Change in Regulations

Before image can be found at bottom

“Please make sure you go to get it cut today.” My mother said, poking her head into my room. She was dressed for work and her eyebrows raised expectantly. 

I was barely awake. It was a rare day off for me and I was content to remain buried in my sheets for as long as possible. I slowly pulled myself up, sitting against my headrest. 

“I will.” My throat was dry from the night and my voice came out slightly husky. 

“I’m back around 7, and it closes at 6. So when I’m back you’d have been there, yes?” 

I slumped back against my pillow. 

“Yes?” She took a step towards my bed. 

“Yes.” 

She listed off a few chores for me to get done before bidding farewell and closing our apartment door.  

I laid in the silence for a few moments. Next to my bed was my conscription letter. I considered reading it over again, scrutinizing every word to find a different conclusion than the obvious. But I knew that was pointless. In 4 days I was to report to the local induction station. I had already read the letter over countless times, there was no error, no way around the fact. 

To be honest I wasn’t too worried about joining the war. Almost everyone I knew was already there. All of my guy friends had been away since they had turned 18, and it felt like almost all my girlfriends had been conscripted now too. I turned 19 just over a month ago, I guess in a way I was lucky to have dodged conscription for 13 months. That being said, my life since turning 18 hadn’t been the most exciting. I worked at the post office. It was just as mundane as you would think. In a time of war surprisingly essential, but still extremely mundane. Outside of work there wasn’t much to do. My father and older brother were away so I spent most evenings with my mother. 

I slowly rose from my bed and shuffled into the toilet. I glumly peered into the mirror. My eyes got slightly puffy overnight. My hair was frizzy from sleep. The strawberry blonde locks fell just past my breasts. After I washed away the frizziness they would form loose waves.   

I understood why my mother was annoyed at me. For the last two weeks I had been asked to go to the salon and for the last 2 weeks I had found excuses not to. As this was my last day off before I would go, today was the last opportunity I would have before I would head to basic training. The army barbers gave notoriously rough haircuts. I had heard plenty of horror stories from some of my friends. The standard haircut for women was a blunt cut above the shoulders. A friend of mine had curly hair, and after being unable to deal with the texture, the barber had decided simply clippering it all off was the best solution. They supposedly only had 2 minutes per inductee, with almost everyone walking out of the salon with uneven, jagged haircuts. 

It was therefore highly recommended to visit a salon beforehand. Most salons in fact offered free haircuts to soldiers. The only salon in my compound was on the ground floor of the building next to us. It was a small unisex affair. There was a barber for men and a stylist for the women. I rarely visited the salon, until around 13 my mom cut my hair, since then I had trimmed the ends myself.

I stepped into the shower and began scrubbing my body. Shampoo was a commodity that needed to be rationed in wartimes but I decided since I was about to cut a good deal of it off I could splurge a bit. I squeezed out a good blob and massaged it against my scalp. 

Stepping out of the shower, I began drying off my hair. Wet it fell almost to the middle of my back. Once it dried it was to my bra strap. By the end of the day it would sit just above my shoulders. The thought sent a slight chill down my spine. I wasn’t the most hair attached person in the world, but long hair was all I had known. Having it cut off would be something new for me, something I wasn’t particularly looking forward to. Nevertheless, it was required. All the other girls I knew that had served went through the exact same process I was about to. For all I knew I would like the new length. It wouldn’t be overly short, still long enough for my waves to show. 

Despite somewhat coming to grips with the impending haircut, I procrastinated visiting the salon. There wasn’t much to be done in the house but I busied myself with various household tasks. Whenever I passed a mirror I couldn’t help but look somewhat forlornly at my hair. I folded it up to my shoulders, trying to picture how it would look in a couple hours. 

Time seemed to pass by quickly and before long it was 5pm. I looked at myself once more in the mirror, letting my hair sit over my shoulders before heading outside. 

