Rivvy
To Baldly Go
Emily’s heart raced with excitement as she zipped up her Starfleet uniform, the iconic red and black dress hugging her figure perfectly. Today was the day. After months of preparation, she was finally ready to attend her first Star Trek convention. The sleek uniform was a nod to the bold, confident Starfleet officers she admired on the show—strong, capable, and always ready to take on the next mission. Her hair, however, didn’t quite match the look. It was a long bob, stylish but far too traditional for the sleek, futuristic officer she envisioned herself to be.
“I need to make a real impact,” she thought, glancing in the mirror. “Something more… authoritative.”
That’s when the idea hit her: a haircut. Not just any haircut—a bold, daring look, like the officers from Star Trek. She could already picture herself strutting into the convention, the crowd parting as they admired her commitment to the cosplay. Maybe she could even get something short like the female officers wore. She knew this could be the perfect finishing touch to her costume.
Emily grabbed her phone and pulled up a picture of the cast from Star Trek: The Next Generation. She focused on the uniforms and haircuts of the officers, feeling the thrill of the unknown bubbling inside her. “Something like this,” she muttered to herself as she slipped on her black heels and headed out the door.
At the Salon
The bell above the salon door jingled as Emily walked in, already in full costume. She could feel the eyes of the stylists and customers turn toward her. Dressed in the tight, form-fitting red and black Starfleet uniform, she exuded confidence—though deep down, her nerves began to flutter.
A stylist named Brooke stepped forward, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of Emily’s outfit. “Uh, wow, I guess you’re going to the Star Trek convention today?”
Emily smiled brightly. “You guessed it! But I’m not quite ready yet.” She tilted her head to show her brown bob. “I want a haircut, something more fitting for an officer. You know, like the officers in the show.”
Brooke blinked, looking down at the phone Emily held out, displaying a picture of the cast. It showed everyone—Captain Jean-Luc Picard in his signature red uniform, Riker, Worf, and the rest of the crew. Emily pointed at the officers in their neat, regulation hairstyles, though she didn’t specify one in particular.
Brooke studied the image, but her gaze lingered on one person: Picard. The bald captain, his shining scalp, and red-and-black uniform made him stand out.
“So, you want to look like an officer,” Brooke said thoughtfully, nodding. “Like them?” She pointed at Picard, the only one she recognized, with his commanding presence and unmistakable bald head.
Emily, distracted by a text notification about the convention, didn’t catch Brooke’s gesture. “Yes, like one of them.”
Brooke’s face lit up in understanding. “Got it. That’ll make quite an impression at the convention!”
Emily smiled, trusting Brooke completely. She took a seat in the salon chair, feeling the cool leather beneath her. Brooke draped a cape over her, her fingers moving swiftly, tying it snugly around Emily’s neck. Emily sank into the chair, excitement bubbling up again. She could already imagine the thrill of walking into the convention with a sharp, officer’s look.
Brooke, meanwhile, grabbed a pair of electric clippers, her brow furrowing slightly as she took one last glance at the image of Picard on Emily’s phone. “Bald and bold,” she thought, assuming that was exactly what this dedicated fan wanted.
Emily had barely begun to scroll through messages on her phone when she heard the buzzing sound, louder and closer than she expected. Her eyes widened as she glanced up at the mirror, her heart skipping a beat. She was about to say something when—
Zzzzzzzzzp.
The clippers ran straight down the middle of her scalp, from her forehead to the crown, leaving a wide, starkly bald strip. The sensation of cold air on her bare skin hit her almost instantly. Emily’s eyes bulged, her mouth dropping open.
“What are you doing?!” she gasped, shooting out of the chair.
Brooke froze, clippers still humming in her hand. “I—uh—you said you wanted to look like the captain! I thought that’s what you were going for…”
“The captain?!” Emily’s voice pitched higher as she stared at her reflection in horror. There was no hair left in the middle of her head. It was already gone. The gleaming white of her scalp contrasted sharply against the rest of her bobbed hair.
Brooke, realizing the massive misunderstanding, turned pale. “Oh my god, I thought you wanted the bald look like Picard! He’s the captain, right? The officer.”
Emily’s mind raced. She had wanted something bold, sure, but this—this was a disaster! Her hair was ruined, the middle of her scalp already shaved clean. A mix of horror and disbelief gripped her as she glanced back at Brooke, whose face had gone from confusion to full-blown panic.
