HairByRi
I slump into the passenger seat of my mom’s car, arms crossed over my chest, my mood as dark as the storm clouds gathering in the distance. My shoulder-length blonde hair, usually the one part of myself that I felt comfortable with, hangs limp and lifeless after a long, humid day. The weather perfectly mirrors the storm brewing inside me. I know I look like I’m sulking, but I can’t help it. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for a “new look” or a “fresh start,” but here I am, on my way to the chain salon where my mom has decided I’m going to get a haircut, whether I want one or not.
“You’re out of high school now, Amanda,” my mom says, glancing over at me as she turns into the parking lot. Her voice is firm, a tone she uses when she’s convinced she’s doing what’s best for me. “It’s time for something more grown-up, more sophisticated. You can’t just go through life with the same haircut you’ve had since middle school.”
I don’t respond. What’s the point? I just stare out the window, watching the salon loom closer. The sky has turned a murky gray, threatening rain. My reflection in the window is a pale, sullen face framed by unruly blonde hair. It’s not just the haircut I’m dreading—it’s the symbolism of it all. This isn’t just about cutting my hair; it’s about cutting ties with the past, with everything that’s comfortable and familiar. Graduation already feels like a betrayal of sorts, like I’m being pushed off a cliff into the unknown, and now this… This feels like another shove.
The salon comes into view—a bright, modern place with big windows and sleek, white décor. It’s one of those places that seems to promise a new you, if only you let them snip away your old self. The sound of hairdryers, scissors, and light pop music greets us as we push through the glass door. I’ve been here a few times before, usually just for a trim, but today feels different. Today feels like I’m walking into something I’m not going to be able to walk out of the same way.
“Hi, welcome to the salon!” chirps the receptionist, a perky blonde with a perfectly styled pixie cut. She looks like she stepped out of a hair magazine—confident, put-together, everything I’m supposed to want to be, but don’t. “How can we help you today?”
“My daughter needs a new look,” my mom says before I can open my mouth, her voice brimming with that confident tone she always uses when she knows exactly what she wants. “Something chic and sophisticated. She’s just graduated high school, so it’s time for a more adult style. I was thinking of a bob.”
The receptionist nods enthusiastically, tapping away at her computer. I can’t tell if she’s genuinely excited or just really good at her job, but either way, it’s unsettling. I feel like I’m being sold something I’m not sure I want to buy.
“Great choice! Let me see who’s available,” the receptionist says, her fingers flying over the keyboard. Her smile never falters, and I wonder if she ever gets tired of pretending to be so upbeat.
As she checks the schedule, I feel a sinking sensation in my stomach. A bob? I’ve never had my hair that short. My mind races with images of myself looking awkward and uncomfortable, my long, blonde hair snipped away, falling to the floor in a heap of golden strands. The thought makes me queasy, like I’m about to lose more than just hair. It’s like I’m about to lose a piece of myself.
“Lee is free,” the receptionist announces with a smile that feels too bright for the impending doom I’m feeling. “He’s one of our best stylists. He’ll take good care of you.”
I don’t know who Lee is, but I don’t have much choice in the matter. My mom is already nodding, and I know from experience that once she’s decided something, there’s no turning back. I follow the receptionist as she leads me to a station in the back of the salon, my feet feeling like they’re trudging through molasses.
The stylist, Lee, is finishing up with another client as I approach. He’s tall, with neatly styled hair and an air of confidence that immediately puts me on edge. He’s got that look about him, the kind that says he knows exactly what he’s doing and isn’t afraid to make bold decisions. His name tag reads “Lee,” and as I get closer, I notice the intricate tattoos that snake up his arms—each one carefully designed, like an artist’s brush strokes on canvas. He seems like the kind of person who thrives on transformation, on taking something ordinary and making it extraordinary.
“Hi, I’m Lee,” he says, flashing me a charming smile as he holds out his hand. His voice is deep, with a hint of playfulness, like he’s already planning something daring. “You must be Amanda.”
I nod, shaking his hand limply. His grip is firm, reassuring, but I’m still too nervous to muster much of a response. My mouth feels dry, and I’m hyper-aware of the way my hair clings to the back of my neck, as if it knows it’s about to be severed.
Lee turns to my mom, who’s already settling into one of the waiting chairs nearby, flipping through a fashion magazine. “So, what are we thinking today?” he asks, his eyes flicking between me and her. I can tell he’s sizing us up, trying to figure out the dynamics at play.
“A bob,” my mom says, her voice steady and decisive. It’s the same tone she used when I was ten and begged her not to sign me up for piano lessons. “She’s had the same haircut for years, and it’s time for something new. Something more sophisticated. Maybe chin-length, with some layers.”
Lee nods thoughtfully, his eyes scanning my hair with a critical eye. I can see the wheels turning in his head, and it makes me even more anxious. “A bob would look great on her,” he says, his tone professional but warm. “Her hair has good thickness, and a bob would really bring out her features. I think we can do something really stylish.”
I open my mouth to say something—to protest, maybe—but the words stick in my throat. I glance over at my mom, hoping for a lifeline, but she’s already engrossed in her magazine, flipping through the pages as if she hasn’t just decided to completely upend my look. I feel a pang of resentment, but I know it’s pointless. She thinks she’s doing what’s best for me. She always does.
