HairApparent
This story serves as a sequel to Amelia Seeks Equality, Part 5 – The Freshers Initiative, and one can enjoy it independently without the need to read the original story.
Prologue
The air in Jason Silk’s penthouse was thick with the scent of expensive wine, the lingering aroma of my own perfume, and the musky scent of our bodies.
I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, wine glass in hand, looking out over the city lights. Behind me, I could hear the rustle of sheets as Jason sat up. He was a man who had built a technology empire, NuChip, with a supremely logical mind, intuitive engineering skills, and incredible determination.
Yet here he was, tangled in the messy and illogical reality of an extramarital dalliance with a female student half his age.
‘You’re thinking again, Amelia,’ he said, his voice gravelly. ‘It is dangerous when you think as it usually costs me either money or sleep.’
I turned, my expression a mask of professional poise that did not falter despite wearing just a skimpy silk robe. Even in this situation, I had secured my hair in a tight and impeccable topknot on top of my head, as always. It was a masterpiece of deception. To the world, it suggested a wealth of long and thick tresses coiled with discipline. The reality has always been that my fine hair was a major disappointment, refusing to grow past my shoulders. If I could not have the mane to equal a princess, I would wear the crown of an authoritative queen.
‘I am thinking about the problem with your new employees, Jason,’ I said, walking back toward the bed with a predatory grace. ‘You may remember,’ I chided playfully, ‘that we met because you mentioned the issue to Leonora Ashton.’
He nodded sheepishly, lightly caressing my body. ‘Yes, I do remember, but once I had met you and seen how beautiful you are, then other emotions took over my body,’ he grinned. ‘However, I do recall Leonora praising you, saying you demonstrated excellent organisational skills during your summer internship a couple of months ago.’
‘Exactly,’ I said without any sense of humility. ‘And that’s why I agreed to see you.’
‘You agreed to see me?’ he scoffed. ‘You do know I am a tech billionaire, and –’
‘Yes, and I am half your age and halfway through studying for a business degree,’ I admonished. ‘So?’
He looked suitably chastened, despite that giant gulf between our financial and societal status. ‘So, respecting Leonora’s opinion as I do,’ he went on, ‘I asked her to arrange a meeting with you, as I would value your assistance.’
‘That’s better,’ I chuckled, giving him a playful poke in his toned chest. So, your latest female recruits, attracted initially by the profile of your company and the high salaries you offer, look more like runway models trying to outdo each other rather than employees of a high-profile technology firm. You said their hair and attire were distractions among themselves and they had caused resentment with your established employees, eroding the culture you want to build.’
‘That’s a perfect summary, Amelia,’ Jason sighed, rubbing his face. ‘They are bright and intelligent girls, but they spend half the morning discussing their highlights and the other half adjusting their hemlines. When I saw the staff at Ashton Enterprises last month, they were… well, different. They were more unified and focused, and Leonora praised you as the architect of that shift.’
I gathered that Leonora Ashton had not shared the details of how that had come about. Although only an intern, the sight of permanent staff flaunting so much long hair in a professional organisation had been an affront to my senses. I had an ongoing mission to promote greater equality with hair length, and what I had observed compromised my intentions.
Despite my lowly status, I had gained the ear of the HR director following a brief dalliance with her. I then organised a successful charity headshaving event, and I encouraged the junior staff with the longest hair to take part. We raised a great deal of cash for the local hospital and elevated the profile of Ashton Enterprises within the community. Ashton Enterprise gave me a glowing reference for my organisational skills to enhance my portfolio of achievements. A bonus for my personal mission was that it equalised a considerable number of irritating heads of long hair.
‘Yes, I provided a novel solution for Ashton Enterprises,’ I said simply. ‘I can provide one for NuChip. But you must be willing to be firm. Leadership is not a popularity contest.’
If he objected to receiving dogmatic business advice from a twenty-year-old student then, to his credit, he did not show it.
‘I just want them to look like they belong to the firm,’ Jason muttered, ‘not just pandering to their followers on social media.’
I sat on the edge of the bed, leaning in close enough that he could see the resolve in my eyes or, if he preferred, my cleavage. ‘Jason, I have considered your problem and spoken to some people, and now I have a solution.’
The Solution
Jason Silk’s eyes lit up, and not just because I was sharing his bed. He topped up our wine glasses, indicated for me to proceed, and settled back to listen.
‘I have designed a concept for NuChip termed “Cohesive Identity”. It is a package of measures aimed at levelling the playing field. No more competition over who has the longest hair, the trendiest balayage, or the most fashionable designer outfit. We will focus on establishing the culture that we desire and that we aspire to achieve.’
Jason looked intrigued but cautious. ‘What kind of concept, Amelia?’
