HairApparent
Prologue
I stepped into the reception of Elite Intensity, a fitness centre, on the first day of my new job, my heart pounding in my chest, a blend of excitement and anxiety swirling in my stomach. The bright, open space the other side of the glass buzzed with youthful energy. People were pumping iron, trainers were shouting encouragements, and the rhythmic sounds of weights clanging filled the air. Although I admired the dedication of all those intense gym bunnies, that level of commitment would never be for me.
I liked to eat well, perform modest exercise, and stay in trim. However, the fitness centre had recruited me for my administrative capabilities, and not for my physical prowess, releasing more time for the existing team to do what they did best. For me, it was a dream job after the difficult year that I had just experienced.
The company where I had worked in a well-paid managerial role had folded unexpectedly. I had outstanding bills to pay and ongoing financial commitments that I was finding hard to meet. Taking menial part-time work, I was able to maintain a roof over my head and keep myself fed. However, I was close to the point where I would need to sell my beloved car.
But the role at Elite Intensity was perfect for me; it paid remarkably well, and I would be able to keep my car on the road!
Arrival
I strolled behind the empty reception desk to refresh my memory of the layout and the equipment. During my recent interview, my new manager had explained my duties, so I was happy to commence work as soon as she appeared. Absently, I tucked a loose strand of my long hair behind my ear, admiring the way it cascaded down my back in one of the many full-length mirrors dotted around the reception area.
My hair was my pride and joy, a long, flowing curtain that defined my femininity and individuality. Although I preferred to wear my hair completely loose, a decorative clip held the front of my hair away from my face to offer a more formal look. Today, I wore a smart black skirt and a matching blazer. A crisp white blouse buttoned up to the neck completed my understated look. My appearance screamed professionalism, a serious look that I hoped would earn me respect.
I heard a door open behind me. Turning around, I saw Nadia, the manager of the centre, approaching me from her office. An intimidating presence, she towered over me. Her tightly cropped black hair had an austere appearance but possessed sufficient style for her to project femininity and radiate authority. Her designer sportswear hugged her powerful figure and, such was the clever tailoring of each item, it would serve equally well in a boardroom as the gym.
‘Claire, welcome to the team!’ Nadia barked, shaking my hand with a firm grip. ‘Before you start work, we need to talk about your hair,’ she said, the command in her tone leaving little room for discussion.
I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. ‘My hair? I thought the dress code was just about professional attire. I am just the receptionist, after all.’ Already, I felt the stirrings of resistance.
Nadia’s piercing gaze hardened. ‘All staff members must adhere to our appearance standards. Your hair requires attention. Follow me.’
Preparation
Before I could muster a counterargument, Nadia gripped my arm and swiftly led me toward to a parade of a small outlets at the back of the centre. Squeezed between a juice bar and a shop selling all manner of health supplements, was a narrow storefront. A sign above the door proclaimed it to be Cuts by Donna, the centre’s barbershop.
For me, any haircutting establishment was a foreign land. Even at thirty-two years old, my mum still trimmed my long hair whenever I popped over to see her. Not only did it save me money, but it avoided anxious trips to salons inhabited by stylists who failed to listen. The shop had a distinct male bias with the décor and chairs harked back to a traditional men’s barbershop. Nevertheless, there were plenty of lighter touches to indicate that women were equally welcome.
Donna, the barber, greeted us with a bright smile and an infectious energy, her sharply cut, inverted bob bouncing as she moved. ‘Ah, you have brought Donna someone new today, Nadia! How nice! So, who do we have here?’ she asked, her eyes twinkling with delight, as she ran her fingers through my hair.
‘Claire is joining the team as our receptionist,’ Nadia stated, ‘as well as attending to many of my onerous administrative duties, allowing me time to do what I do best.’
‘One day, Donna will find out what that is,’ she giggled mischievously, while Nadia maintained her stiff unsmiling demeanour. ‘Donna already knows that smiling isn’t what you do best,’ she added, softening her sarcastic dig at her manager with an obvious wink.
