Going Avant Garde: Andrea Gets Bowled

Andrea stretched out on Kelsey’s bedspread, still shaken by the phone call. Her girlfriend gave her a smirk, her pink fringe stopping short of her vibrant blue eyes. 

“What was that all about?” Kelsey smiled coyly.

Andrea looked around the room, searching for her words. It was still a dorm, but instead of the usual posters and fairy lights, Kelsey had somehow transformed the industrial white bricks into a colorful oasis using stick and peel wallpaper she’d designed herself.

“Just my modeling agency,” Andrea replied, her voice shaking. “They said they had a new gig for me.” 

Andrea looked away, her eyes resting on one of the bright orange flowers. 

“Continue,” said Kelsey, tilting her head. Taking a deep breath, Andrea stared at her reflection, her shiny brunette hair, and her pale, round face that Kelsey always told her was really damn cute. 

“There is a local artist looking for models willing to get bold haircuts. It’s apparently an ongoing thing.” Andrea put the quotes around the words bold, which made Kelsey’s eyes glow even more. 

“Bold haircuts, hmm.” Kelsey tapped her fingers on the bed. “Did they say specifically what?”

“No,” Andrea replied quickly. “But I’m not sure I really want to take it.”

“Why?”

“It might limit the kind of work I get.” 

“Okay. But what did Jerome think?”

Andrea could tell Kelsey knew she was BS’ing. She always did. 

“He actually said the opposite,” Andrea admitted, scratching the back of her head. “That it could bring me more editorial work.” 

Kelsey hit her with her Hello Kitty squishmellow. Her bob, which ended right at her jawline, had become disheveled, neon pieces flying everywhere. 

“Sounds like the perfect time for a makeover, then.” 

Andrea crossed her arms, looking to the ceiling. “It’s not even a given yet. I’d still have to do an interview with the photographer, and that’s if she even wants to pick me.”

Kelsey scrunched up her lips. “Well, if she does end up picking you,” Kelsey poked her with her elbow. “Maybe it’s a sign you should do it.” 

“But what if I end up bald?”

Kelsey laughed. “That would be hilarious.” 

Andrea rolled her eyes, combing her hair with her hands. The shiny strands moved easily through her fingers.

“But I think you could seriously pull it off. Actually, any haircut, really.” 

Andrea glanced at her reflection in Kelsey’s vanity mirror, trying to picture herself bald. 

“You think so?” 

“I think it would be pretty hot, actually. I’ve always had a thing for bald girls.” Kelsey flashed her a toothless grin, then tucked a lock of Andreas’ hair behind her ears. Andrea froze, her breath becoming shallow. 

For most of her life, her hair reached her upper back or just below her bra strap, the ends always neatly trimmed. It was the kind of hair — according to her grandma — that made boys “go a little crazy.” But Andrea didn’t like boys. Not one bit.

—

The studio was outside the main strip of town, towards the highway, in a place that didn’t look like much. As Andrea walked into the large, empty lobby, brightly lit by harsh overhead lights, she thought perhaps she had gone to the wrong place — that was, until a younger Asian woman walked out with an excited smile, her lips so perfect they looked almost doll-like. She shook Andrea’s hand, her dark eyes reflecting the light. A cotton black turtle neck and bootcut jeans showed off her slim, fit figure.

“Hi, I’m June. It’s so nice to meet you!” Almost like she was meeting a friend of a friend. She turned around, and that’s when Andrea noticed her haircut. One side was cut into an angled bob, while the other had been shaped into a high-faded pixie, connected by a sharp angle slicing up the back of her head, the skin underneath shaved to reveal white scalp. It was a striking, extreme look, and only served to complement her sharp jawline and high cheekbones. 

She was one of the most beautiful women Andrea had ever seen — the type that could captivate a room just by walking into it. And now she was in her office, surrounded by books and photographs. 

“So tell me a little bit about yourself.” June leaned forward and rested her elbows on the clutter, the long pieces of her hair falling forward. 

Her spiel was cringe, useless even. “I study art…I do modeling on the side. Mostly to help with living expenses.”  

“What type of art are you studying?” 

