HairApparent
‘The whole team’s hair must be cut even shorter!’ the national tennis team manager, Judith Spears, had grandly announced. She had then picked up her bag and marched to the door of the locker room.
We exchanged mystified looks, wondering what was going to happen next, no one willing to take the first step.
Turning to face the sea of puzzled faces, Ms Spears spoke with a note of urgency and authority. ‘Come along, girls. No dawdling!’
We had no choice but to follow our strong-minded coach through the door of the locker room and out into the high street.
The morning had been a rollercoaster for us as Ms Spears asserted her right for all six members of the team to receive identical short haircuts to complement our matching outfits. Initially, I assisted her by helping her cut off the hair of my teammates, leaving us all with short stumpy ponytails. We all looked alike but the style soon looked messy and impractical on the tennis courts.
Following an earlier misunderstanding, Judith Spears appointed me as the team’s hairdresser, despite me having had no previous experience. She asked me to emulate her own immaculate angled bob on the hair of Emily, the oldest member of our team.
Through a combination of misjudgement and lack of experience, Emily ended up with a remarkably short bowlcut with a shaved nape. It looked stunning and really suited her. I had looked forward to receiving the same style. But our coach and the rest of the team argued against a bowlcut being the best option for playing tennis. I was disappointed, but I was hopeful that Judith Spears would have another equally acceptable style in mind.
As we marched along the high street, we must have looked a peculiar sight. The statuesque and stylish team manager in the lead, followed by a line of girls in identical white tennis dresses. All but one with a short messy ponytail, and the other with a pristine and severe bowlcut.
We did not walk far. The coach turned down a narrow passageway and then she right wheeled through a nearby doorway. I was unsure who was most surprised when we entered the premises she had chosen. Whether it was the team suddenly realising where we were standing. Or the elderly gentleman who had been quietly browsing a newspaper in a large comfortable chair, suddenly alerted to a line of girls in short white dresses appearing in his shop.
The man jumped to attention and cast a puzzled unsmiling glare in our direction. He was not tall and quite plump, giving him a round appearance. Smartly dressed, he wore a crisp white shirt with a black tie, covered by a grey nylon jacket. Unlike us, he did not have a single hair out of place as he was completely bald. His smooth shiny head looked as though no hair had ever had the impudence to make an appearance. Despite his short stature, I found his dark beady eyes intimidating and his grim demeanour creepy.
‘Chloe!’ Judith barked, pointing to the large chair that the man had just vacated. ‘The rest of you, wait over in the corner.’
A long, vinyl-covered bench lined one wall and my teammates scrambled for a seat, clearly pleased not to be the one singled out by the team manager.
‘Can I help you, ladies,’ the old man finally spoke, his tone frosty and unwelcoming.
I had moved slowly towards his chair as our coach had instructed. But faced with the man’s coldness, I remained hovering nearby, unsure what to do next.
‘Yes, you most certainly can help, sir,’ Judith Spears explained. ‘You shall be cutting the hair of these ladies, giving each one an identical haircut.’
The old man cackled. ‘Perhaps you did not see the sign above the door,’ the man sneered sarcastically. ‘This is a barbershop. Simon’s Barbershop. For gentlemen,’ he stated proudly.’ And I am Simon.’
= * = * =
‘Sorry,’ our team manager sighed, exasperated by the barber’s unnecessary awkwardness. ‘You shall be cutting the hair of these ladies. Giving each one an identical haircut, Simon,’ she repeated, labouring his name.
’But they are not men!’ the barber stated unnecessarily, without any trace of irony. ‘None of them are.’
‘Yes. That. Is. Correct,’ Judith Spears acknowledged ridiculously slowly, intent on making her requirements completely clear. ‘But just look at them. Do you not think they all require haircuts? It really is that simple, Simon.’
‘I agree that their hair is certainly a mess,’ he confirmed, ‘apart from the tall one,’ he added, gesturing to Emily and her bowlcut. ‘You need to make an appointment at a ladies salon and -’
‘As well as your name and occupation on your door, it says “No Appointments Necessary”,’ Judith Spears pointed out, jabbing her finger in his direction. Then she turned towards me and directed the same finger at his chair. ‘So, Chloe, sit!’
= * = * =
Simon, the barber, brushed down his chair with a towel and grandly gestured for me to sit. As I moved, he stared at me with a cold smile ‘I will barber their hair very short,’ he smirked, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. ‘As I would a man,’ he added threateningly.