‘We will provide them with a uniform, Jason,’ I said simply but firmly. ‘From the neck up we will give them a haircut that is both professional and practical, and it will be identical for each recruit. I have selected a precise bowlcut. We will sever it bluntly, high above the ear, continue around the head at the same height, and shear straight across the forehead above the eyebrows. We will pair that with a standard-issue charcoal skirt suit and a crisp white blouse. It eliminates the ego and replaces it with the matching and uncompromising NuChip brand.’
Jason blinked, the colour draining from his face. ‘A bowlcut? Amelia, that is an incredibly severe style. These are bright young women, often with postgraduate qualifications, in their early twenties. They will revolt.’
I let a cold and thin smile touch my lips. ‘They will not revolt if it is a condition of the induction process detailed in the contract they will sign. And as for severity, is that not why you hired me? You wish me to bring the discipline to NuChip that you are unable to inject into your own firm?’ I pronounced conceitedly.
‘I really don’t know if I can authorise that,’ he whispered. ‘We move all these highly qualified women between departments during their first year, irrespective of their skills. Product development, design, marketing… they familiarise themselves with the whole organisation, so –’
‘Exactly so, Jason,’ I interrupted. ‘A bowlcut is the perfect neat and practical style for in-house technical positions as well as customer-facing roles. Think of it, Jason. Whatever function they perform, they will always appear disciplined, unobtrusive, and efficient.’
He looked exceedingly uncomfortable. ‘Yes, very commendable, but –”
‘We do not deal in “buts”, Jason,’ I snapped, leaning in closer, my voice soft.
‘Yes, but –”
‘You know, Jason, I was thinking about your wife, Margaret. Such a lovely woman. It would be a shame if she found out that her husband’s “late-night strategy sessions” involved a college student in their city penthouse. I imagine the divorce settlement would be, er, substantial…’
The silence that followed was heavy. Jason looked at me, seeing not the young women he had taken to bed for one night, but the experienced strategist who had already won. I was not just a student but a force of nature.
‘The first Monday in January,’ he said, his voice defeated. ‘The new intake of twelve Elite Associates arrives. I will give you the conference room next to my office on the executive floor, and you will do whatever you must do.’
The Preparation
The first Monday of January was crisp outside but it was warming up nicely at the headquarters of NuChip. Although still a student, I looked every bit the corporate executive in my pale grey tailored skirt suit, black silk blouse buttoned to the throat, and my topknot so tight it took on a sculptural quality.
I looked down at the twelve files on my desk in the office suite that Jason Silk, the CEO, had assigned for my use. These documented the Elite Associates, as they were known, an intake of highly qualified new employees destined for influential roles in the organisation.
As well as their impressive qualifications, the Elite Associates possessed a sense of style that would have elevated them to a catwalk in Paris. As they arrived at the firm’s headquarters, Jason’s PA met them in reception. She then escorted them to his office for an informal “meet and greet” with the man himself. That casualness was something else that needed to change, I thought, as I peered through the glass wall from the conference room to his office.
They had arrived in a flutter of designer coats, their hair a sea of long, wavy, and highlighted vanity. They preened in front of him, jostling to be closest to Jason so he would remember them. It was precisely the inefficient and unnecessary behaviour he wished me to eliminate from the firm, starting with introducing revised standards for new recruits.
The repurposed conference room was on the fourth floor, separated from Jason’s office by a glass wall. I had spent the weekend overseeing its transformation. Gone were the long table and ergonomic chairs. In their place stood a professional barber’s chair facing a semicircle of a dozen upright chairs.
Alongside the chair, drinking a mug of coffee, was a formidable older woman called Helen, the owner of a small local barbershop. Along with her two colleagues, she had volunteered her services for the charity headshaving event I organised at Ashton Enterprises. Helen had been pleased when I had contacted her again. And she was even more delighted when I told her it was not a voluntary role, but a contracted one for a single barber, and NuChip would pay well for her services.
Helen had laid out her tools on a stainless-steel trolley with the clinical precision of a surgeon, including hairclippers, scissors, capes, and combs.
‘All set, Helen?’ I asked as she clicked her clippers on and off, checking their state of charge and functionality, eager to begin. Their vibrating hum around the glass room was a beautiful sound.
‘Ready and willing, Amelia,” she replied, licking her lips.
I winked, grinning at her enthusiasm. ‘Then let’s begin the induction process!’
The Induction
The Elite Associates filed in after their “meet and greet” with Jason in his office. Through the glass wall separating him from the conference room, I watched him slink back to his desk. Pretending to work, it was obvious he was more concerned about what would happen to his new employees now he had given me authority.
The twelve women looked confused, their eyes darting around the room. I imagine they had expected a welcome breakfast or a presentation on the firm’s advanced chip architecture. Instead, they found me. And Helen.
