BarberBrad
Liz, a 29-year-old graphic designer, was known for her creative flair but played it safe with her appearance. Her shoulder-length chestnut hair, always neatly styled, had been her default for years. Lately, though, it felt like a weight—both literal and figurative. She craved a bold change, something to match the spark she felt in her work. She’d been daydreaming about a sleek, short bob with a subtle undercut: chic, modern, with just enough edge to turn heads. The idea thrilled her, but the leap felt daunting.
At the small marketing firm where Liz worked, her co-worker Ashley was her opposite in some ways. Ashley, 32, was an outgoing account manager with a knack for adventure—her annual bike trips were the stuff of office legend. Ashley’s current haircut, a sharp bob with a neatly clipped undercut at the nape, was the exact look Liz coveted. The way the bob framed Ashley’s face, with that rebellious undercut peeking out, felt like the perfect blend of polish and daring. Liz found herself staring at it during meetings, imagining herself with the same style.
One afternoon in the break room, Liz watched Ashley pour coffee, the undercut catching the light as she moved. “Your haircut is so good,” Liz blurted, her cheeks warming. “I’m obsessed with it.”
Ashley grinned, her eyes lighting up. “Thanks!” She reached up, rubbing the clipped section at her nape, her fingers gliding over the short, velvety stubble. “I love this undercut. It’s so fun to mess with.” She giggled, giving it another quick rub, the sound of her nails against the buzzed hair faint but distinct. “You should totally try it. It’s like a little secret under the bob.”
Liz’s heart raced at the thought. “Where do you get it done?” she asked, leaning in.
“Vibe Salon downtown,” Ashley said, still absently rubbing her undercut, her smile wide. “Jess, my stylist, is a genius. Book with her.” Liz jotted down the name in her phone, her excitement bubbling. She planned to call soon, her mind buzzing with visions of her new look.
The next day, Ashley headed out for her annual two-week bike trip, a grueling trek across rugged trails and steep hills. Every year, she prepped by shearing her hair into a no-fuss buzzcut—practical for helmets, sweat, and wind. At Vibe Salon, Ashley plopped into Jess’s chair, the familiar buzz of the salon grounding her. “I’m so sick of this hair,” she said, tugging at her bob. “It’s way too much for the trip. Can we go a little shorter than last year?”
Jess, fastening a cape around Ashley’s neck, nodded. “Last year, I think we used a #4 guard for the buzz. Want to try a #2? It’s shorter but still soft.” Ashley felt a surge of boldness, the thrill of reinvention sparking. “You know what? Let’s do a #1. It’s just hair, right?” She laughed, half-nervous, half-excited.
Jess grinned. “Love the vibe. Let’s do it.” She fitted the clippers with a #1 guard for a tight eighth-of-an-inch cut and switched them on. The hum filled the air. Ashley tilted her head down as Jess started at the nape, the clippers gliding upward. Chunks of her bob fell fast, piling on the cape in soft, dark clumps, some tumbling to the floor like scattered petals. The cool metal grazed Ashley’s scalp, sending a shiver through her. “Oh, that’s wild,” she said, giggling as she felt the hair vanish.
Jess buzzed the sides and around Ashley’s ears, more hair raining down—short tufts scattering across the cape, dusting her shoulders, and piling around the chair. The salon’s air hit her bare neck, a fresh, exhilarating sensation. As Jess moved to the top, Ashley watched in the mirror, her bob disappearing strip by strip. The clippers left a tight, velvety stubble, her pale scalp stark under the salon lights. “Holy crap, it’s so short!” Ashley burst out, laughing as she caught her reflection. “I need a tan ASAP—this head’s gonna glow in the sun!” She reached up, rubbing the fresh buzz, her fingers dancing over the prickly texture. “This is nuts,” she giggled, loving the lightness.
Jess finished the last pass, brushing off stray hairs. “Looks killer. Perfect for the ride.” Ashley kept rubbing her scalp, the #1 buzz addictive under her fingertips. “I’m obsessed,” she said, still chuckling at the boldness of it. As she left, she added, “Oh, my co-worker Liz is coming in next week. She loves my haircut.” Jess nodded, assuming Liz wanted the same daring buzz.
Two days later, Liz stepped into Vibe Salon, her stomach fluttering with anticipation. Jess greeted her warmly. “You’re Liz, right? Ashley’s friend? She said you love her haircut.” Liz nodded, her smile bright. “Yeah, I want the same haircut.” She didn’t specify the bob or undercut, assuming Jess knew Ashley’s usual style—the one Liz had admired for weeks. Jess, picturing Ashley’s fresh #1 buzzcut, smiled. The miscommunication was locked in.
“Ashley’s so extreme with her hair,” Jess said, tying a cape around Liz’s shoulders. “She goes full buzz for that bike trip every year. Total rockstar.” Liz laughed, thinking Jess was hyping the undercut’s edge, clueless about the “extreme” truth.
Liz sat in Jess’s chair at Vibe Salon, her heart thrumming with anticipation for the sleek bob and subtle undercut she’d been dreaming of. The cape was snug around her neck, the salon’s hum a backdrop to her excitement. Jess started with scissors, slicing through Liz’s shoulder-length chestnut hair with crisp, deliberate snips. Long, glossy strands slid down the cape, some catching briefly on her shoulders before pooling on the floor in a soft, brown heap. Each cut lightened her head, the cool salon air brushing her newly exposed neck. Liz watched the mirror, mesmerized by the growing pile—years of careful maintenance tumbling away, a halo of her old self circling the chair.
