08/19/2026
Downtown AF Vol. 6: No Watering Down
I was downtown minding my own business.
Mostly.
I had an appointment with Zach Adams of 1221 Photography to have some photos taken for reasons that are currently top secret and none of your business.
Was it for the Business Journal? Illinois Times? Something else entirely?
Yes.
I genuinely donāt know. People keep asking me questions and taking my picture lately, and at this point weāre all just going to act like thatās normal.
Anyway, somewhere between Zach pointing a camera at me and me trying to look like a functioning adult (if anyone can do itā¦he can.), he mentioned a place down the street I should check out.
The Identity Lab
627 E. Adams Street.
Hair salon. New ish business. Interesting owner. Very Downtown AF.
This whole series started because I wanted to actually look at downtown again. Walk through doors Iād normally pass. Meet the people behind them. Figure out why they chose downtown, what keeps them here, and what theyāre trying to build.
So when one downtown person tells me thereās another downtown person I need to meet, apparently I just go now.
Thatās how I met Candace.
And I wasnāt entirely sure what Iād walked into.
Candace is a wonderfully chaotic ball of energy who somehow gives the impression that sheās having six thoughts at once and has decided all six deserve immediate attention.
Within the first few minutes, we had covered hair, charm bracelets, custom hats, Chicago, downtown parking and the condition of Springfieldās collective a$$.
Weāll get back to that last one.
At one point she looked at my hair and immediately started diagnosing the situation.
Lower the fade. Tighten the sides. Connect this. Fix that.
And listenā¦
I would have let her.
The woman clearly knows hair.
But Iām in a committed barbershop relationship with Scotty at HAIR OF THE DOG BAR/BERSHOP and I am not jeopardizing my happy home over a spontaneous downtown haircut (see you tomorrow pookie!).
I have morals.
Boundaries.
Luxurious locks.
From there though I started looking around.
At first glance The Identity Lab is a hair salon.
Spend a few minutes with Candace and you realize she wants it to become considerably more than that.
The space itself is open and intentionally minimalist. White walls have a faded, almost exposed rustic finish that fits the boho aesthetic sheās building, softened by gold accented lights and furniture.
Along one wall are wide brimmed hatsā¦what I professionally refer to as fancy white lady brunch hatsā¦including several with intricate designs burned directly into them.
Near the front sits a small charm station where you can build bracelets and anklets.
Given another twenty minutes I absolutely wouldāve made one.
Not for myself, obvsā¦
Although I wouldāve looked fabulous AF.
Candace describes the vision for the space as a mix of boho, gold, Aladdin, and Indian wedding level opulence.
Soā¦basicallyā¦bougie.
BUT hereās where things get interesting.
She wants the room to look bougie.
She never wants anyone walking through the door to feel like they have to be.
āI want people to feel like they belong hereā¦as themselves.ā
Sheās worked in salons where people felt intimidated before they even sat in the chair. Places polished enough that someone might walk through the door and immediately wonder whether they belonged there.
Candace wants the opposite.
Make it beautiful. Make it interesting. Make it a little extraā¦But leave the judgment outside.
āTalk about it. Feel about it. Cry about it. Nobodyās judging you here.ā
Thatās when this stopped being a story about a hair salon.
Because eventually I asked where the name came from.
And Candace told me about losing hers.
She had spent years working in another salon and had become deeply successful there. Eventually that place became intertwined with how she saw herself.
This is where I work. This is what I do. This is who I am. Then she lost the jobā¦
Around that same period of her life, she experienced another devastating loss when her boyfriend, the father of her children, passed away.
Sheās a single mom. She built what you see at The Identity Lab on her own, putting her own money into an empty space and trying to figure out what came next while still figuring out what came next for her.
āWhen that happened, I lost my job at this salonā¦it was my identity,ā she told me. āI lost my identity the day I got let go from there.ā
And suddenly the name made perfect sense.
The Identity Lab.
A place born at least partly from having to answer a question most of us spend our lives avoidingā¦
Who are you when the things you used to define yourself by disappear?
For Candace part of the answer was building something new.
And now she wants other people to have somewhere they can experiment with that question too.
Maybe itās hair.
Maybe itās style.
Maybe itās jewelry.
Maybe itās one of those sweet hats you burn a design into yourself.
Maybe itās sitting in a salon chair and finally saying out loud the thing youāve been carrying around all week.
Hair is deeply tied to identity, and sheās right about that.
We cut it after breakups. Grow it during reinventions. Dye it when weāre bored. Shave it when weāre done giving a shĀ”t. We use clothes, jewelry, tattoos, makeup and a thousand other little choices to tell the world pieces of who we are before weāve ever said a word.
Candace wants The Identity Lab to be somewhere youāre allowed to play with all of it.
Without shame.
Without judgment.
Without watering yourself down.
That last part matters to her.
As she talked about eventually bringing other stylists into the salon, she told me finding the right people matters more than simply filling chairs.
āIām a different kind of person, and I donāt really water myself down,ā she said.
Then came the part I loved.
She doesnāt want the next person to either.
āI just want a space where you can be totally yourself.ā
There are probably considerably easier business modelsā¦
But I like this one.
Nowā¦about parking.
If youāve followed Downtown AF for more than five minutes you already know Springfieldās favorite downtown recreational activity is complaining about having to park farther than seventeen feet from our destination.
Candace lived in Chicago.
She has thoughts.
āItās not bad,ā she said. āYou have to walk a block? Walk a block.ā
Then our conversation somehow evolved into a discussion about how walking everywhere in Chicago gives you stronger legs and glutes.
Which ultimately gave us perhaps the most real solution to downtown Springfieldās parking crisis anyone has offered thus farā¦
āFirm up your a$$, Springfield.ā
City development officials, youāre welcome.
Put it on a billboard. Run it on your social media.
What started as a completely spontaneous conversation with a wonderfully chaotic woman ended up becoming something I wasnāt expecting.
When I first walked in, I wasnāt entirely sure Iād found my next Downtown AF story.
Then Candace started talking about losing herselfā¦
And finding herselfā¦
And creating somewhere other people could do the same.
Thatās when I knew.
Because downtown doesnāt need another collection of businesses desperately trying to look like every other business out there.
It needs people willing to build something that looks like them.
Messy.
Beautiful.
Unfinished.
A little bougie.
Maybe slightly chaotic.
But honest.
The Identity Lab is still becoming whatever The Identity Lab ultimately becomes.
And maybe thatās the most fitting thing about it.
Because so is Candace.
So am I.
So are you.
Identity isnāt something we figure out once and carry around for the rest of our lives. Sometimes life changes it for us. A job ends. Someone we love is no longer here. A relationship falls apart. Kids grow up. Plans change. The version of ourselves we were absolutely certain about suddenly doesnāt fit anymore.
And then we have to decide who comes next.
Maybe thatās what I like about this little salon on Adams Street.
Candace didnāt find the identity she lost.
She built another one.
Then she opened the door and created a place where other people are allowed to do the same.
No shame.
No judgment.
No societal standard prerequisite to belong.
And absolutely no requirement to make yourself smaller, quieter, less weird, less complicated, or more palatable before you walk through the door.
Come as you are.
Figure out the rest while youāre here.
Maybe get a haircut.
Maybe make a charm bracelet.
Maybe buy one of those sweet brunch hats.
Hell, maybe just talk to somebody.
Because downtown doesnāt need more people trying to become what they think everyone else wants them to be.
Neither do the rest of us.
So whoever the hell youāre becomingā¦donāt water them down.