Despite his newfound willingness, I wondered if his statement might be a final attempt to dissuade us from using his services. It was clearly apparent that he preferred to cut the hair of men. If so, his strategy was not working on me as I was becoming increasingly hot and excited by the prospect of having my hair cut extremely short by a barber.
‘I am pleased to hear that you will be cutting their hair short,’ Judith Spears confirmed, sounding as eager as I was to see him get to work.
‘Please take a seat, young lady,’ he invited, turning the huge leather and chrome chair to face me.
Savouring the moment, I gently eased myself into position, stepping onto the footrest.
‘Hurry up, Chloe, our coach urged. ‘Simon says, sit down.’
Simon promptly turned me to face the mirror and enveloped me with a huge white cape. He secured it tightly around my neck and carefully arranged it over my body to cover me from top to toe. He pumped up the chair, so I was high off the ground. Along with the weight of the cape, Simon had made me feel deliciously helpless and vulnerable.
The barber took scissors and comb from his jacket. ‘Right, young lady, what are we going to do -’
I had given no thought as to what he should do to my hair, assuming he would know what is best. However, our coach halted his questioning by pulling him to one side and whispered to him what she wanted. But I was unable to hear what she said.
Simon’s eyes widened. ‘Are you sure, madam?’ he prompted more than once, looking uneasy, as she jabbered insistently in his ear. Finally, he gave a resigned shrug and exchanged the scissors for the large red hairclippers hanging from a hook by the mirror. Despite all my shorter haircuts in the past, I had never had them used on my hair. ‘Very well, madam, I shall do as you ask.’
Naturally, I was curious as to what they had discussed. ‘What -’ I began to ask, but abruptly stopped, jumping in the chair, when I heard the purposeful loud roar of the hairclippers in his hand.
Simon chuckled at my reaction as he thrust the blade of the clippers up the side of my head, leaving a path of bare skin in their wake. He repeated the action on the other side of my head. My ears, thankfully not too large, without the encumbrance of surrounding hair, sprung out delicately from the side of the head.
‘Marvellous,’ I heard Judith Shields breathe to one side of me as she avidly observed his progress.
‘Head down!’ he shouted over the loud buzzing of the hairclippers close to my ears. Leaving me no choice, he forcefully manhandled my head this way and that to suit his purposes. I felt the barber working the clippers along my neck and high up the back of my head until the back and sides were completely bare. The only hair that he had left on my head sprouted untidily from the crown.
It was odd having a stranger treat me so roughly and removing my hair so abruptly. But I felt oddly refreshed as the weight of the hair on my head became significantly lighter.
With the help of a comb, the barber trimmed the remaining hair on my crown. Lifting a section at a time, he passed the clattering clippers over the plastic comb. With increasingly finer adjustments, he carved my remaining hair into an immaculate short stiff brush covering my crown with every strand standing perfectly erect. He expertly faded the shorter bristles on the back and sides down to baldness at the hairline.
Simon silenced the clippers, stood back, and admired his accomplishment. His evident pleasure at what he had done to me was very tangible. Given his earlier reluctance, I considered whether it was the usual satisfaction he would experience with a job well done on one of his male customers. Or was it a greater sense of accomplishment arising from having given a female such as drastic masculine haircut.
It looked incredibly severe, but it also felt so fresh and exciting. For the first time in my life, I had a haircut that made the best of my “bad hair” and helped me look surprisingly attractive.
‘You look delightful, Chloe,’ Judith Spears concurred wondrously, inspecting my hair closely.
‘Yes, madam. A smart flattop haircut for the young lady. Just as you requested,’ Simon smirked. ‘I do hope it is short enough.’
Realistically, it could not be cut much shorter and still look moderately stylish. I imagined he was being sarcastic, but the humourless Judith Spears took his words at face value. ‘Yes, short enough for today to give time for her to adjust to it. Do you like it, Chloe?’
‘I love it. Thanks Coach,’ I gushed. ‘And thank you, Simon.
He nodded in acknowledgement but looked perplexed as to why a girl like me would love such a severe haircut. At the time, it was a thought that puzzled me too.
‘Yes, the perfect style for a girl to look neat and tidy while playing tennis,’ our coach summarised approvingly. ‘And what is more, not bothered or distracted by her hair.’
As Judith Spears delivered her verdict, she bounced her palm over the stiff hair on my crown, and then gently along my smooth neck. Her look of wonder never left her expression. And I enjoyed the sensation too.
‘Right, up you get, Chloe,’ our coach urged excitedly. ‘Now it is Emily’s turn.’