The salon was at the building across from us, only a couple minutes walk away. I could feel my nerves rising as I crossed the courtyard. It was a clear day, the late summer sun beating down on me and I could feel sweat forming on my forehead. Entering the building provided some refuge from the heat. Staring directly in front of me was the salon. I paused for a moment. I briefly considered going home and cutting my hair myself but thought against it. Better to leave it to the professionals I told myself. 

I could already peer inside the small shop. The barber was working on a client, with another waiting at a bench by the door. The stylist didn’t seem to be there, presumably on a break I theorized. 

Before the door I paused again, the temptation to turn around and go home gripping me. Instead I pushed the door open, I was about to be a soldier, a haircut couldn’t scare me. 

A bell rang as the door opened. The barber, well into his 50s turned around to look at me. He looked friendly enough, with graying curly hair and wearing a white smock. His customer was an elderly man. I quickly took a seat at the bench by the door. A young man was next to me. Potentially my age or a bit younger. We exchanged a brief smile. 

The salon was tiny. The large black barber chair stood just 3 or 4 meters in front of me. It faced a large mirror framed by shelves fitted with various barbering tools. A few meters next to it was a slightly smaller chair for women. I glanced back outside the shop, wondering when the stylist would return. Despite coming to accept the impending haircut I still felt my leg bouncing up and down with nervous energy. I draped my hair across my shoulder, my fingers running through the wavy ends. 

The barber was finished with the older client in his chair. After taking the payment, he quickly swept up the gray hair from the floor and motioned for the boy next to me to come to the chair. 

“Also an induction cut for you Ma’am?” The barber asked as he turned the boy to face the mirror. 

“Uh… Yes” I stammered and slightly adjusted myself on the bench. “I just was wondering when the stylist is returning?” 

The barber didn’t turn when he spoke, already busy fastening a black cape to the boy. 

“She’s already gone home, love. Quiet day today.” 

My stomach dropped. The idea of a barber handling my hair didn’t sit right with me. I felt foolish. I had sat around my home all day procrastinating and now the stylist had left. I strongly considered leaving again. 

“But don’t worry, I’m more adept at what you’ll need anyways.” 

His comment struck me as slightly odd. Perhaps he dealt with more female customers than I had imagined. And then again how hard could a blunt cut above the shoulders be. Surely any barber worth his merit could easily do that. With some reluctance I stayed on the bench. 

“Okay.” I replied softly. 

I crinkled my face, as suddenly the sound of clippers rang out across the room. The barber had pushed the boy’s head down and methodically pushed the clippers up his hairline. The hair was quite short to begin with, inch long tufts of his dark hair falling silently to the ground. The length that remained was short enough to see his pale skin. 

The noise of the clippers unnerved me. I wanted to swat away the noise as if it was some sort of mechanical insect. I instead shut my eyes and tried to clear my head. 

I sat listlessly as the boy’s haircut came to an end. The whole procedure couldn’t have taken much more than 5 minutes. It was the standard men’s induction cut I had seen a thousand times. The sides were essentially to the skin, the top a smidge longer. I always found that when a boy first got their cut they looked rather like a shorn sheep. 

I watched with a tinge of pity for the boy as the cape was removed and he gingerly ran his fingers over what was left of his hair. I felt grateful to be able to avoid such a severe cut. 

The chair was spun towards me, the boy quickly stood up, thanked the barber and was out of the door. 

My mouth was beginning to go dry. The barber began to sweep away the remnants of the dark hair from the floor.

“So when do you go off?” He asked. 

“In 4 days” I almost barked my reply back. 

He nodded thoughtfully. The last of the hairs were pushed into the corner and he placed his hands on the back of the chair. He gave me an expectant look. 

My first step to becoming a soldier was about to begin as I slowly rose from the bench and lowered myself onto the massive chair. I was spun around to face the mirror and took in myself and the reddish blonde waves hanging down my chest. 

“Do you mind holding up your hair for a moment.” 

I obliged, holding up my mass of hair as he fastened a paper strip around my neck. He took the hair from my hands, letting it fall against my back and in a smooth motion a large black cape was flung around me. The cape was clipped into place and then the paper strip folded over the top of the cape. It was a well rehearsed movement. 

