HairApparent
Prologue
As September arrived, my summer job at Top Style by Eileen would soon be ending. I had topped up my savings with modest wages and excellent tips prior to my first year at university. But, far more importantly, my hair had grown noticeably, and the curls had relaxed significantly. My poodle-like cap had metamorphosed into a riot of looser curls but was still, as Eileen described it, a wash-and-wear style. Admittedly, it was refreshing in the heat of summer to step out of the shower and have dry presentable short hair in a matter of minutes without any intervention with dryers, wands, and straighteners.
I bowed to the desire of my bosses to set my hair on larger rollers to vary my appearance, successfully presenting different looks to a wider range of clients. However, I held firm on further clippering, accepting only a modest tidying up rather than the shaving of my back and sides that they had imposed at the start of my employment. They were agreeable to my wishes, partly in recognition of the extra income I had generated for Top Style by Eileen during my tenure, but also the diligent work I put in each day.
Proposal
During my final week, Eileen offered to perm my hair again before I left for university. But I explained that the looser curls that I was sporting was more appropriate to a young student starting out on art and design degree. Reluctantly, she accepted my decision although she was clearly upset not to have one of her more extreme creations going out into the big wide world.
Surprisingly, given the rocky start to my employment, I had grown rather fond of Eileen. I did not like to see her unhappy and, as it rarely happened, I knew my decision had been the cause of her disappointment. However, I had been toying with an idea for a few weeks, but it felt far too bold for me to even contemplate, let alone share. A couple of months earlier I would have dismissed the concept immediately. But it kept niggling in a corner of my mind and would not go away.
During a quiet spell on the Monday afternoon of my final week, I made tea and proposed my idea to Eileen. She listened intently, interjecting with a few questions, then shocked me. She leant over and gave me a whopping great big kiss on my cheek, followed by another on the opposite cheek. ‘Look forward to seeing you bright and early at 8am tomorrow morning, Georgina,’ she beamed.
Parting
As I made my way to Top Style by Eileen early on Tuesday morning, I contemplated whether it had been a sensible decision to confide in my boss. I had just a few more days of my summer job before embarking on my first year at university. Despite my excitement about the new experience ahead of me, the salon had become a safe haven during the summer. An odd one for sure, surrounded by women more than three times my age, but a haven, nonetheless.
‘Good morning, Georgina,’ Eileen greeted me excitedly, while Barbara eagerly held open one of the awful floral gowns the salon used to protect their clients. ‘Let’s get started straight away.’
I allowed Barbara to drape me in the gown and I sat down in the styling chair. The two women hovered around me, their growing excitement tangible, as Eileen clarified what we had discussed the day before. I had let the genie out of the lamp, and there was no way it was returning.
Barbara wheeled a trolley next to the chair that carried an assortment of items that they would need. Eileen began by combing out a small section of my wavy chestnut-coloured hair, took a small sheet of foil from Barbara, who then coated the hair with a liquid from one of several prepared pots beside her. I sensed Eileen folding the foil but, as it was all happening behind me, I could not see the full extent of their progress.
The two ladies diligently and silently worked together, repeating the cycle of comb, paint and fold many times. It was a process that I had seen rarely used on the older clientele during my summer in the salon, but their dexterity suggested it was a procedure they had practiced frequently at some time in the past.
After a surprisingly brief time, they had efficiently packaged all my hair in the foil strips. A scary metallic porcupine looked back at me from the mirror while I awaited the required period for the process to complete. Inevitably, the ladies took the opportunity for a cup of tea, then they took me over to the backwash. Quickly removing all the foils, they rinsed my hair and then returned me to the styling chair.
Eileen dried my hair with the aid of a small brush that gave more wave than curl to my hair. After a summer of modest growth, I was pleasantly surprised to see the ends nearly reaching my chin. However, what was most striking was the colour of my hair. They had lifted the familiar chestnut base with the addition of red and blonde highlights and, most noticeably, bold streaks of electric blue. And it all blended into a perfectly designed whole. My hair made a striking statement.