‘Quite so,’ Nadia sniffed, giving a tight smile. The conversation highlighted Donna as the joker in the team, and I was warming to her. ‘But today we’re here for you to do what you do best for Claire,’ Nadia explained, her grip unyielding as she propelled me into Donna’s huge leather and chrome barber’s chair.
‘So, what does Claire require from Donna?’ Her enthusiasm was infectious, a sharp contrast to the dread building inside me, as she pumped up the chair far too high, and enveloped me with a cape.
Donna’s odd way of referring to herself as she spoke, left me unsure whether she was asking the question of me or my new manager. Nadia wasted no time in removing the ambiguity. ‘You will give Claire the standard haircut for new employees.’
Induction
I felt my heart plummet. ‘A haircut? But I -’
The manager cut me off. ‘No arguments. This is non-negotiable … if you wish to keep your job.’
What could I do? I threw a desperate glance at Donna, searching for some sign of empathy. Instead, a twinkle radiated from Donna’s eyes that was hard to decipher. ‘You will look fantastic! Trust Donna, a fresh look can be liberating.’ She approached me with electric hairclippers that buzzed ominously to life.
‘Look, I appreciate your enthusiasm, Donna, but I am not at all comfortable with this. My hair is important to me!’ I pleaded. ‘Perhaps we could work together to style it in a French braid, a bun, or something,’ I added in desperation, despite preferring to wear my hair loose.
Donna silenced her hairclippers, pouted disconsolately, and looked towards Nadia for guidance.
‘You will give Claire the standard haircut for new employees,’ the manager repeated, as she unfastened the decorative clip holding my hair back from my forehead and tossing it in the waste bin. ‘You will not be needing that again,’ she added with an icy smile.
Donna’s pout dissolved into a broad gleeful smile, and the hairclippers buzzed back into life. I was about to say more but Nadia’s cold stare silenced me, forcing me to take a deep breath. I could not put myself in a position where I might lose the job, so I had no choice.
‘Okay, Claire, ready?’ Donna asked, but she was excited by the task at hand and showed no interest in my response. ‘Just think how refreshing this will be!’
Donna took a large comb in her spare hand and ran it through my hair at the back of my head several times. She then held the comb horizontally and perfectly still. I felt the teeth digging into my skin at the back of my head, level with my ears. Unfamiliar with salon proceedings, a horrific thought suddenly crossed my mind. The noise of the hairclippers grew louder, adding weight to my fears. When I felt an insistent vibration of the blades against my head then I knew any last hope was gone.
That first swipe of the clippers sent shivers through my body. A joyous Donna adjusted her position and swiftly repeated her action several more times around my head. As she moved to the side, I watched, disbelieving, as chunks of my long hair tumbled to the floor, severing my connection to the identity I had clung to for so long.
My manager stood silently to one side, arms firmly crossed over her chest, with a tight smile that smacked of triumph.
‘Just think of how much easier it will be to maintain!’ Donna chirped, seemingly relishing my agony. I could feel tears prickling in my eyes, my reflection shifting from fear to shock and, surprisingly, a hint of reluctant acceptance.
‘But why does it have to be so drastic?’ I tried to keep my voice steady, but desperation seeped through, as Donna expertly worked the clippers to fashion the shortest of bobs perched above my ears.
‘It’s part of our brand,’ Nadia replied brusquely. ‘You’ll fit right in once you adjust.’
As Donna continued, the clippers transformed my long, cherished locks into a smooth cap of hair that barely covered my crown, reducing the back and sides to mere stubble. When she finished, I barely recognised the person staring back at me.
But it was still not short enough for my manager. ‘Donna, that style is not the standard haircut for our new employees,’ she intensely criticised.
Completion
‘Donna knows that you prefer a crewcut when we induct the personal trainers and related staff, Nadia,’ Donna said, sounding conciliatory, ‘and Donna agrees that it is a most appropriate hairstyle given their roles. And one, as I am sure you know, it is one I enjoying giving,’ she giggled. ‘However, as Claire is working in a managerial capacity then, with her neat bowlcut, she will project a more corporate and professional image to prospective and existing clients arriving in reception.’