“Very pretty color.” He noted. 

“Thanks.” 

“I’m guessing you’re pretty disappointed with the new regulations?” 

I thought I misheard him. 

“The–what sorry?”

“New regulations.” He said matter of factly. “You know what I’m talking about right?” 

A sickness was forming in my stomach. It had suddenly become hot under the heavy cape. 

I simply shook my head. 

The barber picked up a sheet of paper from his desk and handed it to me. The date from yesterday was plastered on the top. My eyes quickly scanned the text until I froze. 

Notice: Updated Women’s Army Induction Cut Policy

Effective immediately, due to an increase in cases of lice among new recruits, the standard induction haircut for women has been revised.

The new standard is as follows:

• Sides: ½ inch in length
• Top: 1 inch in length

This updated policy ensures hygiene and uniformity across all recruits. Compliance is mandatory for all women entering service.

Thank you for your understanding and cooperation.
— Army Personnel Command

My vision was going dark and I couldn’t feel my fingers holding the sheet of paper anymore. I began to rise from the chair. 

“I think I’ll-“ I choked on my words. 

A hand on my shoulder kept me in the chair. 

“I assumed you already knew.”

“I’m- I need to go home first.” I simply needed to get out of the chair. 

The hand on my shoulder became firmer. 

“Let’s calm down. You’re either getting that haircut here or in a few days. And trust me I’m going to be a lot more gentle than those barbers at the induction center.” 

Even though he was right I wanted nothing more than to be able to delay this haircut as much as I could. My eyes had begun to water over and I dropped my head, trying to hide the fact from the barber. 

“It’s not going to be enjoyable either way I know, but trust me, those barbers do some real shoddy jobs.” 

I sniffled hard and tried to blink away the tears. 

“I’ll close the shop, so we don’t get any interruptions.” His hand was off my shoulder and he walked towards the door. I noted that I didn’t instinctively rise from the chair again, instead I sat still. The barber went to the door, flipping the sign to close and locking the door. I assumed this was an act of kindness from him, making sure no one would walk in to watch me tearing up. The click of the lock made me wince. I realized I would be leaving this shop without my hair. 

“Let’s get this over with shall we?” The barber was essentially talking to himself at this point, I had no words to give. 

From a drawer he pulled out a wide toothed comb and a large hair clip. He raked my hair with his fingers behind my back and using the comb sectioned the top of my hair off, clipping it into place. He gently combed the rest of the hair down so it sat across my back and shoulders. I guessed he would snip away the bottom section before moving onto the top section. 

I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed that I wouldn’t have a full breakdown in front of the barber. I had to act like a soldier. 

I had to bite my tongue to stop myself whimpering as I watched him pick up the clippers from the shelf in front of me. Until that point I had assumed he would use scissors. Instead I was faced with this massive black corded machine. The same machine that had so ruthlessly cropped the boy before me. 

The barber stood behind me and I began to rise into the air as he pumped the chair up. He then turned the chair to the right. 

Bzzzz 

I flinched as the clippers were switched on. I felt his large hand on top of my head and he tilted it slightly to the left. I could hear the clippers getting closer and closer. I considered bolting. Jumping up from the chair. Running home and facing this haircut in a few days time. Except the door was locked. I imagined the embarrassment of me trying to beg the barber to unlock the door. Someone that was about to fight for his country, too scared to face a haircut. As all these thoughts filled my mind I felt the clipper touch my cheek, just next to my ear. 

Bzzrrrrrr

The tone of the clippers changed as they smoothly entered the hairline by my temples. I strained my eyes to watch the machine placed directly against my skin. Wavy locks slid past my face, across my caped shoulder to the ground. 

My ear was folded over and another pass from the clippers was made. More hair gently slid past my shoulders. 