Both ladies had been surprisingly quiet during the entire process, but now stood back to take in the result of their endeavours for the first time. ‘Wow!’ they said in unison, which was a youthful expression that I had never heard the older ladies use before.
‘Wow,’ I echoed, after a short pause to collect my thoughts. ‘So, that worked,’ I mused, smiling broadly. ‘The perfect look for an arts and design undergraduate.’
‘Oh!’ Disappointment clouded Eileen’s previous joyfulness. ‘So, you don’t want to go ahead with the second part of the plan?’ she asked plaintively, Barbara’s expression mirroring her colleague’s.
I admit that, momentarily, my radically transformed appearance had so absorbed my attention that I had forgotten the adjunct to my proposal. Having seen the fantastic work that the hairdressers had already achieved, I did briefly wonder about quitting while I was ahead. Then I shrugged, grinning. ‘No, let’s do it, ladies.’
Barbara retrieved the large red hairclippers from the trolley and eagerly plugged them in. Eileen took a comb and diligently created a parting on my right, and I felt her continue it around the back of my head until it reached the hairline at my neck on the other side. Taking clips proffered by her colleague, Eileen sectioned all the hair on the left side with a view to keeping it all out of the way for what was going to occur next.
Moving to my right, Eileen took the clippers from Barbara and turned them on. Using her comb, she lifted a section of multi-coloured curls covering my right ear and looked at me questioningly in the mirror.
‘Go for it,’ I chuckled.
Without acknowledgement or further delay, a bunch of my red, blonde, and blue curls sprung into air and bounced their way down to the floor. A wide expanse of peach-like fuzz covered the side of my head. Eileen continued to enthusiastically remove all the hair on the right side of my head, then continuing around the back to do the same to my neck. With greater precision she went over the clippered area once more, reducing the fuzz to fine bristles, and then fading that down to baldness at the hairline. Eileen released the clips holding the curls on the other side and then I could discern the full extent of my updated style. Ten minutes earlier, my hair had made a striking statement, and soon after it made a radical one.
All three of us took a moment to admire the amazing multi-hued asymmetric curly bob with a shaved undercut that the two hairdressers from Top Style by Eileen had created for me. There was little that needed saying by any of us, but we all spoke as one. ‘Wow!’
Judgement
There was no time for discussion as the first customer of the day was already approaching the door of Top Style by Eileen. I jumped up and ensured everything was ready for the day ahead. Then I assumed my position behind the reception desk on one of my final few days in the salon.
Given my radically transformed appearance, the last person I needed to enter was one of the salon’s more conservative clients. Typically, the first person to step inside that morning was Mrs Chambers who was probably the most conservative of them all. She had admired my initial transformation some weeks earlier, undoubtedly because my poodle-perm style was a mirror of her own.
‘Good morning, Georgina,’ she said haughtily, tight-lipped, as she approached the desk. She stopped abruptly and, holding her arrogant expression, she thoroughly inspected my extreme hairstyle, making me feel I was under a microscope. And then she sniffed.
I felt awkward. The hairstyle I wore would be wonderful for when I started at university. It would set me apart. Get me noticed. Far better than the boring long hair that many female students would still have … from when they were five years old. But I accepted that it was not appropriate to Top Style by Eileen and their clientele. I should have waited to the end of my final week before having it done.
‘Good morning, Mrs Chambers,’ I said hesitantly. ‘Er, sorry,’ I murmured as she continued to stare.
The forthright matriarch looked puzzled for once. ‘Whatever for, Georgina?’ she chuckled. ‘I was just admiring your stunning hair.’
Her unexpected reaction astonished me. I expected to be, at best, ridiculed, or even the subject of a complaint to my bosses about my inappropriate appearance. ‘Er, thank you, Mrs Chambers,’ I acknowledged, mystified.
‘Yes … it brings back so many happy memories,’ she added wistfully.
