HairApparent
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.
This story serves as a sequel to Simplify Salon I – Inducting the New Apprentice and can be enjoyed independently without the need to read the original story.
Prologue
Over a month ago, I had witnessed my first full simplification procedure in the Simplify Hair & Beauty Salon. Jill, a professional swimmer, had undergone a series of grisly procedures at the hands of Marcia, my boss. I had been horrified, yet a dark part of me had also been fascinated, even impressed by the ruthless logic of simplification and the callous way my new boss carried it out. Since that occasion, I had been involved in a considerable number of partial and full simplifications, but the lurking horror of that first day had never gone away.
I had not forgotten the moment that Marcia’s proprietorial hand clamped around my waist-length hair while waving farewell to a subdued Jill and Glenda, her satisfied swimming coach. My sharp terror arising from that moment superseded even my uncomfortable viewing of the erasure of Jill’s identity. I had had a premonition that I could expect the imminent buzz of the clippers on my hair to signify the start of my transformation. But that moment never came.
Marcia, after giving my hair a sharp tug, had released me, although her gaze lingered on its ample brown thickness. ‘You proved excellent at assisting me while observing your first simplification, Emily,’ she had whispered, her voice like ice. ‘I know you will adapt well to working here.’
And adapting to Marcia’s expectations, I did. Over the following five weeks, I experienced a hectic routine of invasive procedures and antiseptic aromas. I forced a smile as I welcomed the lively and beautiful woman to Simplify, always presenting a professional front despite the humiliatingly short white nylon dress that Marcia insisted I wear as my uniform.
The misleading name – Simplify Hair & Beauty Salon – still twisted in my stomach, as it was unlike any normal salon. But the desperation that had driven me to accept the job had now solidified into a desperate necessity to keep it so that I could satisfy all my financial commitments. Even as an apprentice, Marcia paid me well, and it gave me stability, a luxury I had forgotten during my long months of job searching.
My duties had quickly expanded beyond merely cleaning, tidying, and passing instruments. I was now proficient in assisting with the more delicate procedures, although I was yet to undertake any by myself.
I had learnt that the greater proportion of the clientele were sportswomen, all looking for that extra one per cent of performance that made the difference between a medal and a runner-up. There were procedures performed by Marcia that had an obvious correlation with achieving physical perfection, but the purpose of others remained less clear. However, the clients arrived with flaws, both physical and mental. And, after simplification by Marcia, they left as streamlined, efficient vessels to set the sporting world alight.
Marcia, in her unchanging black leather skirt and lace top, remained a severe priestess of cold professionalism and a role model to aspire to. Her approval was what I lived for. A curt nod was unusual but welcome, a tight smile was rare but lit up my whole being, and a modest adjective like “adequate” to describe my work was music to my ears.
But I suspected I was running out of time. I knew I harboured personal inefficiencies. Too frequently, I allowed my lingering spark of conscience to present itself during an aggressive procedure. They were liabilities that I needed to keep under control.
Competition
‘Another apprentice starts next week, Emily,’ Marcia stated one quiet Tuesday afternoon, wiping a menacing stainless-steel instrument with a practised motion. ‘She comes highly recommended, and she is already experienced in some of the procedures we perform.’
I swallowed my feeling of disappointment at the injustice. ‘Yes, Miss Marcia,’ I replied unimaginatively, having expected my boss to promote me to assistant manager to oversee and train junior staff. Now, it seemed, an outsider might already be more experienced than I was.
Marcia suddenly frowned, looking past me at the blank slot on the appointment board. ‘There is a gap in today’s schedule! Forty-five minutes. This waiting period is terribly inefficient and completely unacceptable.’
‘Mrs Able cancelled her appointment at the last minute, citing a family emergency,’ I explained.
Marcia huffed. ‘Remind me to “forget” the anaesthetic when she finally lowers herself to turn up for her rescheduled appointment,’ she sniffed, laughing mirthlessly.
Because I was unable to refill the slot at the last minute, she implied it was my fault. My heart hammered against my ribs. Inefficiency meant failure. Failure meant I was out. Marcia had strongly indicated that those who did not advance were useless to her.
And the new apprentice was a threat, as she was more experienced, less inefficient, and more suited to this specialised form of hair and beauty treatment.
Proposal
I looked at my reflection in the polished steel of an instrument tray. I saw waist-length hair, my bright eyes, and my slightly too-curvy hips straining the severe white dress. From Marcia’s perspective, I was a mass of superfluous complication. I was everything she had founded her salon to abolish.
The words caught in my throat, but I knew I had to say them.
‘Miss Marcia,’ I began, pitching my voice to be as calm and professional as possible. ‘With the new apprentice scheduled to start… and with me needing to represent the salon’s standards… and given this gap in the schedule… I was wondering if you could consider simplifying me?’
