Inside, Simin cuts hair and applies makeup, a profession that was once open and booming until the Taliban ordered the closure of all women-run salons in 2023. The regime denounced them as sites of “un-Islamic” behavior, accusing salon owners of indulging in vices like eyebrow plucking and makeup use. Since then, Simin’s only option has been to continue working illegally. “I’m worried that the Taliban will find us, but I have no other choice,” she told The Washington Post. “It’s our family’s only source of income.”
Under the Taliban’s extreme gender segregation rules, women are banned from secondary and higher education, pushed out of public life, and barred from most employment opportunities. Initially spared, the country’s 12,000 beauty salons offered a rare public space for women to gather—until they, too, became targets. Now, with their businesses dismantled, many women are retreating to the underground economy, risking arrest, punishment, or worse.
Some, like 30-year-old Sawita, chose not to take the risk. Her salon, once the source of income for her mother and five siblings, was shuttered. She now teaches leatherwork in a basement, making bags and shoes for meager pay. Her family has downsized into a cramped one-room home, and the looming presence of the Taliban’s morality police remains a source of daily anxiety. “What I miss most about my old life is waking up early, reading the Quran, and then going to work,” she said. “That was my definition of freedom.”
While Taliban authorities have not specified exact punishments for women who defy the salon ban, the United Nations has documented several arrests of those who resisted. The Ministry of Vice and Virtue insists the rules are based on Islamic law, claiming that services like bridal makeup place undue financial pressure on families and violate moral codes.
For women who grew up under the U.S.-backed government, the collapse of opportunity is especially devastating. One former World Bank employee says she has stopped applying for jobs altogether. “There’s no hope here,” she said.
Though Taliban officials claim they’re providing women “safe and secure” workspaces—in gender-segregated markets or female-only institutions—many women report constant surveillance, vague restrictions, and arbitrary enforcement. A female contractor at a radio station was forced to hide during a Taliban inspection. She resigned soon after.
Some women have moved their businesses online, selling jewelry, cosmetics, or crafts. But even these ventures are struggling. With a crumbling economy and the Trump administration’s sweeping cuts to U.S.-funded humanitarian and development aid, female-led startups are faltering. Beheshta, 23, began selling cosmetics in 2023 and quickly built a loyal clientele. But over the past six months, her revenue has dropped by 20 percent. “At first I blamed myself,” she said. “But then I realized: everyone is struggling.”
Even well-connected business mentors like Fariba Noori say international funding for women’s ventures has dried up. “All we want is to empower women to stand on their own feet,” she said. But those feet are growing tired—worn by closed doors, shrinking freedoms, and fading dreams.
As for Simin, she says her goal is no longer to grow her hidden business. She dreams now of leaving the country. “I want to study again. I want to live somewhere I can work without fear.”
In today’s Afghanistan, such aspirations are no longer ambitions—they are acts of defiance.
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