Andrea stumbled through her answers as June grilled her on her academic interests. She kept getting distracted by different things in the room — pictures of models posing in front of geometric shapes. A composition photo with overlapping squares and colors. Stacks of books and magazines, their pages marked and curling from use. And June herself, whose smile stretched wider when they started talking about Andrea’s  AP art project. 

She had centered her portfolio around botanicals — using flowers and plants to depict different world cultures. Eventually, the conversation devolved into them nerding out about shapes and composition, and that’s when June told her about the book she was working on — using the body, especially the hair, to capture different shapes. It sounded wonderful and beautiful to Andrea. 

“How comfortable are you cutting your hair?” June asked. “I’m willing to pay a lot, but I want a model that’s fine with anything.” 

“Right,” Andrea replied, feeling the jerk into reality. “Well, I’m totally fine with doing anything.” 

June dropped her smile, her face looking focused and serious. “Are you sure?”

Andrea bit her lip, then twisted the end of her hair. Changing her look — letting June take full control — was just as thrilling as it was terrifying. She didn’t know if she’d be relieved or extremely disappointed if June never contacted her again. 

“I don’t know,” Andrea replied honestly. “To be honest, I got into art because I like being creative without being the center of attention.” 

She looked at June. At her heavy mascara framing her dark eyes. At the shaved side of her head, the short hair fading to stubble. 

“But when I came to college, I wanted to try being someone new. Because I spent most of my life trying to protect myself, I think being scared is a sign I should actually do it.” 

June stared at her, her expression unreadable. “Just so you know, I haven’t a hundred percent planned my shots. So what I really need is someone who is flexible, who will be available to come in whenever. I like to get genuine reactions, so you won’t always know what you are getting until it’s done. I’ve had several turn me down because of that.” 

Andrea blushed. “I think I just want to know if I’ll end up bald.” 

“I’m using the body and hair as a canvas. Getting rid of it right away wouldn’t really make sense.” June said. 

“What do you mean?” She asked.

“I want to use the hair to show off different shapes. It will be a few big cuts, with a lot of smaller ones along the way. So you’ll have time to adjust to it, if that makes you feel more comfortable.” 

“That sounds fine with me.”

“You seem young, so I just want you to know what you’re getting into. I have it that I can do anything, so backing out means breach of contract. It’s not something I planned, but you should be fine with any haircut, even if that means bald.” 

Andrea swallowed. “Okay.” 

“I’m going to have Jerome send you the contract right away. But I want you to really think about it before signing.” 

Later that night, Andrea sat at her computer, combing her hair. June had explained her ideas for some of the initial shoots: Bob haircuts where each cut gets more extreme, contrasting straight and curved lines, with June doing each haircut herself. She thought about June cutting it, alone in the studio. How intimate it would feel, especially if Kelsey couldn’t make it.

The more she looked at women with partially shaved heads, especially June’s work, the more fascinated she became with the idea of baldness — the vulnerability of an exposed neck or curve of the head. She thought about what it would feel on herself, the heavy curtain removed, and how no matter how many AI apps she used, what lay underneath would be a mystery. She couldn’t know what she looked like until she did it herself, a shocking and thrilling feeling. 

Andrea opened her email and reread the subject line from Jerome. The contract was still unsigned. She hovered over it, her fingers resting on the trackpad.

She thought about June’s hands. About the mirror in the studio. About the sound the clippers would make when they turned on.

Then she signed.

When she closed her laptop, Andrea ran her fingers through her hair one last time, slower than before, as if committing it to memory. She didn’t feel brave. She didn’t feel ready.

But for the first time, she felt willing.

—

Andrea pushed open the door to the studio, her body feeling stiff.

June emerged from a side door, her asymmetrical haircut catching the light. “Andrea! You made it.” She smiled warmly. “Are you ready?”

Andrea nodded, not trusting her voice.

“Come, sit down,” June said, gesturing to the stool.

Andrea crossed the room and sat down, the studio light blinding her vision from the left. She crossed her legs tightly. June disappeared through the side door again.

Andrea glanced at the gargantuan mirror across from her. It was far enough away that she couldn’t really see the details of her face — just her silhouette and the long, glossy hair she’d styled straight for the shoot. 

