Origins of a fetish, part 3: 1991

1991: A pivotal year

Now in my early teens, with hormones starting to do their work, the anxiety started to give way to excitement. Waiting my turn at the local chain salon, especially on weekends, meant potential to see haircuts in progress. Now I wanted to see women getting short haircuts. I was excited by the thought of women’s (and girls my age) napes being buzzed, necklines shaved, and sideburns tidied tidied up with the trimmers. Sightings of the “during” were precious few, of course.

As it often does at the beginning of a new decade, it seemed that fashion was changing. The excess of the 80s was starting to fade. During those formative years, I saw more and more women and girls ditch the long, hair-sprayed locks for bowl cuts, bobs, pixies, and other short styles.

Mondays meant a chance to see new haircuts on both boys and girls. I often felt jealous of the guys who got “cool” haircuts. Actually getting what they wanted with little or no parental interference. It was probably no big deal to them, but it would have meant the world to me. It wouldn’t be until I was able to drive that I found the courage to speak up a bit in the chair.

With the girls, the intrigue was overtaking the lament. I remember a classmate named Allison who had the typical 80s “mall hair”. One Monday, she came to school with an undercut pixie. Wow! Oh, the questions I wanted to ask, but was too shy to. Why would she cut off all that long hair? What made her want to do it? Where did she get that done? What did you tell the stylist? How long did it take? Clippers?

It was at that point that I realized I was hooked and needed to see more hair cutting action. The internet wouldn’t become a resource for another 2 years. I remember asking to be dropped off at the library next to the supercuts to “study”. Instead, I scoured the electronic card catalog and shelves for anything I could find. There were some interesting finds, mostly in instructional books and fashion magazines. I’d take breaks and stroll by the Supercuts to see if anything of interest was happening, but don’t recall anything of note. Back to the library I went.

During that year, another girl in my class often experimented with her looks, especially hair. Looking back, she was instrumental to the development of my fetish. She became the “punk/goth/alternative” chick at school, but she was nice to most everyone, even to shy and awkward me.

We met her before 7th grade when we were paired to take placements tests together. She was pretty and friendly. Since the placement test was unmonitored, we got to chat during the test. I even made her laugh a few times. I was excited and hoped to see more of her in the fall! We were always friendly, even though I wasn’t in her “crowd”. Tracy had straight, thick dirty blonde hair that almost reached her shoulders. During 7th grade, she started trend of cutting her jeans into “Daisy Dukes” at school. At 12, I was happy to admire their bare legs. If they wanted to destroy their clothes, that was on them.

On the last day of 7th grade, I spent the night with a friend. We stayed up late, watched Child’s Play 2, and walked to the nearby Circle K convenience store to buy candy. The next morning, after going swimming, we visited his friend down the street. He was 15 or 16, and a bit standoffish. He had quite an impressive display of model planes he’d built. On our way out, we ran into his younger sister. I swear she had a crew cut and somewhat crudely done. I remember thinking “Yikes, did you get a hold of daddy’s Remington shaver?” A few minutes later, their mom came home. She still had the huge 80s glasses, a pink sweater with shoulder pads, and the same crew cut. I could not stop glancing at them. Luckily, we left shortly thereafter.

Literally the next day, I got dragged to the Supercuts a few miles from home. It was next to a public library which I also frequented. It happened to be a place that also played a role in the development of my fetish. I’ll leave that for part 4! The ride there seemed like an eternity, with my younger brother singing annoying kid’s songs with my dad. Finally, we get there, and I hope it’s a long wait. That meant a chance I get to see some clipper action, especially on a woman.

Every time we went, I hoped to see something interesting. This time, there was a little payoff. I got to see one of the female stylists give a guy some serious whitewalls. I wasn’t close enough to hear the whole conversation before she started, but I heard him say “short”. He came in with his wife, who sat down two chair from me in the waiting area. Her hair was typical early 90s short and poofy on top. I was hoping she’d come in for a clipper cut, too! Alas, a quick glance over revealed her very tidy and beautiful v-shaped neck line. Too clean to need a haircut that soon. I made sure to check out her out as much as I could. That was the first time I found myself admiring a woman’s neck and ears. Later I’d learn those are often neglected erogenous zones.

