Simplify Salon I – Inducting the New Apprentice

CONTENT AWARENESS: This series features haircutting and headshaving, but it also includes depictions of temporary and permanent body modifications. If you deem these subjects unsavoury, then please may I suggest you swiftly move on.

Prologue

The chime of the bell above me, a saccharine little jingle that felt utterly out of place, heralded my entry into Simplify Hair & Beauty Salon. My heart hammered in my chest as I realised this was it. It was my last shot at maintaining the modest standard of living I had established for myself… or so it felt.

I had enjoyed lucrative and enjoyable jobs in the previous couple of years, but the economic climate had led to businesses closing and compulsory redundancies. The jewellery store held a particular allure, especially with the staff discounts offered, but that was all in the past. More recently the supermarket had allowed me to barely keep my head above water. With monotonous tasks and unsociable hours, I continued to seek an opportunity more to my liking. I required a position that would keep me in the manner to which I had become accustomed.

I had fumbled through countless interviews, receiving a string of polite rejections that had chipped away at my already dwindling confidence. The desperation gnawed at me, a constant irritation. So, when Marcia, the salon proprietor, had offered me the position of apprentice, accompanied by a surprisingly attractive salary, I had snatched it up like a lifeline, without daring to ask too many questions.

I knew little of the skills and jargon of the hair and beauty industry, apart from when I was on the receiving end of its services. Although she had mentioned the term “simplification” more than once in the context of the salon’s name, it had meant nothing to me. And, amidst the relief of leaving the supermarket behind, I had not pressed her for details.

Upon the conclusion of the interview, Marcia immediately offered me the job and instructed me to report for work at 8am the following day.

Welcome

‘Welcome to Simplify Hair & Beauty Salon.’ Marcia’s voice, devoid of warmth, cut through the quiet hum of the room.

My eyes met hers, and I felt drawn into the dark coals that stared back. She was a tall, imposing woman, a stark silhouette against the salon’s deceptively bright, minimalist interior. Her black leather miniskirt, lace blouse, and black tights provided a stark and severe contrast to the surroundings. She had scraped her black hair back so tightly it looked painful, and she had pinned it on her crown in a bun that seemed more sculpted than styled.

There was a harsh clinical air surrounding Marcia that chilled me to the bone. She rarely smiled, and when she did, it was a thin, cold slash across her face, more a baring of teeth than an expression of mirth.

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. The place itself was sterile, gleaming chrome and white surfaces reflecting the overhead lights, more closely resembling a laboratory rather than a salon. There were no magazines, no soft music, and no comforting aromas of hairspray or floral lotions. There was just the faint and lingering aroma of disinfectant.

‘Thank you, Mar—’ I began, but my new boss frowned severely as I struggled to remember how I should address her. ‘Er, ma’am?’ I ventured, and her expression hardened further. ‘Miss, er… Miss Marcia,’ I finally managed, my voice a little higher than usual. Fortunately, she bared her teeth in a semblance of a smile, adding an almost imperceptible nod.

Marcia gestured to a neatly folded white garment on a nearby counter. I lifted it up to reveal a short nylon dress with a zip located up the front. My uniform. I took it, the fabric cool against my fingertips, and slipped it on. It was a strange garment, clingy and stark. The hem barely skimmed my bottom, leaving me feeling exposed and self-conscious, not helped by the front zip only coming up so high, revealing a little too much of my well-formed cleavage.

A reassuring reminder of my real self was my long, thick hair tumbling down my back past my waist. Never a fan of ponytails and braids, I held it back from my face by a soft velvet hairband. I wondered if my choice of hairstyle in a salon would draw comment from Marcia, but an appraising glance found favour… or, rather, she did not show disfavour.

‘Your duties will begin with preparation, tidying, and cleaning the workspace.’ She gestured airily to the surroundings. ‘When I am attending to clients, you will pass me the necessary instruments and watch carefully,’ Marcia stated, her gaze unwavering as she assessed my new attire. ‘Then, in the fullness of time, you will practise simplification procedures. Initially, I will narrate, so you can appreciate what I am doing and learn.’

Marcia delivered her words with the flat, emotionless tone of a baker reciting the recipe for making bread. My mind reeled as it tried to grasp the meaning of what simplification procedures might entail. After all, what could those words even mean in the context of a hair and beauty salon?

Glenda

Just then, the chime above the door sounded again, and an athletic woman marched in, her presence a burst of radiant vitality. Undeniably stunning, she flaunted herself in an immaculately fitting, skimpy summer dress that hugged her curves. She moved with the confident grace of someone utterly at ease in her own skin.