= * = * =
I had taken little notice of my colleagues while Simon was shearing my hair. As he whisked away the cape and lowered the chair, I hopped down and strutted over to the bench in the corner. Five pairs of horrified eyes stared extremely nervously at what little remained of my hair.
‘It is not so bad,’ I giggled, taking Emily by her hand, and dragging her to her feet.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Judith Spears nodding approvingly at my assertive actions.
I led Emily to the chair, and I could feel her hand trembling. On visibly shaking legs, she perched on the chair that I had just vacated, then she released my hand.
Simon, the barber, prepared Emily by enveloping her with the cape and pumping up the chair. He studied Emily’s bowlcut that I had cut for her earlier, combing it through and nodding his approval. ‘This young lady has had her hair cut quite recently. She looks attractive, and someone has cut her hair extremely well. So, it is disappointing to cut it again so soon.’
I beamed with pride but, as I excitedly prepared to inform Simon of my skills, our coach interjected.
‘All the girls must look the same,’ Judith Spears stated bluntly.
Simon shrugged and reached for his hairclippers. I was enjoying my ringside position, but I reluctantly began backing away to join the rest of the team. Suddenly, Emily thrust out her arm from under the cape and grabbed my hand. ‘Please stay, Chloe,’ she whimpered.
I looked towards Judith Spears, and she gave a nod of consent accompanied by an appreciative smile. I patted the back of Emily’s hand. ‘You will be fine, Emily,’ I asserted enthusiastically.
The experience of having my hair shaved off and seeing it fall to the floor had evoked a strange sensation deep within me. However, being so close to someone else about to undergo the same procedure evoked an even more peculiar feeling. Whereas the older and far more attractive Emily quietly sobbed at the impending shearing, I grew increasingly thrilled by the prospect of what I was about to witness.
‘You need to keep you head down,’ I urged, easing Emily’s head lower and lower, ‘so that Simon can shave your back and sides cleanly.’
‘Thank you, young lady,’ Simon said, acknowledging my help. He had been reluctant to shear the hair of us girls when we arrived, either through preference or lack of experience in that area. However, having tentatively practiced his skills on my head, he appeared far more enthusiastic to repeat the act on the rest of the team.
As I held Emily’s head in position, the barber theatrically passed the hairclippers along her neck and up the back of her head. He nodded towards me and, correctly interpreting his wish, I tilted Emily’s head to one side, and he rewarded me with a grateful smile. He quickly dispatched all the hair around one ear, and I tilted Emily’s head in the other direction so that he could repeat the task.
Simon visually checked the back and sides of Emily’s head and nodded to himself. Although unbidden, I could not stop myself running my fingertips over the denuded areas. ‘Exceptionally smooth, Simon,’ I said in praise. Although he smiled, I could not imagine what he thought of my unsolicited examination and praise.
I moved in front of Emily and lifted her chin with my thumb and forefinger. I found myself looking directly into her sad eyes. ‘Looking good, Emily,’ I comforted, but she stared back at me unmoved.
I stood back and admired skill as he used the combination of comb and clippers to trim the remaining hair on Emily’s crown. From the collection of errant strands, his practiced hands soon fashioned a short stiff brush with every hair perfectly erect. The precisely cut hair formed a perfectly level surface, fully justifying the term flattop to describe the immaculate style.
‘Perfect,’ I breathed, marvelling at her drastic transformation. I examined his excellent work in the same manner as our team manager had with me earlier. Running my palm across Emily’s stiff bristles on her crown was an exquisite sensation, as was feeling the smoothness of the skin on her neck.
I could not stop myself thinking back to the waist-length locks that Emily proudly displayed at the start of the day. Subsequently, our coach chopped her hair into a crudely cut bob, then I trimmed her hair into a stunning and severe bowlcut, and finally Simon, the experienced barber, gave her a flawless flattop.
‘Yes, it certainly is perfect,’ Judith Spears agreed with me as she watched from nearby.
Once Simon had whisked away the cape with a characteristic flourish, Emily stumbled to her feet. ‘Th… thank you,’ Emily whimpered, looking up at the barber, as she stood on shaking legs. ‘And you too, Chloe,’ Emily added gratefully before trudging back to the bench in the corner. The rest of the team stared at her as she approached, and all looked horrified.
‘Next!’ I called out eagerly to my nearest teammate, and both Simon and our coach chuckled.
= * = * =
Like a production line, Simon enthusiastically tamed the wayward bob on each of my teammates, with my help where required. Each girl received an immaculate and identical flattop haircut that was perfect for playing tennis. I closely examined his work on each girl, primarily for my own enjoyment rather than any necessity.