“I—no, I wanted an officer’s cut, not… not this!” Emily gestured frantically at her half-shaved head.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize! I thought when you showed me the picture…”
Emily’s stomach sank as she looked back at the mirror. The damage was done, and there was no going back now. What could she do? Walk into the convention with a wide, bald stripe down her head? Her heart raced as she tried to think of a solution.
Brooke grimaced. “Look, I’ve already started, and… well, I don’t think there’s any way to fix this. The best thing we can do now is finish shaving the rest.”
Emily’s pulse quickened. Her face flushed with anxiety as she weighed her options, none of them good. What was she supposed to do? Walk around with this half-shaved monstrosity? There was no time to fix it before the convention. And besides, what could she even fix? Her hair was already halfway gone.
Swallowing hard, she nodded reluctantly. “Just… finish it.”
Brooke’s shoulders slumped in relief, though her hands still trembled as she brought the clippers back to Emily’s scalp. With slow, careful strokes, she began buzzing off the remaining hair, revealing more of Emily’s pale scalp. Emily gripped the arms of the chair, her knuckles white. The sound of the clippers filled her ears, and with each pass, more of her hair fell to the floor.
Bit by bit, the hair vanished, replaced by the cool, smooth surface of her bare skin. Emily stared at her reflection, numb with disbelief as her scalp was fully exposed. She had never imagined herself bald, never thought this was how the day would go. When Brooke finished the final strip, she gently rubbed a hand over Emily’s head, wiping away the last loose hairs.
“There you go,” Brooke said softly, stepping back. “I’m really sorry again. But, uh… you look amazing. Really. You’re definitely going to turn heads.”
Emily couldn’t speak. She sat in silence, staring at her reflection. Her scalp was pale, untouched by sunlight, a stark contrast to the rest of her body. She ran her fingers over her smooth head, trying to process the shock of it all.
She had wanted to make an impression, but not like this.
At the Convention
The convention center was buzzing with excitement as Emily stepped through the entrance. Hundreds of Trekkies milled about, dressed in elaborate costumes ranging from Federation officers to Klingons and even a few Borg. Emily walked hesitantly into the crowd, her freshly shaven scalp gleaming under the bright lights. Every step felt heavier than the last.
Heads turned as she passed, and she caught snippets of conversation.
“Wow, check out that dedication!”
“Is she supposed to be Picard?”
“To boldly go, huh? That’s commitment!”
“Respect for shaving your head for cosplay!”
Emily smiled weakly, trying to play it cool, but the attention made her skin crawl. People weren’t admiring her costume—they were fixated on her bald head. Every comment about her commitment felt like a reminder of her blunder.
A man in a Commander Riker outfit walked up to her, grinning broadly. “Picard cosplay, right? Nice touch with the shaved head. You really went all out!”
Emily forced a smile. “Uh, thanks,” she muttered, glancing away. Inside, her stomach churned. She hadn’t wanted to look like Picard, but it seemed that’s exactly what everyone thought. To them, the shaved head wasn’t a mistake—it was a statement.
As she moved through the crowd, more comments followed, some playful, others admiring. A group of cosplayers dressed as Starfleet officers saluted her as she passed by, one of them quipping, “To baldly go where no woman has gone before, am I right?”
She forced a laugh, but inside, her heart sank further. She had wanted to cosplay as a fierce, confident Starfleet officer, but now she felt like a joke. The constant “sir” comments stung the most.
“Looking sharp, sir!” someone called out, and she couldn’t help but cringe. Sure, they called officers “sir” in the show regardless of gender, but hearing it now, directed at her, felt wrong. She already felt like the shaved head made her look too masculine, and being called “sir” only cemented that fear.
She ducked into a quiet corner of the convention hall, trying to gather her thoughts. Her head felt cold, exposed. She ran her fingers over the smooth surface again, trying to make peace with it, but every time she looked in the mirror, she couldn’t help but feel like a stranger was staring back at her.
Was this how people saw her now, even in this dress? Not as Emily, not as a strong Starfleet officer—but as someone trying to be Picard – a bald, masculine figure?
Her mind raced. She had been so excited about this day, so eager to show off her costume, but now it felt like everything had gone wrong. The comments, the stares, the constant “sir”—it was too much.
As she leaned against the wall, she caught her reflection in a nearby glass panel. There she was, bald and bare-headed, dressed in her red and black uniform. It wasn’t the look she had wanted.