Beside this vision of beauty, in stark contrast, was an older woman with cropped grey hair clad in an equally grey tracksuit.

‘I am Glenda, Jill’s sports coach,’ the grey woman announced, gesturing towards the younger woman. ‘Jill is a swimmer who I have trained for a considerable time. She has been moderately successful in the past, and she is in line for a medal in the forthcoming championships. We are hoping for gold, but recently her performance has plateaued,’ Glenda elaborated, her voice gruff and no-nonsense. ‘I have booked her for a full simplification, Marcia.’

‘Thank you, Glenda, and I can certainly see that it is necessary,’ Marcia agreed as she circled Jill like a predator sizing up its prey. ‘Return in two hours to collect her.’

With that, grey Glenda shuffled out of the salon without looking back.

Jill

I stared at Jill, trying to understand. Plateaued? She looked like a supermodel or an Olympian goddess carved from marble. What part of her, I wondered, would benefit from any form of simplification?

Jill, sensing my puppy-like admiration, tossed back her waist-length ponytail, a cascade of rich brown hair. She accompanied the gesture with a flash of her dazzling smile. Her teeth were impossibly white, while her eyes sparkled with vibrant life. Her pert breasts and shapely bottom were an enticing combination and undeniably womanly.

‘Hi, I’m Jill!’ she said to me, her voice light and cheerful as she held out a hand, while Marcia was occupying herself by tapping away on a computer tablet. Her handshake was firm and confident.

Marcia looked up from the tablet, fixing the client with her cold gaze. ‘Jill, please confirm that you are here of your own volition for a full simplification.’

Jill laughed dismissively, a bright, melodic sound, suggesting she understood the term “simplification” and its implications even less than I did. ‘I do whatever Glenda, my coach, tells me to do,’ she added breezily as an afterthought.

‘Sign your agreement, please,’ Marcia instructed, holding out the tablet. Jill took the stylus and scribbled on the screen.

A flicker of unease, cold and sharp, pierced through my initial admiration of Jill. Deferring to whatever her coach says sounded like a casual acceptance. But in this room, with Marcia’s chilling presence, it felt like a surrender.

Preparation

‘Strip off all your clothes, including underwear,’ Marcia instructed Jill, her voice devoid of inflection, ‘and step into the chair.’

My breath hitched. The presence of the chair had crept into my subconscious in the brief time I had been on the premises. It was not a salon chair in the true sense. It was a contraption of gleaming steel, with an array of straps, clamps, and levers. I later learnt that a craftsman had skilfully produced the chair to Marcia’s own detailed design. It looked more suited to complex medical procedures or something even more sinister.

My hands trembled slightly as I automatically reached for Jill’s discarded clothes. I folded them neatly, a meaningless act of domesticity in the face of what was unfolding before me. Jill flinched as her pert bottom felt the cold of the steel seat.

Marcia spoke again, with her eyes fixed on Jill. ‘I will be frequently adjusting your position on the chair during the procedures,’ she explained, raising and lowering the chair and its back, using the levers, by way of demonstration. ‘However, I will ensure you can always see yourself in the mirror on the wall or the one on the ceiling. Your observation of each procedure is important to the whole simplification process.’

Jill shuffled in the chair, attempting to get comfortable, a task which looked impossible. She shrugged on hearing Marcia’s latest explanation, while it heightened my sense of dread. The thought was disconcerting that Marcia was forcing Jill to watch… whatever it was that was going to take place.

‘Open wide,’ Marcia requested, her tone surprisingly pleasant and inviting. Conditioned to follow instructions by her coach, Jill did so before she could even register the meaning of the command.

Marcia forced a vicious-looking dental spreader into Jill’s mouth, ratcheting it out as far as possible, the sound of clicks echoing in the sterile room. It secured Jill’s tongue, clamping her jaw open, maintaining her silence.

Simplification

I flinched at Marcia’s brutal action, a gasp catching in my throat. Jill’s eyes, wide with shock, met mine in the mirror, a desperate plea for an explanation that I was unable to provide. I was increasingly concerned that Simplify was not a normal salon.

In the interval that Jill remained in shocked submission, Marcia moved with startling speed. She secured Jill’s body to the torturous chair so that she was unable to move. ‘Emily!’ she commanded with a sense of urgency, ‘tighten these straps.’

‘Yes, Miss Moncia,’ I reacted automatically. My fingers fumbled, my heart pounding, as I followed her instructions, locking the thick leather straps around Jill’s wrists, ankles, and torso. Jill struggled, a muffled whimper escaping past the spreader, but the restraints held firm. She was utterly helpless.