She smiled, remembering what she’d said to Kelsey: “I know it’s time to cut my hair when guys keep hitting on me.” Kelsey had given her a smile more like a smirk. 

June returned with a pair of clippers and a barber’s cape. She handed Andrea the cape. “Here.”

Andrea fastened it around her neck, her fingers fumbling slightly with the snap. This was really happening. 

June plugged the clippers into the wall. The mechanical VVVVVV filled the room as she switched them on.

Instinctively, Andrea grabbed her long hair.

“Just one quick question,” Andrea said, her voice shakier than she’d intended.

Noticing her hesitation, June shut off the clippers. “Of course. What is it?”

“Will I be able to donate it?”

June’s eyes widened, and that’s when Andrea noticed her constellation of freckles.

“Of course!” she said. “Sorry — do you need a second to get your bearings?”

Saying nothing, Andrea got up from the stool and moved closer to the mirror, combing her hair with her fingers one last time. Styled smooth and straight, it moved easily through her fingers, almost like a silk ribbon. She stood there for a long moment, committing the feeling to memory.

Then she turned back to June and returned to the stool.

“I’m ready,” Andrea said, settling back onto the seat.

June smiled and switched the clippers back on.

—

Andrea felt the breeze on the back of her head. Despite the front pieces staying almost the same length, June had taken the back higher and higher. As she touched her neck, she could feel the sharp line where her hair ended and where the stubble began. The thick hairs around her nape and neck were like weeds, growing back so quickly that June decided she needed to come up every two weeks instead of three. 

After the first haircut, where June left her with a thick severed ponytail and a bland straight across bob, Andrea had come in every three weeks for a haircut and a photoshoot, each cut leaving a dusting of hair on the floor. No one had noticed a difference at first. All she had added was a slight angle, just enough to give it more style. But as winter faded into spring, the angle sharpened and grew more dramatic with each cut. What she had now was sharp and cosmopolitan — the front pieces almost reaching her collarbone, while the back was shaved at the nape. Her hair almost looked like a blade when she tilted her head forward. Slowly, she had changed the rest of her style to match, today wearing checkered pants, a black turtleneck, and a newsboy cap. 

She took the bus to June’s studio, feeling the cold air on her neck. “Shorter.” June had written in the email when she asked her what kind of cut she would be getting today. But when Andrea saw how the back was already shaved high above her hairline. How could it possibly get any shorter? 

June gave her a quick hello as she stopped by, but seemed busy getting everything ready. Andrea noticed she had prepped extra outfits today — including a silver leotard with structured shoulder pads that looked like something out of a Lady Gaga video. Andrea picked it up and laughed. “Are we going to space today?”

June ignored her as she attached her camera to her tripod. She had already rolled out the cart with the scissors and clippers. Andrea sat down, self-consciously feeling the fuzz on her nape. In the reflection, her hair came to a sharp point. She tucked it behind her ear and then closed her eyes as June attached her cape. She flicked on the clippers. The buzzing sound filled up the room, drowning out any noise from the road and the soft pop playing from June’s speakers.

June didn’t ask if she was ready; she just got down to business. She forced Andrea’s head forward and sunk the clips just below the crown of her head. Huge chunks of hair fell to the ground. Andrea couldn’t see what was going on, but it felt like by the end, she wouldn’t have any hair left in the back of her head—everything below the hairline was being shaved away, as she felt the blades vibrate against the back of her head. 

For what felt like hours, June worked her way around Andrea’s head, removing the bulk with clippers and then trimming with precision like she was a bonsai tree, slowly carving a new, even sharper angle towards the front of her head. 

In the end, she was left with her most avant-garde haircut yet. From the back, her hair was trimmed short, almost bowl-like, the nape shaved to stubble, but from the sides, the ultra-cropped hair dropped dramatically into a long bob. The contrast was sharp, almost brutalist. June smiled, admiring her work. All Andrea could think about was how she’d have a hard time making it look normal, but also how she’d never seen anything like it. She touched the back, the short hair feeling nice through her fingers. 

“Do you like it?” June asked.