Once they had all settled in the semicircle, I stood before them, my hands clasped behind my back. ‘Welcome to NuChip,’ I said, my voice projecting to every corner of the room. ‘I am Amelia, the corporate integration consultant. At this firm, we value precision, unity, and the removal of distraction. The management will judge your performance on your intellect and ability and not your appearance, and, to facilitate this assessment, we are implementing the NuChip uniform standard.’
A tall blonde in the front row, whose hair fell in curated waves to her waist, raised a hand. ‘Uniforms?’ she scoffed. You mean like a school uniform?’ A chorus of nervous titters arose from her colleagues as the preposterous idea sunk in. However, they died away quickly when they saw I was unamused and deadly serious.
‘We mean uniform in its rawest sense, Selena,’ I said, remembering her name from the photograph in her file. ‘On the racks behind you, you will find two identical charcoal skirt suits, five white blouses, and black shoes. As you may remember, you kindly provided your measurements in the pre-employment questionnaire, so you will find that the clothes we provide will fit you perfectly. This is your new working attire that you will always wear when on company business, either in the office, in laboratories, or meeting clients or suppliers.’
‘But I have already bought new outfits, especially for work. Expensive designer ones,’ complained a brunette with her curled and highlighted hair tumbling over her shoulders. She was wearing a red ensemble that undoubtedly corresponded to that description. Other women nodded wisely and mumbled assent, suggesting they had done the same.
‘Well, Tara, if you have not removed the designer labels, then perhaps you can get a refund,’ I quipped mirthlessly, although I heard Helen snigger behind me. By contrast, the recruits looked irritated by my levity.
‘Charcoal,’ she grumbled dismissively, as if it were the worst colour choice imaginable.
‘Furthermore,’ I paused, gesturing to the barber’s chair behind me, ‘to ensure a truly level playing field, you will all receive the NuChip uniform hairstyle.’’
The room went deathly silent. Then, a ripple of nervous laughter broke out.
‘You’re joking,’ the blonde said in amazement. ‘This is like one of these first-day pranks, right? Like going down to the warehouse and asking the storeman for “a long weight” and then him leaving you waiting for an hour?’
More nervous laughter followed, but it became more subdued when my expression did not change.
‘I never joke about business, Selena,’ I said. ‘Please, take a seat in the chair first.’
I stood to one side and grandly gestured to the barber’s chair. It faced the remaining eleven Elite Associates, giving them a ringside seat of her transformation… and their eventual fate. Helen stood behind the chair with a charcoal cape neatly folded over her arm in readiness.
‘No way,’ she snapped, her hand instinctively flying to her artfully styled, waist-length blonde hair. ‘You cannot make us cut our hair. That’s… that is completely insane.’
I stepped forward, my heels clicking sharply on the linoleum. ‘Your contracts, which you recently signed, include a clause regarding “Adherence to Corporate Image and Uniformity Standards”. Failure to comply with the standards is a voluntary resignation of your position. And considering all the applicants you beat for this role, I suggest you think carefully before walking out that door.’
I looked over at Jason, who was watching through the glass partition of the adjoining office. He looked pale, but he did not move. He knew the stakes.
Selena looked at her peers. They were all terrified, looking for a leader. When she saw no help was coming, she looked back at me. I did not blink or offer a motherly smile. I offered a professional unvoiced ultimatum.
Reluctantly, tears welling in her eyes, Selena sat in Helen’s chair.
Helen did not waste time. She snapped a pinstriped cape around the girl’s neck, cinching it tight.
‘The NuChip bowlcut,’ I instructed excitedly. ‘Above the ear, blunt perimeter, nape buzzed clean.’
The sound of the shears was the only noise in the room. I watched with a sense of profound satisfaction as the first lock of blonde hair fell to the floor. Another immediately followed, and then another. Helen was efficiently stripping away the long, vanity-filled waves, revealing the shape of the head and the features of the face. She was moving ever closer to the professional appearance I demanded.
One by one, the others followed. A couple of them cried quietly and half sat in shock as their long tresses tumbled to the floor before Helen shaped the remainder into the severe, helmet-like uniformity of the bowlcut.
I inspected each haircut as it progressed, acting as the final arbiter of quality. ‘Higher on the ears, please, Helen,’ I said, pointing to one woman. ‘A shorter fringe so we can see her face, and she can see her future,’ I indicated on another.
‘You’re a monster,’ one girl whispered as I passed her. Her hair, previously a thick chestnut mane, now sat in a neat, heavy cap around her head, her neck exposed and vulnerable where the clippers had hummed against her skin.
‘No,’ I replied, carefully studying the female postgraduate who was around four years older than me. ‘I am your mentor,’ I explained evenly, feeding on the authority Jason had given me and my own sense of self-worth. ‘Look at yourself. No longer do you look like a girl trying to attract “Likes” on a phone screen. Now, you look like a professional woman who works for NuChip and a component of a unified team.’