Marcia then addressed me, though her words were clearly for Jill’s benefit as well. She provided a chilling explanation of what was about to take place. ‘The spreader is just to ensure that you do not make too much noise, avoiding disturbance while we are working when you inevitably get distressed. And the restraints are simply to stop you fleeing before we have completed your coach’s wishes. Nothing to worry about,’ she added breezily, a cruel, almost teasing inflection in her voice.

I let out a nervous, almost hysterical laugh, unsure if my new boss was being serious. The sound felt hollow in the sterile silence, cut off by an admonishing glare from Marcia.

= = =

Marcia wasted no time, arranging Jill’s body to lie almost flat. With her gaze on the mirror in the ceiling, her ponytail hung down with the ends coiling on the floor.

Taking industrial-looking hair clippers that seemed more suited to shearing sheep than creating a hairstyle, Marcia brutally severed Jill’s long ponytail. The thick hank of hair fell to the tiled floor with a soft thud that sounded deafening in the stark room.

Then, with the same merciless efficiency, she clipped the rest of Jill’s head until her scalp was a patchy landscape of stubble. My stomach churned. The vibrant life seemed to drain from Jill with each snipped strand. Then off came her eyebrows, quickly followed by her long lashes. Rather than a beauty treatment, it felt like an erasure. I wanted to turn away.

‘I hope you are watching carefully, Emily,’ Marcia instructed, her voice calm amidst my inner turmoil. ‘This stage is the first that you will practise.’

My hands felt clammy as I thought of practising such a reprehensible act on a real person. And it got worse.

Without warning, Marcia brought the chair upright, allowing Jill to observe herself in the mirror on the wall. She covered Jill’s head and face with copious quantities of white shaving foam. She razored her to bare skin, leaving Jill utterly smooth, bald, and featureless.

Marcia, after donning latex gloves, displayed a large clear tube filled with a blue substance. ‘This is the best part,’ she declared, squeezing the glutinous substance over Jill’s head and forehead. My eyes were wide, fixated on the horrifying development. Marcia, with surgical precision, rubbed the gel into Jill’s scalp, pausing for a brief period as the chemical did its work. Wiping the skin clean with a polishing motion, Jill’s skull gleamed like a mirror. ‘All gone… permanently.’

If the sight had not been shocking enough, I gasped loudly at hearing the brutal finality.

When Marcia clippered the triangle of hair between Jill’s thighs, lathered it up and then carefully shaved the area with a razor, she offered no comment. After applying the depilatory cream and gently rubbing the skin clean with a soft cloth, she lingered. ‘Quite lovely,’ she murmured, in a rare moment of gentility.

‘This stage has eliminated the cost and time for hairdressers styling hair and beauticians shaping eyebrows and lashes, not to mention the inefficiency of daily maintenance,’ Marcia narrated proudly, her eyes scanning her handiwork with a detached satisfaction. ‘The procedure represents effective and efficient simplification for everyone in daily life, while it adds streamlining in the water for a professional swimmer!’

= = =

My initial horror was a profound disgust at what Marcia had done and, equally, the detached way that she had described it. But then, as I watched, a strange and terrifying thought began to creep in. Without the torrent of hair, the prominent eyebrows, and the lush lashes, Jill’s face possessed a well-defined air of cleanliness, giving her a stark and minimalist beauty. I found myself battling the thought, pushing it away… but it lingered.

My mind recognised the twisted logic after all the years of feeling inadequate and always needing to do more. It was a brutal transformation for certain, but one that undeniably led to efficiency. It was a terrifying realisation that I could find beauty in this casual defacement, and I felt a prick of shame as I continued to observe.

‘Miss Marcia,’ I ventured, my voice timid, ‘should I release Jill and return her clothes?’ My question hung in the air, pathetic and hopeful.

Marcia snorted, a sharp, dismissive sound. ‘We have only just started, Emily,’ she claimed, wheeling over a trolley on which sat a stainless-steel tray containing an array of glinting instruments. Its appearance sent a fresh wave of dread through me.

Marcia rotated Jill into a reclined position, forcing her to look up at the ceiling. My boss, a long metallic tool from the tray in her hand, peered into Jill’s still gaping mouth. Experimentally, it seemed, she tapped a selection of her teeth. ‘Very white and healthy, with no fillings,’ she praised, her voice almost gentle. ‘You are to be commended, Jill.’

A sense of relief washed over me, knowing that Marcia’s action amounted to little more than a cursory dental checkup. Or so I believed.

= = =

‘So, due to their superb physical condition, the clearing of all these teeth will be very painful for you, Jill,’ Marcia observed. ‘But try not to worry too much, as once completed, you will be relieved of any future dental work, adding a further component to your full simplification.’