Nadia sniffed, unconvinced, as she slowly circled me, thoroughly inspecting Donna’s work. For the first time, the barber looked anxious rather than joyous and amused. I gained the impression she had gone out on a bit of a limb for me, and a subtle wink, unseen by the manager, appeared to confirm it.
Given what had already happened, I expected Nadia to order Donna to shave off the rest of my hair. But as she ran her fingers against the bristles that remained on my neck, she mellowed slightly. ‘You may have a point, Donna. She does look reasonably presentable, I suppose,’ Nadia grudgingly conceded. ‘But do not go against my wishes again, or we may be looking for a new barber.’
‘Donna says sorry, Nadia,’ hanging her head dejectedly, although I suspected it was just part of a power game between the two women.
‘Very well,’ Nadia huffed, ‘but we cannot have Claire appearing at reception with all this fuzz below the bowlcut, so shave it all off, Donna. Completely. Down to the skin!’ she demanded menacingly, exerting her authority.
‘Very well,’ Donna mimicked sarcastically, picking up a small electrical device of dubious purpose, causing my anxiety to increase once more. ‘Donna says not to worry, Claire. It is just an electric shaver to remove all the tiresome fuzz. The back and sides of your head will be bald in no time.’
Although Donna urged me not to worry, the rest of her words were not ones that I welcomed or had expected to hear. Earlier, my long locks had trailed behind me, but soon I would be half bald with just a bizarre short cap of hair perched on my head. ‘Bald?’ I whined, unable to think of anything more meaningful to say when faced with Donna’s onslaught of terror.
‘Yes, exactly,’ Donna confirmed brightly, as if baldness were a good thing. She applied the shaver to the suede-like bristles above my left ear. The feeling was different to the larger hairclippers, but the blade was no less effective. The dull shadow of fuzz was immediately replaced by pristine white skin, allowing my ear to stand out unencumbered on the side of my head. The barber repeated the action around my right ear, before erasing any trace of hair along my neck.
Suddenly, the noise of the shaver stopped, and Donna whisked away the cape. ‘Donna says she has finished, and she is extremely satisfied with her work,’ the barber declared joyfully, before holding up a mirror for me to see all the devastation she had wrought on my hair.
Satisfied, I mused? The best that anyone could say for how I looked, was that the bowlcut gave me a stark professional appearance. However, it was a drastic departure from the woman I had been just moments before.
‘Excellent! Now, Claire, you truly look the part of a receptionist,’ Nadia nodded in approval, her tone dismissive as she revelled in her victory. ‘Donna, you have done well, and Claire may now keep that style.’
Donna beamed and held out a hand towards me, anticipating my expression of gratitude. Instead, I rewarded her with my coldest stare. Her ever-present smile dropped, and she looked confused. She self-consciously moved her hand, shrugged, and wagged a finger at me. ‘You will return to Donna at least once a week to maintain your style,’ the barber insisted unpleasantly, ‘otherwise Donna will inform Nadia.’
Stepping out of the barbershop, I felt a whirlwind of grief wash over me. My hair had been my companion, my comfort; without it, I felt exposed, stripped of layers that shielded me from the world. Yet, strangely, there was an inkling of liberation. There was a niggling thought that perhaps I could redefine myself.
Epilogue
As I took my place behind the reception desk, forcing a smile while greeting the members of Elite Intensity, I grappled internally with my transformation. I was sure that everyone pitied the poor woman with the ridiculous cap of short hair perched on her head. I was convinced they were commiserating with me when they caught sight of the bare skin that Donna exposed on the back and sides of my head. Their sympathy was justified and valued.
It felt like I had lost my identity. And I recalled that loss each time I gazed through the reception towards the flaunting hordes on the gym equipment. It seemed all the women had secured their hair in jaunty ponytails that, as they exercised, joyously bounced around to taunt me, reminding me of my loss.
Despite the austere professional appearance and demeanour that I presented to our clients, I longed for the vibrant hair that once flowed with my every movement.
To Be Continued