By noon, the transformation was complete. Twelve women stood in the room, all dressed in identical charcoal suits, their hair styled in the exact same severe bowlcut. They had lost the individuality that they had when they arrived. Helen was sweeping it into the black garbage bags that were now filling. They looked like an efficient unit of corporate efficiency.
I called the CEO of NuChip into the room.
The Assessment
Jason Silk walked in, his eyes widening as he took in the sight. The room felt disciplined, with no more whispering, no more preening, and no more adjusting of hair. There was only the quiet, focused energy of people who we had stripped of their primary vanity and forced to rely on their qualifications and professional skills.
‘It’s… it’s remarkable, Amelia,’ Jason whispered to me. ‘They actually look like they’re here to work.’
‘They are, Jason,’ I said. ‘And they will continue to do so. Helen will be here every Monday for “Maintenance Morning”. No one’s hair will touch their collar. No one’s fringe will obscure their vision.’
Jason turned to the group. ‘Ladies, welcome to the firm. This is the way ahead for NuChip, and you are the vanguard of that movement. Please follow Amelia to the HR department to issue your permanent security badges… after all,’ he chuckled, ‘you no longer resemble the images we have for you on our files.’
To their credit, there were a couple of titters and even more wry grins from the women.
As I led them out, I caught my own reflection in the glass. My topknot was still perfectly in place, my suit sharp and unyielding. I was the architect of this corporate re-engineering. Although I was still a student on paper, in this building I was the one to define the new reality.
The Appraisal
While I settled back into college life, the weeks that followed at NuChip were a testament to my philosophy. The productivity among the recently recruited Elite Associates was the highest in the company’s history. Without the “fashion show” environment of the past and its petty jealousies, the women bonded quickly. It may have been a result of their shared “trauma”, but more likely the complete absence of competitive grooming.
As they moved through the halls in their indistinguishable sharp suits and their identical severe haircuts, they functioned as a visible reminder of the firm’s new direction.
Jason was ecstatic. He sent a glowing report to my college, detailing my “innovative approach to organisational culture and corporate branding”. It would count for a massive chunk of my final grade, pushing me toward a first-class degree before I had even finished my second year.
The Evaluation
Three months later, at the beginning of the spring vacation, I met Jason Silk one last time when he invited me back to the NuChip offices.
‘I have to hand it to you, Amelia,’ he said, handing me an espresso. ‘I thought you were just a silly student playing a power game. But the atmosphere in the office… well, it has changed out of all recognition. It is always professional and it is always serious.’
‘Equality is a powerful tool, Jason,’ I said, taking a sip of my coffee. ‘When you remove the distractions of the ego, people find out who they really are. And who they are is an asset to your company.’
‘That is certainly true,’ Jason conceded. ‘I have observed a considerable number of the firm’s established employees adopting less flamboyant fashions and hairstyles.’
‘Yes, Helen has said she has attracted more female customers from NuChip, not only during “Maintenance Monday” in the office but also in her shop,’ I acknowledged. ‘That is a most satisfactory outcome.’
‘And what about you, Amelia?’ he asked, eyeing my topknot. ‘You have given them all the NuChip bowlcut, yet you keep your length. Isn’t that a bit hypocritical?’
Rising to my feet, I walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘I am the consultant, Jason. It is I, Amelia, who sets the rules, not the one who follows them.’
He laughed, a little nervously. He knew I still held the threat of his wife over him, but he also knew I had given him exactly what he wanted for the firm. Our arrangement was perfectly balanced.
As I left NuChip that day, I walked past the lobby where four of the new Elite Associates were waiting for the elevator. They stood up straight with their charcoal skirts perfectly pressed, and, as they turned to look at me, their severe bowlcuts swayed in unison. While they did not smile, neither did they scowl or whisper snide remarks. They simply nodded as a gesture of recognition, and then they dipped their chin out of respect for their mentor.
I walked out into the spring warmth, feeling the comforting formality of my attire and the familiar pull of my topknot. I had shaped this firm, having taken the chaos of twelve individuals and forged them into an effective professional unit.
Epilogue
My name is Amelia. I seek equality, but I find it through the beautiful, sharp edge of a blade to level the playing field relating to unequal hair length. But what I had achieved was only the beginning.
Corporations had proved to be an effective hunting ground for conducting my mission, and, when I completed my degree, I would have another string to my bow when advancing my career.
Across the country there were a plethora of inefficient firms and ample CEOs susceptible to my charms. Not to mention an entire world of long and distracting hair that needed a firm arrangement to attain equality.
To be continued
A Note from the Author
Further to sharing a selection of my stories here, they are published on my personal archive The Hair Apparent Stories
Also included are many additional stories and complete series that are not published elsewhere
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