My stomach clenched. Clearing all these teeth? The phrase echoed in my mind, as I prayed it was a euphemism for something less barbaric than I was imagining.

‘A little anaesthetic will take the edge off the pain and prevent you passing out,’ Marcia asserted indifferently, jabbing a needle into Jill’s gums. ‘Now, Emily, take the suction tube and follow my progress around Jill’s mouth,’ Marcia instructed, her hand already reaching for a wicked-looking pair of pliers. I obeyed, my hand trembling as I held the tube near Jill’s gaping mouth, still forced open by the dental spreader.

The first tooth came out cleanly, the sight and the noise staying with me. I recoiled, a wave of nausea washing over me, my eyes squeezed shut. But then, slowly, I opened them. It was horrible… yet, with each tooth, as Marcia worked with horrifying efficiency, a morbid fascination began to creep in.

As the last tooth rattled on the metal tray, Marcia sprayed a proprietary liquid into Jill’s mouth that miraculously stopped the bleeding, cleaned the mouth, and healed the gums.

‘Excellent work, Emily,’ Marcia praised, her voice oddly encouraging.

Naturally, my concern for Jill was still there, but a creeping realisation threatened to erode my apprehension. As with Jill’s freshly bald head, the stark emptiness of Jill’s simplified mouth was projecting a well-defined air of cleanliness, even rightness.

Marcia then produced a set of silicone dentures. They were unlike normal ones, possessing no cosmetic properties, resembling a simple, pliable slab. She eased them into Jill’s now empty mouth, locking them into place over her gums with a resounding click. ‘These,’ she explained, more for my benefit than Jill’s, ‘will prevent wasteful speech and use of the mouth. They fill the mouth and cheeks in such a way as to give you a bland expression without compromising your breathing.’

As I looked at Jill, I realised it was true. Her face was completely blank, devoid of expression, but I could have sworn there was still a flicker of something in her eyes.

Marcia pointed to a tiny port at the back of the dentures. ‘From now on, your coach will feed you by tube through this small port, with precise nutritional measures to optimise your training and subsequent performance in the championships. This eliminates the need to spend wasteful time on eating and saves energy lost through chewing and digesting. In summary, we have simplified your mouth by ensuring it remains permanently closed and silent. After all, a swimmer does not need to talk, and it is inefficient to take on water through the mouth while swimming.’

= = =

I assumed, or desperately hoped, that Jill had been through enough. But Marcia, observing Jill keenly, grimaced. ‘Oh dear, Jill is frowning,’ she complained, her voice tinged with irritation. ‘She should no longer be capable of showing emotion, so this fault must be resolved and her features simplified further.’

My heart sank. I quickly understood that my forlorn hope had been foolish, as Marcia fetched another trolley, the surface containing an array of small bottles, syringes, and other instruments. She approached Jill’s face again, this time with a needle. My breath hitched. She injected around Jill’s face, meticulously working across her forehead, around her eyes, and on her cheeks. Jill’s facial muscles visibly relaxed until her face adopted an utterly blank, serene expression.

‘The filler smooths out features like your high cheekbones and eases your facial muscles. So, there is no need for the daily effort of makeup, as you no longer have any features worthy of enhancement.’ Marcia stepped back, surveying her work. ‘You are greatly simplified.’

And despite myself, a chilling thought ran through my mind that she might just be right. All those hours, all that effort women put into their appearance… Marcia had just bypassed it, eradicating the need for it. The logic, however twisted, was undeniably compelling in its ruthless efficiency. And I, Emily, who had always worked hard to maintain my barely adequate appearance, found myself impressed by the sheer, terrifying neatness of it.

= = =

Marcia operated the chair so that Jill ended up lying horizontally, looking up at the ceiling. Without warning, she then flipped a lever, rotating the athlete so she was looking down in a pose reminiscent of swimming.

‘Now,’ she continued, her gaze sweeping over Jill’s body, ‘for true aerodynamic efficiency in the water. Unfortunately, those appealing and womanly curves create drag. A distraction, both visually and physically.’

My blood ran cold. Womanly curves. My body, with its ample cleavage and pert bottom, flashed into my mind.

Marcia flipped the chair once again, so Jill lay out flat, facing upwards. My boss lifted a large hypodermic needle, squirted a drop or two of liquid into the air as a test, then turned back to Jill. ‘This large needle administers a large dose swiftly to ensure the chemical works evenly. Its generous size and the sensitive areas where I shall be inserting it mean that it will be terribly painful, Jill,’ Marcia shrugged, as if discussing the weather. ‘But, as you will see, the resulting simplification is breathtaking.’

