Isra Irfan sat gracefully on a plush carpet in her New Jersey living room, the soft afternoon sunlight casting a warm glow over the space as her young son played nearby. Her focus was unwavering as she delicately applied henna to a client’s outstretched hand. Her fingers moved with practiced precision, the henna cone in her hand sketching the contours of intricate leaves and delicate flowers.
Henna, or mehendi, is an intricate maroon temporary tattoo created from a paste of henna leaves. Practiced by communities across South and Southwest Asia as well as West and North Africa, the designs often feature traditional visual motifs like the mandala, peacock, vines, and flowers. This art form is a crucial part of weddings and festivities, especially adorning the palms and feet.
Irfan, 28, became deeply involved in the art after moving to the United States from Pakistan in 2016. “It gives me a homey feeling in this unfamiliar city,” she told Hyperallergic.
Despite her unwavering dedication to her art, Irfan often faces a lack of recognition and respect from her clients. “People really don’t want to pay for henna. I can’t count how many times I’ve heard, ‘Well, back in my home country, henna costs this much.’ It’s exhausting,” she said. “I’ve had to specify working conditions as well. I ask for tables and chairs; otherwise, people are happy to have you work on the floor.”
Continuing to apply the labyrinthine design, Irfan added, “Henna is not considered an art. I get so many people asking for a design that would take an hour or two to be done in 15 to 30 minutes.”
Irfan isn’t alone. Many henna artists working independently in and around New York City face similar challenges. “Art cannot be timed,” said Aarti Abnave, 29, another henna artist based in the city. “People think you could just hold a cone and be done with it because they don’t want to pay as much.” For her, it’s about quality, not quantity: “I don’t just take any booking. I want to make sure my clients understand that for me to deliver outstanding results, they have to trust me.”
After years of balancing henna with a corporate job, Abnave made the leap into a full-time career two years ago. She believes henna artists are underappreciated compared to other wedding vendors. “It’s been four to five years that the prices are stuck, while other wedding vendors have raised their prices significantly,” she said.
“It’s exhausting,” said Sabeen Marghoob, another henna artist in the area, who called the simultaneous demands of creating content for social media to attract clients, managing inquiries, and dealing with last-minute cancellations a “one-person show.”
Marghoob, 29, stood surrounded by an array of ingredients in the cozy confines of her East Village apartment. She carefully measured out pure henna powder from the Indian state of Rajasthan, its deep green hue promising the rich stain cherished by so many, and added a few drops of essential oils along with water and a pinch of sugar. Her hands moved methodically, mixing the ingredients into a smooth, aromatic blend until they reached a velvety consistency, ready to be funneled into cones.