My astonishment met no bounds. ‘You have seen other women with hair like this?’ I questioned, disappointed that my uniqueness was under threat. ‘Shaved underneath … and everything?’
‘Yes, my dear … well, back in the day. Rather a lot of days,’ she reflected. ‘In fact, whenever, I looked in the mirror,’ she giggled. Mrs Chambers actually giggled!
I was struggling to make sense of what she was implying. And Eileen and Barbara were not helping by echoing her mirth in the background like a couple of mischievous schoolchildren. ‘In the mirror?’ I asked dumbly.
‘Those two,’ she said, gesturing towards the hairdressers, ‘used to work in the most avant-garde salon in the city, before they opened this place. Eileen won national competitions for haircutting, and Barbara for colouring.
‘Barbara’s was only for county competitions, not national,’ Eileen added, rather unnecessarily, but her colleague simply nodded and smiled.
‘I used to go them for my hair, and they pressured me to try a variety of distinctive styles. I even modelled their creations for them in competitions and magazines,’ Mrs Chambers reminisced. ‘And, I had the mirror image of your style and colour more than once.’
I imagine my expression showed disbelief, as Mrs Chambers shrugged, smiling.
‘We were young once, Georgina, and it’s always been the same,’ Mrs Chambers explained, taking a deep breath. ‘Girls, they just wanna have fun,’ she said in a singsong way that was faintly recognisable.
‘You never said!’ I moaned, truly astounded, looking at all three of the women in turn. ‘When?’
‘Oh, back in the day,’ all three of the women chuckled, looking thoughtful. ‘In the eighties,’ Mrs Chambers continued wistfully, and the other two nodded in agreement.
‘Well, there’s hardly been any time to chat about the past,’ Eileen explained, ‘especially with you keeping so busy all day and every day, bring in additional clients, and diligently ensuring the old place was spotless.’
‘Besides, we hardly thought a young person like you, would be interested in when we were young,’ Barbara added, and Eileen nodded in agreement.
A couple of months earlier I would have agreed with them. Then an idea struck me.
‘Well, I would love to hear more,’ I said honestly, ‘and I would like to thank you for all you have done for me this summer. As you know, it is my last day on Saturday -’
‘No!’ Barbara wailed. ‘We love having you here.’
Eileen nodded. ‘Come back at Christmas,’ she implored.
My eyes prickled with emotion, and I wiped away a tear. It was only supposed to be a summer job … but it was a surprisingly attractive suggestion to keep in mind for the winter vacation.
I took a deep breath. ‘As I was saying, it is my last day on Saturday, and I hope that you are not busy when we close the Top Style doors. And I include you too, Mrs Chambers.’
They all shook their heads, but they looked mystified.
‘I want to thank you all for your guidance and friendship this summer, so we’re all going out to celebrate,’ I explained, looking serious. ‘When I start at university I will not be hiding away from the rest of the world. I wanna be the one to walk in the sun …’
A smile formed on Mrs Chambers lips, as recognition dawned on hearing my sing-song words.
‘Remember,’ I said, no longer able to remain straight-faced, ‘when the working day is done, oh girls, they wanna have fun …’
‘Oh girls, they wanna have fun,’ all three of the women chorused as they danced around the salon, giggling.
Two women who were contemporaries of Mrs Chambers then entered the salon chatting to each other. Silenced by the sight of dancing women belting out eighties’ hits, they stared, looking rather bemused.
Epilogue
As I stood at the door of Top Style by Eileen one last time, a flurry of emotions was set loose within me. I had significantly changed that summer. Not only in how I appeared, but also in how I viewed age and beauty.
Starting university with shorter, edgier, more colourful hair was a testament to that eventful season. I had nudged my comfort zone, challenging my perceptions of beauty and identity. While I initially resented the way it led to my transformation, I ultimately embraced all the good that blossomed out of it.
It was only a summer job, however strange, but it had equipped me with an unexpected but welcome lesson beyond my youthful vanity.
The end … or is it just the beginning of Georgina about to live her life right …