I was in a state of shock. The clippers seemed impossibly loud. It felt as though my whole cranium was shaking as they were placed against my scalp. I felt more and more hair gently float to the floor. It was a brutal assault on my hair, yet it fell to the ground so peacefully. 

“I guess this will save you time in the mornings, huh? No more wasting hours fixing up long hair.” The barber stated matter of factly. 

I was still too stunned to reply. My body felt heavy, like it was weighed down by something much larger than my physical self. I couldn’t move. Every inch of my skin screamed for me to run, to flee from the clippers, from the barber, from this moment. But I stayed still, almost as if I were paralyzed.

As the clippers made their way towards the back of my head, the chair was rotated so I again faced the mirror. I could now see the right side of my head. The finest pelt of hair was all that remained. At the scalp it was so fair it looked straw blonde. With a pulsating feeling building in my temples I realized this whole bottom section would soon be as short. 

My chin was tucked against my chest and I gripped the armrest tightly as the clippers made large passes up the back of my head. The breeze from the AC was more and more evident after each pass. I could feel the blades of the clippers shearing away lock after lock. I imagined lock after lock joining the rest on the tiled floor. 

My head was brought upright again and the chair turned to the left. In the mirror I could make out almost all my hair from the bottom section was gone. What remained on the left was about to be shorn away. Forlornly I watched as more and more bundles of my soft strawberry blonde hair silently slid down the cape to the floor. Again my ear was folded over and the last remnants of long hair from this section was efficiently sheared away. 

I was amazed at the speed in which he moved. Just a few minutes ago my neck and shoulders were covered in a cascade of waves. That was ancient history. Being turned back to face the mirror confirmed that. I already felt somewhat unrecognizable. My scalp was covered in a pelt of hair, save the bundle clipped to the top of my head. My heart thudded loudly in my chest, as though it was trying to escape. I tried to steady my breathing, but each exhale came out shaky, unsteady. A line of sweat traced down the side of my face. 

A straight razor was produced, my head tilted forwards, as I felt the blade scraping against my nape. Smoothly the blade made its way across my nape, before I felt my ears being bent and the scratchy noise of the razor by my hairline on the side of my head. 

The razor was returned to the counter with a metallic clink. 

He removed the clip from the top of my head and the thick waves fell down across my shoulders. It was a bittersweet moment. It felt reassuring to feel the familiar heaving locks covering my ears and neck again. But the knowledge that this remaining hair would soon fall to the floor stung hard. 

He tussled the remaining long hair on top of my head. He reached for his scissors and a comb. I gripped the armrest hard again. 

Gently he pulled the comb through my remaining hair. How long would it be until I could run a comb through my hair again, I asked myself. A long, long time. 

I watched intently in the mirror as he began to comb up a section of my hair towards my crown. He lifted up the over foot long length of hair and took it between his fingers. His hand was set straight against my scalp. Without much delay he brought his scissors to the section. 

Schnip, schnip, schnip. 

He flicked away the hair and it fell heavily to the ground behind me. Even though I had seen so much of my hair fall to the floor, it still wasn’t getting any easier to watch. I tried to imagine how much of the hair I had just a few hours ago lathered in shampoo was now sprawled across the ground. The air felt too thick around me, and I could taste the salt of my own nervous sweat.

The barber knew how to work fast. Another section was combed upwards, taken between his fingers and duly snipped away. The hair that was left spiked upwards. It was ridiculously short. Somehow, very soon, this was about to be the longest part of my hair. 

Methodically he moved closer to the front of my head, sending more and more of my strawberry blonde waves to the ground as he did so. 

A handful of my hair drifted past my face, settling on my caped lap. The scissors continued snipping away and more hair fell past my face, ticking my nose before joining the fast growing pile on my lap.  

“Almost there.” The barber smiled at me through the mirror. He ruffled the remaining few strands of long hair left atop my head. I couldn’t manage a smile in return. Instead I could feel warm tears forming in my eyes. 