Before I can gather the courage to speak up, Lee is already leading me to the chair. I sit down, my heart pounding in my chest as he drapes a cape around me, securing it snugly at my neck. My reflection in the mirror looks back at me, wide-eyed and anxious, with my blonde hair hanging limply around my shoulders. I feel like I’m about to be erased, rewritten into someone else’s image.
“Let’s start by washing your hair,” Lee says, his tone soothing, as if he can sense my nerves. He guides me to the back of the salon, where the sinks are lined up like an assembly line. The chair reclines as he tilts my head back into the sink, and for a moment, I try to relax, letting the sensation of the warm water and Lee’s fingers massaging the shampoo into my hair wash away my nerves. The scent of the shampoo—something floral and slightly sweet—fills my senses, and I close my eyes, trying to focus on anything other than the impending transformation.
But as soon as he starts drying my hair, I feel the anxiety creeping back in. The blow dryer hums softly as Lee works, brushing out my hair with practiced ease. His fingers move with the confidence of someone who’s done this a thousand times, and I wonder if he’s ever had a client as apprehensive as I am. He’s meticulous, ensuring every strand is smooth and dry before he moves on to the next step.
Once my hair is completely dry, Lee combs through it, drawing attention to its length and thickness. “You’ve got really beautiful hair, Amanda,” he says, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “This is going to be a big change, but I think you’re going to love it.”
I’m not so sure. I watch in the mirror as he parts my hair down the center, creating two even sections. The top section is clipped up and out of the way, leaving the nape and lower sections exposed. The sight of my neck, bare and vulnerable, sends a shiver down my spine. I’ve always liked the way my hair felt against my neck, the way it framed my face, gave me a sense of security. The idea of losing that is terrifying.
Lee picks up his scissors with a flourish, positioning them at the nape of my neck. “We’re going to start by establishing the foundation of the bob,” he explains, his tone calm and professional. “This first cut will set the length at the back, and we’ll build the layers from there.”
I hold my breath as he lifts a section of hair, holding it between his fingers before making the first cut. The sound of the scissors slicing through my hair is sharp and precise, and I watch in stunned silence as the first lock of hair falls to the floor. It’s happening. The transformation is happening, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
Lee works with a steady hand, cutting away more and more of the length, each snip bringing the hair at the nape shorter and shorter. My blonde hair, once hanging over my shoulders, is now being reduced to a sleek, angled bob that hugs the nape of my neck. The sensation of the scissors so close to my skin is unsettling, and I can feel the weight of my hair disappearing with each snip.
With the foundation of the bob established, Lee clips away the remaining long hair, leaving only the lower sections exposed. The top section is still secured, emphasizing the area that will be transformed next.
Lee pauses for a moment, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “We’re going to use the clippers to create a sharp, graduated angle,” he says, his tone gentle but firm. “It’ll give the bob a modern edge, something that’s both bold and elegant.”
Clippers? My heart skips a beat at the thought. I’ve never had my hair cut with clippers before. The idea of having my hair buzzed, even just a little, is terrifying. It feels too masculine, too severe for someone like me.
“I’ve never had my hair cut with clippers before,” I say, my voice wavering slightly. It’s the first time I’ve spoken since we got here, and the words feel foreign in my mouth.
Lee smiles reassuringly, his eyes softening. “I know it’s a big change, but trust me—it’ll look fantastic. The clippers will give the bob a clean, precise shape, and the angle will really make it stand out.”
I glance over at my mom, hoping she’ll say something—anything—to stop this. But she just nods, her eyes filled with approval. “It’s going to look amazing, Amanda,” she says, her voice brimming with excitement. “You’ll see.”
I want to protest, to ask for something less drastic, but the words catch in my throat. I feel like I’m being swept away by a current I can’t fight. Before I can say anything, Lee reaches for the clippers, turning them on with a loud buzz that fills the room. The sound reverberates through me, and I feel a surge of panic as he approaches the nape of my neck.
“We’ll start at the nape,” Lee says, positioning the clippers just above the hairline. “This first pass will create the angle and set the stage for the rest of the cut.”
I grip the arms of the chair, my knuckles turning white as I brace myself. The clippers make contact with my skin, and I feel the cold metal as they glide upward, removing the hair with a smooth, deliberate motion. The first pass is slow and controlled, and I watch in stunned silence as thick sections of hair are sheared away, revealing the exposed nape beneath.
The sensation of the clippers against my skin is strange—both sharp and soothing at the same time. I can feel the vibration, the coolness of the clippers, as Lee works methodically, creating the sharp, graduated angle that will define the bob. My mind is a whirl of emotions—fear, curiosity, a strange sense of exhilaration as I watch the transformation unfold in the mirror.
He continues to work with the clippers, building the layers as he moves up the back of my head. Each pass is precise, removing more and more of the length until the hair at the nape is reduced to a short, angled line that contrasts starkly with the still-long sections on top. I can’t take my eyes off the mirror, watching as the person staring back at me becomes someone I barely recognize.