Marcia stopped polishing the shining instrument in her hand. Her cold eyes finally focused on me, a flicker of something akin to interest illuminating their depths.
‘You volunteer, Emily?’ she asked, raising an eyebrow.
‘Yes, I do, Miss Marcia. I need to advance my training to help new members of staff. And I need to understand the client experience fully before I can perform the procedures by myself. Furthermore, it would make me more efficient in the salon.’
Marcia considered my offer, her expression neutral. ‘Well, it is a sound proposition, Emily. You are moderately attractive currently, although in an overly complicated sort of way. However, once simplified, you would serve as an excellent marketing tool for the salon, a living demonstration of our services.’
‘Exactly, Miss Marcia,’ I promptly agreed.
She put aside the collection of instruments she had been polishing. ‘Fine. We will employ this opportune gap in our schedule. Strip, Emily. Quickly. We must maintain efficiency.’
Sacrifice
A profound calmness settled over me, a terrifying acceptance that I was choosing to make this sacrifice. I was voluntarily walking into the unrelenting jaws of simplification to secure my future.
Peeling off the tight nylon dress, left me exposed in my flimsy underwear, before I removed that too. The chilly air of the salon raised goosebumps across my skin.
I mounted the metallic salon chair, the steel shockingly cold against my bare skin. Positioning myself exactly as I had prompted our clients to do, I ensured that I had centred myself beneath the bright salon lights. I scrawled a signature on the tablet that Marcia thrust before me, giving her full permission to do what she considered necessary.
‘Now, restraints, Emily,’ Marcia instructed, passing me the leather straps. I methodically secured those that I could reach before allowing Marcia to tighten the others. The sensation was unsettlingly intimate as I found myself completely immobile on the chair; the same chair where I had secured so many.
‘The dental spreader will not be necessary for you,’ Marcia stated, wheeling over the trolley of gleaming tools. ‘I rely on your professionalism, Emily. But if you scream, we pause only long enough for me to sedate you completely. Remain quiet, and we proceed efficiently.’
‘I understand, Miss Marcia,’ I stated, my breath catching as I caught sight of the familiar array of tools. The tools that I had only ever cleaned or passed to her, that she now directed threateningly at me.
Simplification
After Marcia had elevated the chair, reclining me so that my hair hung down behind me, she reached for the large hairclippers. ‘We will begin with the most frivolous mass of self-expression you possess,’ Marcia sneered, ripping out my cherished black velvet hairband and tossing it in a nearby litter bin. ‘Your ridiculous hair.’
‘Thanks, Miss Marcia,’ I mumbled, not really meaning it, a tremulous note threatening to upset my forced composure.
Closing my eyes, I briefly pictured the familiar weight of the waterfall of hair tumbling down my back, recalling the moment of terror when Marcia made her first predatory grasp for it just five weeks earlier. I willed myself to separate my mind from its attachment, now deemed unnecessary.
The raucous buzz of the hairclippers close to my skull felt so much louder than simply standing close by. I sensed the blade tearing through my thick hair close to the scalp, starting at my forehead. I felt the weight lift, the cool air touching skin that had never seen daylight in all my years. And Marcia did not pause for even one second. In a remarkably brief period, she had severed my pretty long locks that I had carefully nurtured my whole life and replaced them with an unattractive prickly stubble.
Marcia stripped away my eyebrows and lashes without a care before lathering my whole head and face. Taking her razor, she meticulously scraped my skin clean, leaving it bare, as if no hair had ever grown there.
= = =
I braced myself for what was coming next as I watched Marcia snap on latex gloves before reaching for a large clear tube filled with a blue substance. As she massaged the gel into my skin, the stinging sensation followed by a perception of burning was as painful as I had anticipated. Although I flinched, I maintained my silence as the powerful chemical did its work. As she wiped the skin clean with a polishing motion, I could see in the mirror that my skull gleamed like a billiard ball. ‘All gone… permanently,’ Marcia declared proudly in her characteristic fashion.
Moving downwards, Marcia clippered the triangle of hair between my thighs, lathered it up and then carefully shaved the sensitive area with a razor. After applying the stinging depilatory cream and gently rubbing the skin clean with a soft cloth, she lingered with her fingers longer than she usually did with clients.
‘Quite lovely, Emily, just like a baby,’ she murmured, licking her lips lasciviously. It was an action that I felt was inappropriate for the workplace. It was certainly not an unpleasant feeling, just inappropriate…
Examining my bare skull, it was a perfectly smooth shape. Stark and minimalist, for sure, but without any bumps or scars. It was a horrifying change from my abundant tresses that now lay on the floor, yet I could appreciate that my head was undeniably clean and efficient.
