Makeover Artist
Modeling life
Modeling is not as glamorous as people think. At least, not when you’re just starting out.
When I first got into it, I thought it would be all stylish photoshoots, runway lights, and elegant dresses. The reality? More like being a test subject for beauty brands.
Linda and I met at model training, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. She’s the fearless, high-energy one, while I… am not. I grew up in a conservative household, where anything “edgy” was seen as rebellious. But Linda? She thrives on change.
We’ve done all sorts of strange gigs together. There was the time we got paid to test skin treatments, which mostly involved people poking and pinching our faces while we pretended to enjoy it. Then there was the makeup brand that dyed our eyebrows platinum blonde for a “bold new look.” (That was not a good look on me.)
And, of course, the infamous laser hair removal demo. We thought it was just a patch test. Nope. Full-body. Below the neck. Smooth as mannequins.
Linda found it hilarious. I nearly cried.
But we always signed the contracts without asking too many questions, and every time, I told myself, never again.
But this new gig? Full-Service Salon Promo? I could already tell it was going to top them all.
The Contract We Didn’t Read
“Chris,” Linda said, waving her phone in my face. “You’ll love this gig.”
I squinted at the Full-Service Salon Promo contract in my hands. “Hair. Piercings. Tattoos. All for a paid campaign. Sounds… intense.”
Linda leaned in, grinning. “Oh, it’s temporary ink, Chris. The tattoos fade in no time! And we can remove the piercings after the filming.”
I stared at her. “But Linda, these things look a little—permanent.”
She rolled her eyes, waving me off. “It’s all temporary, Chris. Temporary ink. Temporary piercings. Just a bold look for the campaign. And we get paid. What’s the worst that can happen?”
I felt a deep sigh building inside me. I had no choice—if I didn’t do this, I’d probably have to explain to my parents why I couldn’t pay rent next month.
I signed. Big mistake.
The Hair Horror
The salon was sleek, minimalist, and smelled of fresh hair dye. The air buzzed with the sound of clippers, blow dryers, and the occasional snap of scissors.
“Alright, ladies!” The director beamed. “We’re going for bold, high-fashion looks. Be sure to own it for the cameras!”
Linda bounced in her seat, practically glowing with excitement.
I, on the other hand, was already wishing for an escape route.
The stylist—a woman with shaved sides and electric blue hair—ran her fingers through my long, thick chestnut hair, assessing it. She gave a small smile.
“We’re going to take this long, luscious hair and transform it with a buzzed undercut and a deep crimson color. This is all about contrast and boldness.”
I felt a wave of panic wash over me. My hair was my one source of confidence, and this cut? It sounded like a total sacrifice.
The clippers hummed as she ran them through my hair. My heart started to race.
BZZZZZ.
A cold sensation flooded the sides of my head. The buzzing vibrations against my scalp sent shivers down my spine, and I could hear my hair falling to the ground.
I tried to look in the mirror but couldn’t see much past the flood of thick locks now on the floor.
She buzzed the sides short—very short, a little over half an inch. The feeling of exposure was overwhelming.
I looked in the mirror and barely recognized myself. The sides of my head were shaved, and my remaining hair was starting to look like a bold, fiery red top.
My scalp tingled as she massaged in the deep red color, the scent of chemicals tingling in the air. The dye felt cool against my skin, and I could already sense my familiar long hair becoming something completely foreign.
When she finished, I was looking at a new me—my once long, chestnut locks replaced by a buzzed undercut and crimson color on top. The contrast was sharp and bold.
Linda practically jumped out of her seat. “Chris, you look amazing! You’re rocking the bold look!”
I wasn’t so sure.
The Piercing Panic
Before I could even process my new look, they led me over to the piercing station.
Linda was already grinning, showing off her nose piercing and belly barbell.
“Chris is getting her tongue pierced,” she announced to the crew.
I nearly choked.
“No,” I stammered. “No way. I’m not ready for a tongue piercing!”
But before I could protest further, the professional piercer slid a clamp onto my tongue, giving me a small, reassuring smile. “It’ll be quick.”
I wanted to back out, but the cameras were already rolling. There was no going back.
The piercing needle felt like a sharp sting. My tongue throbbed as the jewelry was inserted. I barely caught my breath before the piercing was finished.
I opened my mouth to speak—but my tongue felt heavy, weird, and foreign in my mouth.
“Ith thoth weird!” I tried to say, my words coming out completely garbled.
Linda burst into laughter. “You sound hilarious!”
The piercer then gestured to my belly and added a sparkling barbell to my navel, completing the look. It sparkled under the lights, but I could barely focus on that with the strange feeling in my mouth.
The Tattoo Mistake
Then came the tattoo—the final transformation.
The artist set a bold, graphic stencil on my forearm, showing me the design. It was sharp, black, and bold, like a statement I wasn’t sure I was ready to make. The tattoo featured sprawling geometric shapes, curving lines that intersected to form a kind of futuristic armor around my wrist. The intricate shapes extended halfway up my forearm, and though it looked cool, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was too much.
Linda winked at me. “You’re going to look so cool.”
I gave her a weak smile, but my mind was already racing. What was I even thinking?
The needle buzzed to life. I couldn’t help but flinch as it sank into my skin, leaving a trail of burning sensation in its wake.
The pain didn’t last long, but the vibration of the needle made it feel like it was drilling into my bones.
When it was finally over, I looked at my forearm—bold, black ink that would be hard to hide. It was a geometric masterpiece but felt more like a permanent mark on my life.
Linda? She looked flawless with her sleek bob, subtle piercings, and delicate floral tattoo.
Me? I looked like I lost a bet.
But at least it was temporary.
…Right?
The Final Twist
After we finished admiring ourselves in the mirror, the director walked up, clapping his hands. “You ladies did greattoday! Your follow-up session is scheduled for a year from now.”
Linda and I stared at him, completely stunned.
“A year?” Linda echoed.
He nodded, smiling. “Yes, the ink will fade naturally after twelve months, so we’ll check in then!”
Twelve months?!
I looked down at my shaved sides, my bold red hair, my pierced tongue, and my now-permanent tattoo.
I ran my tongue over the foreign metal barbell.
“Thith wath a mithtake.”
Linda couldn’t even speak, she was laughing so hard.
I just stood there, feeling the weight of the year ahead settle in. If I could get through this awkward year, maybe I’d have a chance to get back to normal.
