Just a Trim – A Short Barbershop Video Story

I fixed my tie as I headed down the main street and looked at myself in a closed store window. I had spent years perfecting the old-money, preppy aesthetic: the dark navy double-breasted suit, the crisp high-collar white shirt, and the long, wavy locks that went past my collar and laid down just right. I had no business going into that barbershop, or any barbershop. But I loved playing with the idea, and I had been getting closer to stepping into that old-school barbershop for months now.

I turned the corner and saw the barbershop’s pole light. The shop was still open, even that late on a Friday night. I looked inside from across the street. He was there, as every Friday. The worst barber in that place, I didn’t even know his name.

I had once seen a hipster guy with a long pompadour come in. I couldn’t help myself, I had to stay and watch what happened. I went into the coffee shop across from the barbershop and nursed a coffee as the barber massacred the guy’s hair. First, he gave him a brutal short back and sides, with whitewalls and barely any hair left to comb on top, making him look like a schoolboy. And then he razor-shaved the thick hipster beard and left just a short, tidy mustache. The poor guy left the shop in shock, touching his bare scalp in disbelief. That day, that sadistic barber caught me looking. He stood in the doorway for a couple of minutes, staring right at me, until the next client entered the shop. I have thought about those tense few minutes many nights in the darkness since then.

But now there he was, by himself, closing the shop, as he did every Friday. I stood in the dark, waiting, watching him sweep a mountain of hair. If I ever ended up in his chair, he would have even more hair to sweep. I ran a hand through the back of my hair, it had been a while since my last visit to the salon. It was too thick, even for me. I did need a trim. But that was not the time or the place.

I resumed my way back home when I saw the barber turning the sign on the door to “Closed”. Even if I had dared to walk in, it was too late… Right? It had been such a shitty week, I wanted to get a hit of adrenaline so badly… He was already closed, he wasn’t going to make an exception for me.

Before I knew what I was doing, I crossed the street and opened the glass door I had passed by so many times before. A chime announced my presence as the barber turned and pierced me with an unfriendly stare.

He stood there, silent, taunting me to say something. It was the first time we were actually close. I gazed upon the strong, masculine face I had seen so many times from afar. He was still handsome for a guy in his 50s. Perfectly clean-shaven, rugged, with a short, slicked-back taper. A true classic. He pierced me again with his green eyes.

I wanted to get out of there, but the adrenaline was exhilarating. I just wanted to see how close I could get to the fire before burning myself. I mustered up all my courage, and yet I struggled to get out a proper sentence: “Good evening, I was hoping to get… a haircut.” I heard myself as if someone else were speaking for me. I didn’t sound like the VP of my company, I sounded like a scared little boy.

The barber walked a few steps toward me: “We are closed.” I saw my opening, relieved: “Sorry to bother you. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

I turned and headed out, thinking my plan had worked perfectly. I had gotten my adrenaline rush, and now I was safely on my way home. His voice called out to me: “But you won’t come back, right, boy?”

I froze in the doorway. I could feel my heartbeat throbbing in my eardrums. Was he calling me out? How dare he? I turned toward the barber as he continued: “You walk by the shop every day. You look inside. You don’t have the guts to come in.” I didn’t know how to answer. We both knew he was right.

He scoffed, disappointed. “You thought you could come in late and take a rain check.” I had enough. No one talked to me like that. I decided to leave, pretending I didn’t know what he was talking about: “This clearly was a mistake.”

But he hadn’t finished yet. He sounded angry, like a disappointed father. That sounded familiar to me. He inched closer: “You have your suits and your pretty hair, but you ain’t ready to be a real man.”

My mouth went dry. I stammered, but I couldn’t get any words out, and I couldn’t move. He approached the first barber chair, his chair: “Prove me wrong. Take a seat.”

He turned the chair away from the mirror to face me. My mind was reeling. If I walked away, I was telling him he was right: I was frightened, I didn’t have the guts. And I didn’t want my hair cut short. I needed to leave. Quickly.

The barber sensed my hesitation, and he didn’t ask. He commanded me: “Now, boy.”

I still don’t know why my body moved before my mind could think it through. I couldn’t stop myself. I crossed the barbershop and sat in that red leather chair where I had seen so many guys get scalped. My mind started racing: “Stand up! You don’t want a haircut.”

But my pride wouldn’t let me move. I wasn’t going to let him win. He wasn’t right about me.

The barber wasted no time. He took the cape me and secured it around my neck way too tightly. I had imagined this moment so many times before, I knew what was coming. He leaned closer and put his hands on my shoulders.

“Okay. What’s it going to be?”

I hadn’t taken it this far in my mind. I didn’t have an answer prepared. What did I want? I had fantasized about getting a barbershop haircut, like when my father used to take me to the barber’s. But I had no idea what haircut I actually wanted. I hated having my hair cut. I still hated it when my stylist took off more than usual. What was I doing here?

I… I didn’t want a short haircut. I loved my hair. It had taken me years to get it to look just how I wanted: a powerful mane fit for a king.

I knew there was no way he was going to let me get away with it, but I… I had to try. I didn’t want him to scalp me. I tried to sound as firm and in control as I could: “Just a trim, please.” There was a long, tense silence. Did he hear me? I felt his hands gripping my shoulders tighter: “Just a trim?”

The barber walked to the counter. I was still turned away from the mirror, I knew he liked to cut his victims’ hair just like that. They weren’t in control, he was. I heard metallic noises as he picked his tools: “You’re not really used to hearing no.”

Oh, God. He was going to shear me too. I decided in that instant that I would get up from the chair if I heard the clippers turning on. This had gone too far. I then saw him holding a comb and scissors. Maybe all the other guys had asked for short haircuts. He was a barber and I was his client. He had to do what I asked, right? Maybe it was all in my head…

Then he spoke calmly, letting me know this was not a discussion. The decision had already been made: “I don’t do trims. You need a good haircut, son.”

I didn’t have time to react, I felt him comb my fringe down. I managed to utter a meek “Wait” as I felt the cold metal of the scissors midway down my forehead.

And then came the loudest crunch I had heard in my life, as the scissors ruthlessly closed and sent my fringe falling onto the cape. No. Damn. What the hell…?

He almost mocked me: “Well, no turning back now.”

I knew this was just the start. This was no longer a fantasy.

*** Dear readers. I started this story as a written piece, but it evolved into a short video story. I had to learn AI video generation for work, and I used this story as inspiration for a little personal project. I’ll try to write an ending for the story here too, for those who prefer it in written form, but you can watch the full story here: youtu.be/1D2FFjmr0r4 . Or just search for “Just a Trim – A Barbershop Haircut Story” on YouTube.

I hope you enjoy this little experiment as much as I have enjoyed creating it. I want to clarify that I didn’t use AI for the writing, only to generate the videos for the short movie.

Dear moderator, I hope this is not against the rules of this wonderful site. If it is, please feel free to delete the links to the video and leave just the story. ***