‘Excellent composure, Emily,’ Marcia noted, clearly pleased with my lack of tears and absence of any struggle.
= = =
I knew that the next stage of the process would be one that truly required my commitment. But my future was at risk if I did not comply.
‘As an agent of Simplify, your mouth must be flawless,’ Marcia announced.
Although Marcia had spared me the heavy stainless-steel clamp during the initial stage, she now thrust the device in my mouth and ratcheted my jaws apart. It felt much worse than I had imagined, and I experienced a pang of sympathy for all the women whose mouths I had forced open in the same way.
‘I will eliminate all current and future dental complexities by clearing the field,’ she added while jabbing my gums with the mild anaesthetic designed “to take the edge off”.
I tried to thank Marcia for her consideration, but the dental spreader held my tongue firm, and I was unable to speak.
She passed me the suction hose. ‘Hold this steady, Emily. You know where to place it.’
I took the rubber tube that I had held for countless simplifications, and I placed it carefully into the corner of my cheek. And I waited as Marcia tapped my teeth as she planned her campaign around my mouth. Without a word, she suddenly extracted the first of my teeth. I abruptly realised that, while the anaesthetic might take the edge off the resulting pain, the sensation was still agonising. Furthermore, as the noise emanated from my mouth, the sound echoed through my skull.
As always, Marcia worked with horrifying efficiency. Although I tried to keep my eyes closed initially, I later chose to observe her progress with a morbid fascination as she swiftly advanced along each jaw. As the last tooth rattled on the metal tray, Marcia sprayed the proprietary liquid into my mouth. I could feel the bleeding had stopped, my mouth felt fresher, and my gums were less sore. I accepted that it was beneficial for the salon that I had sampled the effect of this spray. So, in the future, I could reassure clients of its effectiveness if they experienced any doubts beforehand.
‘Excellent work, Emily,’ Marcia praised, her voice oddly encouraging, as she removed the dental spreader from between my jaws.
As with my freshly bald head, the stark emptiness of my simplified mouth was projecting a well-defined air of cleanliness, even rightness. I had had fillings over the years that upset the symmetry within, but now the whole expanse was perfectly balanced.
‘Remarkable self-control, Emily,’ Marcia acknowledged, allowing a slight upturn of her lip that passed for a profound compliment. ‘And now for the permanent solution.’
= = =
Marcia held up an object made of pink and white silicone material. ‘This is a specialised oral implant, unique to the staff of Simplify,’ Marcia explained. ‘As you know, we completely silence a considerable number of our clients, particularly the professional athletes, so they can maintain their determined focus. Unlike those people, Emily, you will need to converse with our clients and communicate with your colleagues. So, this implant will suit you perfectly.’
Unused to speaking with my cavernous mouth, I grunted something that I hoped Marcia would interpret as my gratitude. She raised a questioning eyebrow – something she inadvertently reminded me that I could no longer do – but she let my unintelligible squeak pass.
‘So, these dentures offer a passing resemblance to your former teeth in terms of function. But, in addition, they lock your gums and lips into a predetermined smile that is both pleasant and permanent. You will always exhibit a cheerful and welcoming expression to our clients and your colleagues. Unfortunately, they are a little unflattering in terms of appearance and fit, but that serves to curb any undue sense of vanity.’
Marcia fitted the heavy insert, filling the space previously occupied by my teeth. It clicked firmly into place, pressing against my raw gums and curving my lips upwards, leaving just a small opening between my jaws.
My mouth felt full and unnaturally taut. In the mirror, my face presented a consistent bland and jolly expression. However hard I tried to manipulate my tongue, the insert presented a solid and unyielding surface. At least I no longer needed to worry about how to portray my emotions, even when I was feeling sad.
‘Try to speak, Emily,’ Monica instructed.
I gathered my breath and forced the air around the obstruction. The sound was unfamiliar, high-pitched, and laced with something else.
‘Thank you, Mith Marthia,’ I managed, the words emerging through my tight, forced smile. ‘I thimply adore it! I feel tho much more efficient already.’
The lisping sound was so ridiculous, so exaggeratedly cheerful, that despite the pain and the sheer horror of my situation, a genuine, dark laugh caught in my throat.
‘The lisp is a side effect of a flaw in the design that I may try to rectify in due course,’ Monica said curtly, clearly upset by the need to justify a rare mistake. ‘Still, the amusing sibilance does seem to complement your jolly demeanour rather well.’
I was unsure that I agreed with her. ‘Yeth, Mith Marthia.’
= = =
‘Next, Emily, we sculpt your facial and bodily features for optimal marketing appeal,’ Marcia declared. ‘However, we reserve the sharp and streamlined appearance for the athletes. For salon efficiency, Emily, we need you to be warm and approachable.’