As he moves to the sides, Lee tilts the clippers slightly to create the desired angle, leaving the hair shorter at the nape and gradually longer as he moves upward. The clippers hum as they glide through my hair, each pass creating the bold, sharp lines that will shape the final look. I can feel the cool air against the freshly exposed skin of my neck, a sensation that sends shivers down my spine. It’s both terrifying and thrilling, a mix of emotions that I’ve never felt before.
The transformation is happening faster than I can process. I watch in the mirror as the hair at the nape is reduced to a sleek, angled cut, the once-long locks falling away in thick waves. The sharp, precise lines of the bob are starting to take shape, and I can’t help but feel a mix of awe and disbelief at the dramatic change. It’s like watching someone else emerge from within me, someone bolder and more daring than I ever imagined.
Finally, with the clippers’ work done, Lee sets them aside and releases the top section of hair. The long, blonde strands cascade down over the freshly shorn nape, the contrast between the closely cropped back and the longer top creating a striking visual effect. I run my fingers over the exposed nape, the short, bristly hairs a stark contrast to the silky lengths I’m used to. It’s such an alien sensation, like I’m touching someone else’s head.
“We’re going to shape the A-line now,” Lee says, his tone filled with quiet confidence. He picks up the scissors again, pulling the top sections forward to create the sharp, angled lines of the bob. His movements are fluid, almost like a dance, as he snips away at the long strands, shaping them into the steep angle that will define the look.
The scissors snip through the long, blonde strands, cutting them into a steep angle that’s shorter at the back and gradually longer toward the front. The hair falls away in soft, golden waves, landing on the floor as Lee shapes the bob with precision and flair. I feel lighter with each snip, as if a weight I didn’t know I was carrying is being lifted off my shoulders.
As he works, Lee occasionally lifts the longer sections, allowing the undercut to peek through. The contrast between the sleek, straight lines of the bob and the sharp, exposed nape is bold and modern, creating a look that’s both sophisticated and edgy. It’s a far cry from the safe, familiar style I’ve held onto for years, and the realization is both daunting and exhilarating.
Lee finishes the main cutting with a few final snips, ensuring that the lines are even and the shape is perfectly symmetrical. He then takes the texturizing shears, adding movement and volume to the top sections, creating a softer transition between the clipped nape and the longer hair. The shears make a softer, almost whispering sound as they glide through the ends, thinning them out just enough to create the perfect balance.
“We’re almost done,” Lee says with a smile, setting down the scissors. He picks up a blow dryer and a round brush, lifting the top sections as he dries the hair, adding volume and shine. The warm air feels comforting, and I watch in the mirror as the sleek, blonde bob takes shape, the layers falling perfectly into place. The more I look at it, the more I start to see myself in this new style—a version of myself I never knew existed.
With the hair now dry and styled, Lee adds a touch of shine serum, running his fingers through the bob to enhance its natural gloss. He lifts sections of the hair, showing how the undercut peeks through as the hair moves, emphasizing the boldness of the look. The shine catches the light, making the blonde strands gleam like gold.
Finally, Lee hands me a mirror, guiding me to see the full effect of the undercut and the graduated bob from all angles. I turn my head slightly, marveling at the contrast between the sharp, angled bob and the closely cropped nape that’s now exposed. It’s a look that feels both sophisticated and daring, a perfect blend of classic and contemporary.
My fingers glide over the undercut, the sensation of the closely cropped hair both strange and thrilling. The overall look is sleek and polished, with the undercut adding a level of edginess that I never would have expected for myself. It’s like looking at a new version of me, someone more confident, more daring.
“It’s a big change, but I think it suits you,” Lee says, his tone confident but warm. “The bob is sophisticated, and the undercut adds a modern twist. It’s a look that’s both chic and unique.”
I take a deep breath, still processing the transformation. It’s a drastic change from the simple, outgrown style I had walked in with, but as I study my reflection, I can’t help but feel a sense of awe. The graduated bob is sleek and sophisticated, and the undercut adds a bold, edgy twist that makes the overall look feel modern and fresh. I can hardly believe that this is me, that I could look this confident, this stylish.
My mom beams at me, clearly pleased with the outcome. “You look incredible, Amanda. This is exactly what you needed—a look that’s both stylish and mature.”
I nod slowly, still running my fingers over the undercut, marveling at the contrast between the soft, smooth bob and the sharp, exposed nape. It’s a look that feels both daring and refined, a perfect reflection of the new chapter I’m stepping into. There’s a part of me that’s still nervous, still unsure about this new identity, but another part of me—a part I didn’t know existed—is excited to embrace it.
“Thank you, Lee,” I say softly, still in awe of the transformation. “I wasn’t sure at first, but I love it.”
Lee smiles, his eyes filled with satisfaction. “You’re welcome, Amanda. It was my pleasure. Just remember to come back in a few weeks to keep the undercut fresh and the bob sharp.”
As I step out of the chair, I catch one last glimpse of myself in the mirror. The chin-length bob is sleek and polished, the undercut adding a subtle but striking edge. It’s a look that feels both sophisticated and daring, a perfect reflection of the new chapter I’m stepping into.