It was my turn. Somehow, I often got the same stylist. She wasn’t unattractive, but her general crabbiness and sub par listening made her ugly. I always thought my instructions were clear, but maybe not to her. Luckily, she wasn’t to scissor happy, so her cuts weren’t very short. It was usually an inch long on the sides and about two inches on top. I usually combed my hair to the side or straight back. Nothing exciting, but I at least had some satisfaction while waiting.

As soon as I got home, I took a shower. I remember thinking how amazing it would have been to get a clipper cut from those loud maroon clippers. It would take some time before I got the guts to ask for the same. I found a disposable razor in the shower and started gently scraping the very outer layer of hair. I remember making clipper sounds. Not too much came off, but it was the only outlet I could come up with at the time. I did that a few times and only messed up once, thankfully no one noticed.

I was jealous of everyone that got a clipper cut that day. It wasn’t until year or two later, when my visit was well-timed She was probably in her mid 20s at the time. She was a very sexy, tanned brunette outdoorsy-type, wearing a t-shirt, short shorts with very toned legs, and running shoes. She came in to get her bowl cut touched up. The stylist (female, I think) wasted no time and started running the maroon Osters up the nape. It looked like a #4. Wow. My eyes were locked on her as she paid and left. She drove off in a Subaru. To this day, it’s still one of my favorite “durings”.

There was little else, hair-related I can recall the rest of that summer, but the experiences of that day definitely stayed with me. I made an effort to get better clothes and be more fashionable for the upcoming school year. About a month into 8th grade, I noticed, from a distance, Tracy’s hair seemed slightly thinner and a little shorter. I was on my way to a class, so I didn’t get a chance to look too closely. We waved. Later that afternoon, I saw a few people crowded around her and quickly realized it had something to do with her hair. She raised the back to reveal a 360 undercut. It was bald well past the occipital bone! WOW! The cool thing was that it was the best of both worlds. Buzzed, but easily concealed by the length on top.

With Tracey, it wasn’t too hard to ask about it. I don’t recall many details, but she kept it shaved. She mentioned using “cheap razor”, which didn’t work so well. She showed me the razor burn and let me pet it. A few girls followed suit with nape undercuts, but didn’t go shorter than 1/8″ or a #1. One of the girls who got a nape undercut also had a very attractive mom. She had a short bob, just exposing the earlobes, with the back buzzed to 1/4″ or less. With her jet black hair and pale skin, she might have been the first mom I ever had the hots for.

A month or so later, she showed up with something completely different. She let the under shave grow out a little and had everything but her bangs clippered. A variation of the Chelsea cut. She had it dyed dark red, too. HOLY SMOKE! I remember asking her questions like why, how long did it take, and what was the name of the stylist. She said she felt like it, it took 3 hours, and the stylist’s name was Natalie. She was happy to answer. I was beyond intrigued. She had a great shaped head. The school handbook forbid “extreme” haircuts, but somehow she got away with it.

Gradually, the bangs became shorter and she ended up with a much more conservative short crop. She never let it grow much beyond that. Tracy kept it somewhere between a #1 and pixie. I remember in 9th or 10th grade, she came to school with an all over buzz, the top being slightly longer. When someone asked her what happened. I overheard her explaining that she was “dancing and the razor came on”. RIGHT.

One day, Tracey showed up with a #1 after letting it grow a bit, explaining that her mom did it assuring her that “Short is chic”, while pretending to run clippers over her head. Over time, Tracey’s haircuts were less shocking to the class, but were certainly no less enjoyable to me.

Since I didn’t yet understand what I was feeling, I didn’t probe too deep with the hair-related questions and chats. I also didn’t want her to think I was “weird”. In retrospect, I doubt it would have been a problem. By the time I was in my mid-teens, I knew what my feelings meant and knew why she did what she did. I just don’t see any other explanation for all the buzz cuts!

Tracey, I hope to see you again someday, and thanks for not being afraid to be yourself! There are still enough stories to tell from those formative years, so keep an eye out for part 4, coming some time soon!

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