andead99
Clarissa has always been the classic perfectionist girl who is always dissatisfied. Every time she completed something she immediately started thinking of a thousand other ways of doing it, possibly better.
This didn’t particularly bother her in some aspects, but in others it was clearly more of a flaw than an advantage, almost leading to her intolerance about this condition. As for her appearance.
Spring had arrived and the wind was beginning to soften under the warm sun that had come back to life from the cold season. Her heavy clothes made room for much less bulky t-shirts and shirts, allowing her skin to receive the much-needed coolness. In winter Clarissa’s intolerance was almost put on hold; the stress caused by having to keep up with excessive care of her body, such as weekly waxing, was soothed by the layers of clothes and wool hats. So it is easy to understand that her hair was also not touched from the autumn period until the following spring.
Clarissa allowed herself to let her hair grow long enough to experiment with it a little without having to think about the heat or having to show it off excessively thanks to hats and caps. The hazelnut-colored locks were sometimes carefully gathered into thick chignons or braided into messy braids, giving a wavy effect that certainly didn’t look out of place in what many would define as a sea of hair.
Yet she knew well that hair that was too long and deprived of periodic trimming risks becoming more of a burden than anything else, especially for a maniacal girl like her, which led her to fix the cut every time the season allowed her to reveal herself more.
She therefore did not fail to look for a salon that could arrange and put in order the wild growth to which she subjected her head in the winter period.
The city streets were once again beginning to resonate with the voices of the inhabitants, among which Clarissa’s voice also resonated. Her habit, which led her to never be satisfied with herself, consequently also led her to experiment with different shops if she found any.
This was the turn of a small place in the historic centre, which had only appeared a couple of years ago. The shop’s inconspicuous sign left no doubt that it was indeed a salon, although people noticed the window before the sign; a good part of the glass was covered with images of cuts of every shape and color, from the most dated to those that can only be seen in fashion magazines and that only a few young and open-minded heads carry with childish bravado. The entrance door was the only window that allowed you to see inside the room, which was very small, almost classic in style and with few frills.
So it was time to see what the hairdresser could do for Clarissa.
The door opened with the usual bell of a thousand other similar shops, while the girl’s feet proceeded to carry her in front of the counter, where the hairdresser was patiently waiting for the next customer who had just entered.
“Hello, what can I do for you?”
“Hello, do you have time for a tidy up?”
“Sure, go ahead and sit down. I’ll take a cape and I’ll be with you straight away.”
Clarissa wasted no time making herself comfortable in the chair in front of the mirror. Her eyes could do nothing but rest on her hair which had now reached halfway down her back. She rested her hands on her thighs waiting to be serviced. Meanwhile, from behind her a black cape was thrown over her head and then landed just under her chin. She automatically raised her head to facilitate the closing of the buttons at the back of her neck.
From the drawers in front of the station the hairdresser took out a comb and scissors, starting to comb and scrutinize the locks, waiting to receive instructions.
“So, what cut did you want to do?”
Clarissa’s eyes looked up at her interlocutor and then directed towards the tips, roots and sideburns that came out from under her blanket of hair.
“Actually every time I cut my hair I just ask for a general tidy up and shorten it to let it grow. I’ve never had a cut in my life that I’ve been completely happy with, so I don’t know what else to say except that I’d like to shorten it.”
The hairdresser looks at Clarissa in turn, trying to find a solution.
“So you never found a style you liked? Maybe you haven’t tried the right ones?”
The girl frowns.
“Yes…it could be.”
“If you want, I can help you.”
“How?”
“I would say that the best method is for you to try different styles every time you come to get your hair cut from now on, so that sooner or later you will finally be able to find the perfect cut that satisfies you.”
With a thoughtful air, Clarissa tries to think if she had ever thought of trying something like this in life, and in her retentiveness she cannot find any similar thought.
“It doesn’t seem like a bad idea to me…”
The hairdresser then proceeds without further instructions to put the scissors back in the drawer and start with the cut.
“If we want to start with a style, then it would be better to start from zero” she says while still leaning forward towards the dresser she picks up a clippers.
With the comb still in her left hand she sweeps her hair back over her forehead, while Clarissa begins to understand what is about to happen only when the POP of the machine turning on makes the serrated blades vibrate above her forehead.
The incessant noise of the electric razor gets closer and closer until it reaches the hairline and is then pushed along the entire length of the head to the top of her.
Useless to say how the poor customer felt at this moment. The only thing she was able to do was to remain firmly in her seat, almost unaware of what was happening.
Having reached the top, the hairdresser started cutting again, returning to the forehead, then increasingly towards the temples, freeing more and more scalp up to the sideburns and behind the ears, first on the left and then on the right. Half of Clarissa’s head was now free of half of what until a few seconds ago she might have called her hair. From the mirror she could only see her forehead now larger than she had ever been used to seeing, her ears strangely larger than normal. Only the back of her head remained intact, still falling over her shoulders and behind the seatback, not for much longer it seemed.
Placing the comb in front of the mirror, Clarissa had just a few moments’ break from the hairdresser, who now having her left hand free grabbed the hair at the nape of her neck, lifting it above her head, positioned the clipper on her neck and slowly pulled it up to be able to shave as much hair as possible. Without ever letting go of her hair, the movement of the vibrating blades repeatedly described the strips of shaved hair on the back of her head.
When only a few millimeters remained on the poor girl’s head, the hairdresser finally put the razor to rest, abandoning the station for a few seconds, leaving time only to allow Clarissa to open her mouth slightly, still unable to utter a word. She never would have expected that the typical spring session at the hairdresser would end like this. Seeing the hairdresser return behind her, she tried to clarify what was happening to her.
“I do not…”
“One more moment dear, this is certainly not how I intend to leave you.”
Saying this, the lady began to spread some foam, which she had been mixing shortly before, over Clarissa’s skull, covering it with a consistent whitish layer. From her pocket she took out a straight razor that she used to use on the backs of clients to clear away any small, unsightly hairs from their necks, now called upon to do much more than it ever had.
Holding the girl’s head firmly, she proceeded with small and quick strokes of the blade to clean the temples, taking away what short but thick hair remained. Between one scrape and another she cleaned the razor on a small towel placed shortly before on the client’s shoulder, allowing the latter to see a kind of brown mush left in the foam, what she would no longer call ‘hair’.
What for the hairdresser was an eternity seemed like an instant to Clarissa, when in her mirror she saw her reflection distorted by what she had just undergone. Completely hairless. Small consolation to think that this will be the shortest cut she will have.
“This is the cut we will start with, so the next times we will cut less and less…or would you have preferred to start with longer cuts?”
Clarissa didn’t answer, she didn’t have the courage.