I watched, both mesmerised and sickened, as Marcia inserted the thick needle multiple times into Jill’s breasts, then her buttocks. As the chemical, whatever it was, began its work, Marcia set a timer. Then, with an unnervingly casual air, she unwrapped and nibbled a cheese and cucumber sandwich, checked her phone for messages, and hummed a tuneless melody to herself.

I stood back, unable to move, unable to look away, as Jill’s body began to deflate. It was horrifying, yet I could not tear my eyes away. Her breasts, once full and rounded, visibly flattened, shrinking until they were almost concave. Her shapely bottom, which had been so enticing, melted away, leaving behind a stark, almost boyish line.

‘There,’ Marcia said when her timer beeped. She surveyed Jill’s transformed body with a satisfied nod. ‘Your reduced breasts are now as flat as a pancake, and your pert bottom has shrunk to a more convenient size. With your body simplified, we have relieved you of the need to select and wear delicate underwear and form-fitting clothes like those you had on when you entered. Indeed, men’s clothes, unflattering as they will be, will now fit you perfectly. You now possess a totally streamlined, gender-neutral form, optimised for speed.’

The horror intensified. It was not just the physical transformation but the casual cruelty and the complete dehumanisation. Jill, who had entered as a vibrant, confident woman, was now a blank canvas, a streamlined mannequin.

= = =

‘To eliminate unnecessary distractions, we must address sensory input.’ Marcia wheeled over another small cart, this one holding tiny, delicate devices. ‘This tiny device behind each ear,’ she explained, attaching them with a soft click, ‘dulls hearing and provides a way for the coach to communicate during training while the subject is in the water. And these contact lenses,’ – she deftly inserted them into Jill’s still-bright eyes – ‘reduce field of vision and nicely dull any inefficient sparkle remaining in the eyes.’

Marcia stepped back, surveying her handiwork, a rare, cold smile finally gracing her lips. It was a terrifying sight. ‘Perfect. Glenda will be pleased,’ she asserted proudly. ‘Jill is now truly simplified. A pure, unadulterated athletic machine.’

Assessment

The salon door chimed again. Glenda, Jill’s coach, returned precisely on time.

‘Another perfect job, Marcia,’ Glenda praised, her voice gruff, as she took in the sight of her protégé. Her casual remark caused me to wonder about the number of other women that Glenda had brought to Marcia for simplification.

My hands, still shaking, untied Jill from the steel chair. Marcia handed Glenda a men’s grey tracksuit, which Glenda then helped Jill climb into. It hung loosely on her now-angular frame, confirming Marcia’s earlier pronouncement. Jill remained utterly still, a blank canvas of flesh, her dulled eyes staring vacantly ahead, no longer holding any spark or life.

I looked at her, then thought of my own waist-length hair, my expressive face, my healthy teeth, and my womanly curves. The chilling realisation that I might now accept that Jill was perfect sent a shiver down my spine. What kind of person was I becoming?

Marcia and I stood in the doorway of the salon, enthusiastically waving off Jill and Glenda, as if saying farewell to loved relatives embarking on a grand adventure. ‘Good luck at the Championships!’ Marcia called out, then sniggered, a sound as cold and sharp as her smile. Neither of the women turned around.

Epilogue

As simplified Jill and grey Glenda disappeared down the street, Marcia, still looking straight ahead, whispered. ‘Emily, you proved excellent with assisting me during your first simplification. I hope you enjoyed it.’

My blood ran cold. Enjoyed it? I had been horrified, sickened even. Yet… a dark part of me, a part I did not want to acknowledge, had also been fascinated, even impressed, by the ruthless logic of simplification and the callous way my new boss carried it out. Not knowing how best to answer, I simply acknowledged her compliment with a grunt.

‘I know you will adapt well,’ she went on, her voice chillingly soft.

A shiver, not of cold but of pure dread, coursed through me. And then I felt Marcia’s hand, behind my back, casually entangling her fingers in my long, thick hair with a possessive, almost predatory touch.

My breath caught in my throat, and I stood frozen on the doorstep. Not tomorrow, not next week, nor even next month, I thought to myself, a cold, hard knot of fear forming in my stomach. But at an indeterminate time in the future, I knew with a chilling certainty that Marcia would schedule my simplification.

So, what should I do? The question screamed in my mind, but there was no immediate answer forthcoming. There was only the grim certainty that my acceptance of the simplification process was already underway. It had begun, insidiously, from the moment I had stepped over the doorway of the Simplify Hair & Beauty Salon.

To be continued