Dictionary Policing: What Omaha’s “Censored Shop” Tells Us About State Cartels

If you’re in Omaha’s Blackstone District and you’re looking for a good cocktail, you might stumble into a tucked-away speakeasy now called the “Censored Shop.” Until recently, it went by “Barber Shop Blackstone.” According to the Nebraska Examiner, that name wasn’t a trick—it was a nod to the owners’ dad, who spent his life as a barber.

Mike DiGiacomo and his siblings opened the lounge in the same building where their father, Don (“Don the Barber”), cut hair for decades. So they leaned into the theme. The place had an old-school name, a small red, white, and blue pole tucked behind an ice machine, and even a barbering-history documentary looping in the background.

Here’s the thing: nobody was walking into a basement cocktail bar expecting a haircut. Still, after a local licensed barber complained that the tribute was “disrespectful to the trade,” the Nebraska Board of Barber Examiners got involved. The message to the siblings was basically: change the name, or risk serious penalties.

Not wanting to get buried in a legal fight right away, the family temporarily renamed the shop “Censored Shop.” But they didn’t drop it. They teamed up with the Institute for Justice and filed a federal First Amendment lawsuit. Their point is simple: the state shouldn’t punish a business for using everyday words and familiar symbols—especially when customers aren’t being misled.

This is where the story gets bigger than one bar. Occupational licensing boards can make sense when they’re focused on real health and safety issues. But many boards are dominated by people from the very industry they regulate. And when that happens, it’s not hard to see how “protecting the public” can start to look like “protecting the insiders.” If a board is spending time (and taxpayer resources) policing a cocktail lounge’s name and décor, what problem is it actually solving?

The Platte Institute has been making this point for a long time: Nebraska should take a hard look at licensing rules that go beyond protecting people from real harm. Too often, these rules raise the cost of starting a small business—or stop someone from trying at all. And even when the state eventually backs off, the damage is done. Owners lose time, money, and momentum they could’ve spent serving customers and growing.

Entrepreneurs in Nebraska shouldn’t need constitutional lawyers just to open their doors—or to honor a family legacy. The “Censored Shop” dispute might sound like a quirky local story, but it points to something serious: how easily regulators can threaten harmless speech and squeeze out competition. Lawmakers should rein in licensing boards, clearly limit what they can enforce, and ensure regulation serves public protection—not protecting incumbents.