He took between his fingers the final section from the front of my head. His scissors quickly sliced away the hair protruding from his fingers. I couldn’t help but wince as another chunk of hair dropped across my vision. The very last remnants of my long hair now sat heavily on my lap. With a shaky breath I took in the foreign figure in the mirror. I resembled a freshly shorn sheep. 

“Feeling a little bit lighter?.” He playfully ruffled what was left of my hair. 

I felt naked. I couldn’t help but let out a silent sob. My vision dropped and I took in the long wavy strands sitting on my lap. It was the hair I had luxuriously washed just this morning, hair that I hadn’t expected to lose so much of. 

The barber gave the cape a gentle lift and the mass of hair sitting atop my lap slid to the floor. I could hear it settle on the tiled ground. Next, he took a spray bottle, giving my hair a few spritzes of water. Methodically he combed up the moist hair, carefully snipping away another centimeter or so of hair. Tiny specks of wet hair stuck to my cape as he went around my head. 

I wanted to reach for my hair, to run my fingers through it one last time, but there was nothing left to touch.  

The barber placed his scissors down on the counter and he brushed away any hairs left on my neck or shoulders. He then smoothly pulled the cape off me. The weight of my hair was gone, replaced by a sharp, stubbled sensation on the sides of my head. My scalp felt exposed, raw, like I was suddenly naked under the bright fluorescent lights. I hadn’t realized how much of me had been hidden under all that hair until it was gone.

I looked at myself in the mirror, not sure what to expect, but the reflection that stared back at me was unfamiliar. The top was only an inch long, and the sides had been shaved to a half-inch. A crew cut. It felt so drastic, so severe. My face looked wider, sharper. My features, which had been softened by long locks of hair, were now thrown into stark relief. The sharp angles of my jaw, my cheekbones, my ears—they were all out in the open now.

“I’d love to see the looks on your friends’ faces when they see you. Could be a few minutes before they realize it’s actually you.” The barber stated cruelly. The worst part is that there was a good element of truth in his statement. 

“Maybe.” I croaked back in response. 

I reach up slowly, my fingers brushing over the short, prickly stubble where my hair used to be. It feels so strange—rough, almost abrasive—so different from the soft waves I used to run my hands through. My scalp is exposed to the cool air, too much of it, like it’s out in the open for the first time. I touch it again, trying to adjust, but all I feel is emptiness where my long hair used to fall. It’s like I’m wearing someone else’s head now.

The chair is turned to the side and I slowly stand up. Immediately my eyes are drawn to the floor. The sight hits me like a punch to the gut—piles of strawberry blonde waves scattered in a semi-circle around the chair. It looks like someone else’s hair, not mine, not this new, raw version of me. The soft waves I once took such care with, now just lifeless strands on the floor, piled up like discarded things. I feel a tightness in my chest, like I’m watching a part of myself get lost, a part I can’t get back. It’s hard to breathe as I take it in, the finality of it all sinking in with each scattered lock.

I stood there with a dumbfounded look on my face as the barber began sweeping up my hair. 

“That’s a lot of hair gone. You might be the first person I’ve cut this much off of in one go.” 

His comment stung. I wanted to leave as soon as possible. 

Almost as if reading my mind the barber looked up.

“You’re free to get going. Recruits are for free of course. I’d assume you need some time to get used to you without all of this.” He tilted his head to the massive pile he was pushing to the back of the shop. 

“Thank you.” I said even though I wasn’t thankful about any aspect of this situation. 

He moved towards the door to unlock it. 

“And thank you for giving my clippers a good workout.” 

I pushed open the door and briskly left the salon. My fingers instinctively move to my lips, pulling away tiny specs of hair that seem to be clinging to the inside of my mouth. I feel a sharp, unfamiliar chill against the back of my neck. My hair, in all its long, wavy, glory, hair that had been a part of me for as long as I could remember—is gone. I reach up to touch the cut, my fingertips grazing the buzzed sides, feeling the sharp contrast between the soft, clipped top and the almost bare skin beneath. Despite being desperate to remain brave, I feel hot tears forming in my eyes. 

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