“Time for the good stuff,” Jess said, her voice warm as she reached for the clippers. The machine snapped to life with a low, eager hum, sending a jolt through Liz’s nerves. “Head down, please.” Liz tilted her chin, her pulse quickening as the cold metal of the clippers kissed her nape. The first pass was a shock—the blades chewed into her hair with a gritty vibration, like a hungry animal devouring its meal. A cascade of short, feathery clumps rained down, dusting the cape and scattering across the floor like fallen leaves. The clippers climbed higher, far beyond the subtle undercut Liz had pictured, nearly to the crown. Her scalp tingled as the hair vanished, the air hitting her bare nape in a rush—cool, sharp, almost electric.
Liz’s fingers twitched under the cape. Is this right? she wondered, the height of the buzzing unnerving her. But she trusted Jess, assuming this was Ashley’s bold style. Jess moved to the sides, the clippers carving around Liz’s ears with relentless precision. More hair fell—tiny, bristly tufts floating like confetti, some sticking to the cape, others piling around the chair in soft, scattered mounds. The vibration buzzed through Liz’s skull, a strange mix of soothing and invasive, as if the clippers were peeling away not just hair but years of cautious choices. Her neck and ears, now fully exposed, prickled under the salon’s cool air, the sensation raw and startling, like stepping barefoot onto frost.
Then Jess lifted the clippers to Liz’s forehead, and before Liz could process it, drove them straight back down the center of her scalp. The blades roared, chewing through the thick curtain of her remaining hair with ruthless efficiency. A heavy sheet of chestnut locks collapsed, sliding across Liz’s cheeks and nose, tickling her skin before thudding onto the cape in a dense, tangled pile. Liz’s breath hitched, her eyes snapping to the mirror—a stark, stubbly strip ran down her head, her pale scalp glaring under the salon lights. “What’s happening?!” she gasped, her voice shaking, hands gripping the armrests. “I wanted Ashley’s haircut!”
Jess froze, the clippers still humming. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she stammered, her face draining of color. “Ashley got a #1 buzzcut for her trip. She said you wanted her haircut, and I thought…” Liz’s hand flew to her head, fingers grazing the eighth-inch stubble—rough, alien, like fine sandpaper. Her stomach lurched. A buzzcut? Her mind reeled, the mirror reflecting a stranger.
“No fixing it now,” Jess whispered, her voice heavy with guilt. “I’ll make it even.” Liz, dazed, gave a numb nod, her thoughts a blur of shock and disbelief. The clippers roared back to life, and Jess resumed with careful urgency. Each pass was a relentless march across Liz’s scalp, the blades chewing through the remnants of her hair with a gritty, unyielding hum. Thick clumps fell in waves, piling on the cape like sawdust, their weight pulling it taut across Liz’s lap. Stray tufts floated down, dusting her shoulders and the floor in a soft, bristly carpet that crunched faintly under Jess’s shoes. The clippers carved over her crown, temples, and sides, stripping away every trace of her old length. Liz felt the hair’s weight vanish, her head growing impossibly light, as if years of growth—years of playing it safe—were being shaved into oblivion.
The sensation was visceral. The clippers’ vibration burrowed into her skull, a steady, invasive buzz that seemed to unravel her old identity strip by strip. Each pass left her scalp more exposed, the salon’s cool air swirling over it in waves. The breeze from a nearby fan grazed her shorn head, a shocking, exhilarating chill that woke every nerve. Her neck, now bare, felt naked and vulnerable, the air dancing around it with every slight tilt of her head. The clippers grazed her temples, and she shivered as the cool metal kissed her skin, leaving only prickly stubble behind. The final pass buzzed over her crown, and Jess switched off the clippers. The silence was deafening, the hum replaced by the soft rustle of stray hairs settling on the floor.
Liz stared at her reflection, her head a smooth, stubbly dome. Her chestnut locks were gone, replaced by an eighth-inch buzz that gleamed faintly under the lights. She reached up, hesitating, then ran her fingers over her scalp. The texture was jarring—coarse, like a cat’s tongue, yet oddly addictive. Her fingertips traced the contours of her head, feeling every dip and curve she’d never known. The cool air wrapped her scalp, a constant, vivid presence, as if her head were floating free of its old weight. She shivered again, the sensation both foreign and thrilling, her skin hyper-aware of every draft.
Jess brushed stray hairs from Liz’s neck, her touch gentle but apologetic. “I’m so sorry,” she said, uncaping Liz. “No charge, and free touch-ups for a month.” Liz nodded, still processing, her mind caught between shock and curiosity. She stood, her head weightless, the air swirling around her scalp as she moved. Outside, the spring breeze was a revelation—cool and unhindered, it washed over her buzzed head, sending goosebumps down her spine. She rubbed her scalp again, fingers gliding over the stubble, the prickly texture grounding her. The world felt sharper, more alive, every gust of wind a reminder of her drastic transformation.
At home, Liz stood before her mirror, hands roaming her shorn head. The stubble tingled under her fingers, the cool air still dancing across her scalp, a sensation she couldn’t escape. The shock was fading, replaced by a spark of exhilaration. She caught her reflection—bold, fierce, like someone who didn’t just dream of risks but took them. A slow grin spread across her face. The clippers had chewed away years of growth, years of playing it safe, and left something fearless in their wake. She kept rubbing her head, falling in love with the raw, electric edge of it all. Ashley’s return was going to be one hell of a conversation.
