From Blonde to Bald: A Journey Through South America

A girl, Cara, stood in front of a large window overlooking the city of Santiago. Large mountains backdropped the skyscrapers, a mix of old and modern buildings. She had never seen a city like it — it was a bustling metropolis dwarfed by snowcapped mountains.

Meanwhile, her twin sister stood in the hotel bathroom, flat-ironing her hair. Every day, Emma insisted on straightening her hair to perfection before spritzing it with sea salt spray to give it that natural, tousled look.

“You know you aren’t going to have time to straighten your hair every day while we’re trudging through the desert.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I don’t care about impressing some bugs,” she replied. “But as long as there are people around, I think we should both try to look presentable.”

Cara furrowed her brows, staring at her choppy blonde layers. Unlike Emma, her appearance was the least of her priorities. Right now, she was more focused on how she would get through eight months in the wilderness…with him. Her father, a freelance photographer and documentary filmmaker, had a reputation for tenacity. They were traveling through the rainforest, the wetlands, and the ice caps of Peru, as part of an extensive documentary shoot. His role? Capturing the effects of climate change, especially on wildlife. Because they knew he’d do whatever it took to get the shot.

“God, I’d rather be exploring the city than be wasting my life watching you get ready. And the last thing I want to hear is you complaining. ‘Eww, I stepped on a bug’!”

“Shut up, Cara! You’re the one who literally never wants to do anything.”

“Girls, please.”

Her father stepped into the room, holding the camera lens. With his lips pressed together and his eye pressed against the viewfinder, he looked annoyed as he walked to the window to snap a picture of the city.

Cara turned away, facing the wall. It was pointless to argue with her, especially with his father around. He never stepped in and tried to solve anything, just stood there silently, looking annoyed, like it was far below him to deal with. It was why their parents had split. Why his role in their life had been sporadic. Cara sighed, putting her hood on.

—

The next day, they woke up and headed to a nearby coffee shop, unusual for their father, who usually slept in while they explored the city. His face was dark and serious, and a shadow of brown hair covered his face and the sides and back of his head. As usual, he had a huge backpack and carried a large camera with a long, telescoping lens around his neck. While Cara and her sister bantered and admired the latte art, Daniel sat there silently, sipping black coffee.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

Cara immediately set her pastry down. She never knew with her father. With him, it could be a last-minute change of plans, a new assignment, or anything really.

“I’ve booked an appointment with a barber tomorrow.”

Emma blinked. Not sure she understood.

“I decided that you two are coming with me. We’re going to shave our heads together.”

Emma spat out her coffee, eyes widening in disbelief.

“What?”

Cara heart raced. It was another level of crazy. Even for him.

“We’re going to be spending a lot of time in extreme climates. Even if it’s winter, there’s going to be a lot of walking, camping, getting dirty. You’re going to need something practical.”

Emma raised her eyebrows. They both knew that once he set his mind on something, there was no going back. Arguing was futile.

“Why do we have to shave our heads, though? Why not just give us a short haircut?”

Her father cleared his throat. “When you’re out in nature as much as I am, you realize selfhood, quote unquote, looking presentable — none of it really matters. I think it’s time you two shed that delusion.”

Emma touched the back of her head, looking nervous. “Will we have to keep it like that?”

Daniel shook his head. “I think it’s best you maintain it,” he replied. “But if you want to grow it out, at any point, I won’t stop you.”

Emma set down her latte, on the verge of tears, while Cara glared at their father. It wasn’t enough that they had agreed to come with him — to work as his production assistants — he had to add another level of humiliation by making his teenage daughters look like old men.

Daniel leaned back in his chair, staring at the paper cranes on the ceiling. “I just texted you the address of the barbershop,” he said. “Come meet me at 4 p.m. Sharp.” 

—

The two girls stood in front of the barbershop, the straps of their backpacks pulled tight. 

She hadn’t even had time to absorb the news. In fact, she’d even forgotten that this was happening as she and her sister had just spent hours at the market — looking at everything from fresh fruit to brightly colored fabrics and eclectic jewelry. But now they were here. In front of “Rose’s barbershop” next to a cell phone repair shop and a convenience store. 

They spotted their father, holding his camera, and followed him in. The shop was busy. There were about six chairs, four of them filled with men of varying ages getting their hair cut. Each barber station was crowded with various haircutting implements, all packed together in seemingly random order. The floor, a cheap tile, still had hairs from previous haircuts and the magazines at the front were crinkled and dog-eared, the corners of their pages curling up. 

When the workers saw Daniel, they said something in Spanish and immediately signaled for the girls to come to the back. Two barbers, a light-skinned guy with thick arms and a shaved head, and another guy with much darker skin and a slight frame, were waiting for them. They didn’t seem especially shocked by the request, just said a few things to their father and then immediately got down to business. The skinny one spoke Spanish to Cara, and based on context, she set her bag down and got into the chair, her sister following closely behind. They looked at each other nervously, still in disbelief that this was happening, that they were about to be shaved bald. 