As the final girl left his chair, we all gathered by the door, waiting for our coach to pay for our haircuts. After a brief conversation with Simon, she turned towards us. ‘What do you say girls?’
‘Thank you, Simon,’ we all chorused but with widely varying levels of enthusiasm.
I realised, at that moment, that haircuts were a great leveller. Everyone’s hair was identical, and we resembled each other far more than we had earlier simply by wearing the same clothes. We looked as though we were on the same team.
We all matched!
Epilogue
Judith Spears, our team manager, marched us in a line along the high street, back to the locker room. We attracted astonished and puzzled stares from every direction. Our smart white tennis dresses looked feminine and appropriate for young women of our age. However, our drastic, masculine, haircuts were at odds with the rest of our appearance. While I am sure most people did not know what to think, I simply felt proud to be part of a matching team. It was a new experience for me.
When we were all standing to attention in the locker room, our coach addressed us. ‘I am sure you will all agree, girls, that you all look very smart. A team matched in dress and matched in appearance. It will drive us all forward, not only for individual success, but also for glory as a team.’
‘Here, here,’ I said, reacting to our coach’s rousing words, before curbing my enthusiasm when I observed the admonishing stares of my teammates. I heard their grunts and grumbles. None looked directly at Judith Spears as she spoke.
‘You will be pleased to hear that before we left Simon’s quaint barbershop, I had a brief conversation with the charming man,’ Judith Spears announced. ‘He indicated that your hair would be apparent on the back and sides of you head within days. I know how disappointed you would all be to see that, so I have arranged for you to return to Simon on a regular basis. He has agreed to open at 8am every Monday and Thursday for you all to have your haircuts restored to the same pristine state they currently exhibit.’
‘Brilliant!’ I reacted without thinking, drawing further glares of disapproval from my teammates.
‘You will all meet here at 7.45 on those days and Chloe, who has already built a strong relationship with the lovely Simon, will lead you to the barbershop for your matching haircuts.’
= * = * =
I had not been personally responsible for the events that had unfolded that morning. However, the team chose to direct their discontent towards me rather than Judith Spears, our team manager. If she had been their target, they would have been severely reprimanded or even dismissed from the team. With our coach appointing me to escort them for their bi-weekly haircuts with Simon, I was a much easier target for their disapproval.
The original deception that Judith Spears had conducted had been the start of it. By playing on my innocence, she had extensions fitted to my short hair to trick my teammates. But it was not of my doing and I knew nothing about her intentions beforehand. However, whatever I said, the team continued to believe that I had conspired with Judith Spears for her to offer me a place on the team.
The team blamed me for their unconventional masculine hairstyles that they believed had stripped them of their femininity. They hated me for being the reason behind what they considered an act of treachery. They accused me of making them feel uncomfortable with their appearance.
The grumbles amongst the team continued and I could see, from the team manager’s determined expression, that she intended putting a stop to it.
‘As a team, we are now well-positioned for success in the next tournament. However, should any one of you lose a match,’ Judith Spears stated in a threatening tone, ‘I may ask the lovely Simon to assist in improving your performance on the courts just a little bit more. By having him shave all of you completely bald!’
I had no idea why Judith despised long hair so much. But, in retrospect, it had become clear that she had intended her team to have short hair from the moment of her appointment. Events may have clouded her original desire, but I was in no doubt that whatever team she led would have short hair in the end.
It was a mystery why she had even considered that all of us being bald would improve our performance. It may have been an idle threat to urge us to success, a method of establishing control, or simply a personal desire.
I could not fathom why she acted in the way she did as it bore no relationship to the conventional manner of coaching a tennis team. However, whatever underlying obsession drove her on, it was obvious that Judith Spears was beyond reason.
= * = * =
As for me, I had always struggled to grow my hair to match the stereotype of the ponytailed professional tennis player that I was striving to become. With the extensions that Judith Spears had tricked me into wearing, I finally matched that stereotype.
But I felt distinctly uncomfortable with long hair. Furthermore, it did not make me a better tennis player.
After Simon had shorn most my hair, I not only looked neat and tidy, but the resulting sensations were extremely pleasurable. Given the subsequent transformation of the rest of the team and my appointed task to ensure Simon maintained their appearance, I felt like I was establishing a new and far better stereotype for the future of women tennis players.
So, with my fresh and severe haircut, I can enjoy the feeling of always looking good as well as sharing our manager’s desire for the whole team to look the same.