Andrea looked at the mirror. From the back and side, the cut felt extreme, but from the front, it looked almost normal. 

“It’s like if the Karen cut went punk.” She touched the back. Later, June would take her to the bathroom and shave the undercut smooth. She’d stare at the photos. With the steep angle, sharply dropping to her collarbone, the cut looked almost violent, like a blade or shard of glass. The harsh lighting put her face in shadow. And in the poses, her knees bent and her body leaning back, she almost looked like a mannequin. She’d put them on her wall, intrigued by the geometry. During the night, she’d roleplay with Kelsey, letting her rub the smooth back, but when morning came, there was nothing more she wanted to do than pin her hair back. 

—

Andrea stood in the art studio, working diligently on an oil painting. Her girlfriend was with her, doing another project.

“I swear your hair is shorter every time I see you.” Their friend Jackie set her bookbag down and started grabbing supplies from the closet. 

Andrea touched her bob. June had let the back grow out a bit, but had slowly taken the bob shorter until the front pieces stopped around her lips. In the back, the nape was still buzzed, but was less defined than when she first received her haircut. 

“I’m actually supposed to get it cut again…today.” 

“Today?? Seriously?” 

“Yeah,” Andrea put her hand over her face, suppressing a giggle as she added paint to her canvas. 

“Are you not nervous?” 

Andrea focused on spreading the paint. “Not at all.” 

“It’s so short, at this rate, you barely have any more hair to cut.” 

Andrea looked up, watching Jackie set up her workspace. “I kind of love trying new hairstyles. Even if they’re crazy, I kind of love being a work of art.” 

She rubbed the back of the bob, feeling the shaved nape. “We’re going bold and extreme today.” June had warned her. Did that mean an extreme bob, or something else entirely? She touched her stubble, feeling the regrowth around her neck. She was ready to cut it shorter.

—

Andrea set her bags down in June’s studio and casually leaned back on the barber’s chair, singing along to music. 

June went to her closet to grab the barber tools. 

“You’re not gonna spray me today?” Andrea asked as June grabbed the clippers from her cart

“Not today,” June replied. 

She plugged the clippers into the wall, the sound overpowering any music that played in the background. Then she started shaving her nape, like usual, bringing up the back line before shaving away the stubble. Andrea scrolled through Instagram, not paying attention, but set her phone down when she noticed longer pieces falling onto the cape. Andrea moved her head to the side while June reached for the comb, laughing when she realized June had cut her once-angled hair straight. 

More hair fell as June worked her way to the front —the largest piece falling once she finally reached the front. The fringe appeared to wrap entirely around the left side of her head. The bottom was shaved off completely, no stubble left. Eventually, she cut off the bob on the right side to match, and then wet and refined the cut with scissors. By the time June finished styling and blow-drying her hair, Andrea was left with a full, shiny bowl cut. 

She rubbed her hands across the short stubble on her neck and then reached over to touch the short pieces. She liked how the hair got longer as she moved to her crown. She liked how she could brush it to one side or the other. It was cute, carefree and fun. And avant garde.  

She looked at the mirror, smiling. “This is me.” 

—

Good news for her: June liked the bowl cut as much as she did. 

For the next few months, as summer came and went and school restarted, Andrea wore her hair in a bowl.

The confidence changed everything. Instead of plain shorts or athleisure, she bought outfits that made a statement. Bold, patterned dresses, handcrafted earrings Kelsey made in her jewelry class, and street style she bought from the local boutique. The change, plus her expanded portfolio, led to runway gigs, more shoots, and even a magazine cover. 

And while the core style remained consistent, a few times June had made the bowl extra extreme. Cutting the bangs almost three fingers above her eyebrows. Or shaving the nape smooth with the razor. She even played with her eyebrows, bleaching them white so that they appeared invisible on her skin. Or plucking them extra thin to give her a more refined, doll-like appearance. 

It was early spring, nearly a year after she started working with June, that she got invited to the studio for her routine touch-up. Today she opted for dangly earrings and a white dress with a blue and orange mosaic design. She had used a hair straightener to style her bowl, making the pieces curl under. It was shiny and voluminous.