I sighed with annoyance, not believing I was lacking in those qualities, but Monica ignored my sibilant hiss.
‘We start with your lips,’ Marcia declared, holding up a needle. ‘A prominent, pouty look is currently fashionable. You must project gentle competence.’
I watched in the mirror as Marcia injected the deep red filler. My lips swelled quickly, forming a lush, thick pout. ‘Excellent depth to the red,’ Marcia pronounced. Then she began injecting my cheeks, my chin, and my forehead.
I felt my skin realigning itself, as if tightening itself over an expanding balloon. The change to my face was immediate. The gaunt look, a legacy of my period of desperate job seeking, had vanished, replaced by a completely smooth and unnervingly jolly roundness. My fixed smile, plump red lips and smooth skin created an expression of permanent good cheer.
= = =
‘Now, we must address your body’s curves,’ Marcia announced, retrieving a massive, industrial-sized syringe. ‘For efficiency in the working environment, soft appeal is key. We are adapting your silhouette to reflect the salon’s brand of being approachable, comfortable, and accommodating.’
I realised that Marcia was not proposing to streamline me in the same way as the professional athletes. She was engineering me into a new kind of spectacle.
‘Your natural curves, Emily, are firm and enticing in a traditional way but far too sharp for the role of a salon assistant,’ Marcia lamented. ‘I will soften them; you need to be plump and generous, not thin and sharp.’
Do I? I had always loved my figure, and I had strived to keep myself in reasonable shape. My fit body was only second to my hair as one of my attractive assets. With my hair gone, the irony was that it now topped that list… but not for long, it seemed.
The first needle went into my breast. The injection of the viscous, thick chemical was intensely painful, a burning sensation of expansion. I gritted my teeth, but the fixed smile did not waver. Marcia worked methodically, injecting multiple points in my breasts, then moving down to my hips and buttocks, and finally, my waist.
Horrified and morbidly fascinated, I watched as my body began to bloat and swell under the harsh lights. My defined waist vanished, replaced by a soft, rounded plumpness. My breasts swelled, feeling heavier, while my hips rounded out into an exaggerated hourglass form.
Marcia finally stepped back, wiping her hands carefully.
‘You will achieve the maximum plumpness over time, but the initial restructuring is now complete,’ she said. ‘Your resulting figure projects reliability and sensual comfort, offering a highly effective demonstration of our range of services.’
Judgement
Marcia unlocked the restraints. My limbs were stiff, and my new body felt heavy and soft, aching with the injected chemicals.
‘Now, put your dress back on, Emily,’ Marcia instructed eagerly, tossing my white nylon uniform onto the chair. ‘I am keen to see the effect.’
I took the flimsy white fabric. The thin nylon had been humiliatingly tight before, but now, it was a struggle. I pulled it over my freshly rounded hips, sucking in a breath as I worked the zipper. The material stretched tautly across my newly enlarged chest and strained over my plumped waist. The nylon bulged around the seams, clinging to the new, soft volume of my body. It was indecent, but it proved the procedure had worked.
Marcia led me to a full-length mirror, and I looked at the woman staring back. Bald head, unnervingly plump face, a red pout fixed in a cheerful smile. A heavier body squeezed into a uniform meant for a thinner frame. A cheerful mannequin promoting services offered by Simplify Hair & Beauty Salon, just as Marcia had demanded.
Epilogue
I filed away the memories of the slim and modestly attractive young lady with the abundant hair that I had once been. She was gone, and, in my new form, I needed to look ahead to accepting greater responsibilities in the salon.
‘Mith Marcia,’ I announced cheerfully. ‘I am tho delighted with the rethults. I look thimply perfect. So, am I ready to advanthe to performing thimplification procedureth now?’
Marcia appraised me, her cold eyes scanning my new curves. She reached out and patted my cheek. From anyone else it would have been a stiff, impersonal gesture, but from my boss it was praise indeed. ‘You have embraced efficiency, Emily. You will start training on the instruments tomorrow.’
‘Tho, I will be the athithtant manager?’ I wished to clarify.
‘Athithtant to… I mean, assistant to the manager,’ Marcia confirmed. ‘And tonight, you will join me in my apartment above the salon. We will enjoy a delicious meal together, and I will examine your transformation in far greater detail.’ It would have been completely out of character, but I was sure she had winked as she said those words.
The fixed smile hurt, and my body was heavy and aching, but I represented the salon aesthetic perfectly. So, the sheer relief of having secured my position with a new apprentice soon to arrive was overwhelming. The opportunity to spend time with her alone, away from work, was a bonus, although her uncharacteristic wink remained a niggling worry.
Anyway, I was safe… for now…