Cara’s barber worked faster. He immediately grabbed a black cape, traces of hair still sticking to the fabric, and flung it over Cara’s shoulders. The man and her father exchanged a few words before he reached towards his station, grabbing a pair of bulky white clippers. Meanwhile, Emma’s barber had disappeared to the back of the shop. Cara looked at her sister, eyes widening. A part of her wanted to run out of the shop, but the other part reminded her that it was only temporary — her hair would grow back, most likely before she even finished her freshman year. 

The man switched on the clippers, their power almost industrial. Cara closed her eyes, telling herself she’d be fine. The barber hovered the clippers over her head. He asked if she was ready, in Spanish. Closing her eyes, Cara nodded. So it began. 

The man moved the clippers closer to her ears. She felt him make contact with the back of her head, the noise drowning out the sound of chatter and movement that filled the shop. The sound changed, grew higher as it sliced through the first blonde locks of her hair. The man tilted her chin forward and pulled the clippers to the back of her crown. Cara looked at the mirror. Then at her sister, who was now being caped. The two girls laughed, still in disbelief.

Then the man made another pass — this one also at the back of her head. A clump of blonde hair fell into the cape. Then another pass. Cara looked over at her sister, who was about to start being shaved, then at her father, who was recording them with his camera. The barber made another pass, this one right by her ear. He had gently pressed it down to make sure it didn’t get caught in the blades. Cara looked in the mirror. Still not really able to see the damage, she noticed the back layers were now gone. The barber worked around her ears and slowly to the front of her head. Emma’s barber had also started his work, shaving the back of the head, the clippers removing the hair with industrial efficiency. Right now, it was uneven, like a machine had swallowed her hair. And short with uneven stubble where the clippers had shaved. Unlike Cara, who was still taking it in, Emma was biting her lip, her blue eyes growing watery from the shock of the transformation. 

Now, Cara’s barber moved to the front of her head. He shaved a path right in the middle of her head. Blonde hair fell over her face and into the cape in massive clumps. She felt the path, rough with stubble and pulled out more severed strands. After shaving the middle, he worked his way to the left side of her head and then the right, shaving the rest of her head with impressive efficiency. 

Between the two of them, huge clumps of golden locks covered the floor. Cara’s barber made a few more passes over the sides and back of her head, removing the remaining blonde strands. At this point, Emma was nearly bald too, her hair peeling away like melted butter to the blade. 

Cara’s barber flicked off the clippers and then walked to the back of the shop. Uneven brown stubble covered her head. She had never looked more like a boy, but between the clicks of the camera, Emma’s sobs as she was shorn, and the other clients turning to watch them, she couldn’t really get a good look. By the time her barber had returned with a hot towel and placed it over her head, Emma was completely shorn too, her barber going over all the spots he missed thoroughly. Emma looked at her sister, tears filling her eyes, while Cara flashed her a heart to make her feel better. 

Hot water seeped into her scalp — it felt good, but that feeling didn’t last. As Emma’s barber placed her towel, Cara had hers removed. The barber returned with a bowl of shaving cream and a large, round brush. Using his brush, the barber painted Cara’s scalp until it was completely white and then removed a blade from a pouch of metal tools. 

Starting from the front of Cara’s head, he delicately ran the blade over the remaining bits of her hair. Emma’s sobs grew louder when she realized what was happening. They weren’t just “shaving” their heads — they were getting the full bald-as-a-cueball service. Unlike earlier, the barber worked slowly, peeling off the final layer of hair, being extra careful around the hairline, erasing it completely. Cara’s vision blurred, her eyes filling with tears. She felt him work for several minutes, the blade going over different areas of her head, before he wiped it off using the towel that hung off her shoulder. 

While earlier she looked trendy and cute, now it looked like they’d placed an old man’s head on a teenage body. Her nose and eyes were still red from crying. And clients getting standard haircuts were still sneaking glances. Yet as the barber finished up the final passes, a strange resolve formed. Whatever challenge her father threw at them — like forcing them to traverse through South America as bald as cueballs — Cara would conquer — no crush. Until her father had no choice but to be impressed, to acknowledge them. As the barber wiped her head for the final time, and the camera clicked, Cara furrowed her brows in focus. Emma was still crying, but once they finished at the shop and her father paid at the counter, her tears would dry up too. 

“What do you girls think of your new haircuts?” Their father asked.

Emma pressed her palms to her scalp, feeling the cool skin. Cara did the same. She imagined how strange they must have looked, two bald foreigners — twins — touching their heads in the middle of the street. 

“I don’t really like it,” Emma said honestly. 

“I don’t either,” replied Cara. It felt strange and vulnerable. 

Their father looked at them both. “I think you two are very striking.” He said. “One day, I think you’ll learn to embrace it.” 

The twins sighed. The walk to the hotel was just under five minutes — but as they made their way back, they could feel the stares, how they stretched the time to infinity.

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