The first thing she noticed was the cameras. They were everywhere—mounted on tripods, positioned at different angles.

“Andrea! You made it.”

She turned toward the voice. June stood by the window, but something was different. Very different. June’s sleek black asymmetrical cut was gone. In its place was pale, almost white-blonde hair, cropped into a severe high bald fade with just a few long, jagged pieces sticking out at odd angles. Even her eyebrows had been bleached to match. Combined with the harsh lighting, there was something almost wild in June’s eyes, an intensity Andrea hadn’t seen before in their year of working together. 

As usual, June grabbed the clippers from the counter. The familiar weight of them in her hand. The black cord trailing behind her as she moved back toward the stool.

Andrea watched her approach in the mirror, her pulse quickening.

She felt June’s hand press down firmly on the crown of her head, tilting it forward.

And then the clippers touched her scalp, right at the back of her nape. She pressed them up her scalp, carving a path up into the center of her head, then up through the front. 

Andrea gasped.

Thick black hair fell onto the cape, sliding down to the floor. Andrea could see it now—the first bare strip of scalp, pale and exposed, splitting the bowl in half. Slowly, she reached over her head to touch the stubble, feeling more strands come loose. 

“June, what did you do to me?” 

June didn’t stop. She lifted the clippers, positioned them again at the back of Andrea’s head, and drove them back again.

Another stripe. Another clump of hair is falling.

“Hold still,” June said calmly, her voice steady over the buzz of the clippers.

She made another pass. Then another.

Hair was falling everywhere now. Sliding down the cape. Hitting Andrea’s lap. Tumbling to the floor around the stool. So much hair. Thick, dark chunks of it. Until it was shaved to an even stubble. She looked like a prisoner. Moles and divots she had never seen before were now visible. Only a faint trace of black shadow covered her head. 

“We’re not done yet,” June said, carefully painting her head with shaving cream. 

June started at the front, moving the razor back and forth to take off the remaining millimeters of hair; the contrast between the shadow and the smooth white skin more than she anticipated. She shaved the front of her head, slowly erasing the hairline, before moving to the back. June was careful, making sure to move Andrea’s head to get the best angle, going over the spots multiple times until she confirmed they were completely smooth. By the time it was over, June carefully applied a thick lotion to her scalp, making sure to thoroughly work it in with her fingers. Andrea touched the scalp, her head smooth as glass. It gleamed as she walked out. 

“Oh my god, this is hilarious,” Kelsey said when she saw Andrea walk out of the studio. Andrea rolled her eyes as her girlfriend patted her head. 

“Apparently, she wants me to keep it until her gallery debut.” Andrea sighed, which only made Kelsey laugh harder. 

“Soon you’ll be known as Miss Baldie,” Kelsey teased. “I mean, who could forget this smooth, shiny head?” 

“Be careful, or I might shave you in your sleep.” 

“I’ll wear it proudly if you do,” Kelsey said, a smile forming on her lips. 

—

Andrea sat in the gallery, where June had opened her exhibit. She had kept her head buzzed or shaved, per June’s instructions and now that her gallery was finally opening, Andrea had been shaved for the final time:  “bald as a cueball.”

She touched her head self-consciously. The barber had been meticulous, thoroughly coating her head with shaving cream before removing her half-inch black hair with a straight razor, every curve of her skull shaved twice, even three times. She looked around the gallery, photos of herself surrounding the walls. Despite her gleaming bald head, no one had noticed the subject standing right there. 

“June’s chatting with the gallery director out front. You should come and meet them.” 

Finally Kelsey has arrived. Andrea turned around, not recognizing her at first. Her pink hair was completely gone. She couldn’t even see a trace of it.  Silver droplets hung from her ears, highlighting her long, slender neck. She looked delicate, fragile even.

“I wanted to support you,” Kelsey said. “I did an event to raise money for charity, and then I shaved the rest off myself. I wanted it to be a surprise.” 

“You look…amazing.” 

“As do you. You’re all over the walls, my dear.” Kelsey pulled her to the room. The gallery in the back after all her hair had been shaved off. In the center, she stared head-on at the audience, her brows furrowed and fierce. 

“Wow,” was all she could say.