Work Culture

There’s something about the city. It doesn’t have the constant bustle of Wall Street, or even Canary Wharf. You don’t see many new money whiz kids or super star investors. It has discretion, for lack of a better word.

It’s the place old money hides and investors care more about privacy then potential returns. Somewhere that who you know matters more then what you know and people have little black books that could bring down billion dollar fortunes.

One firm that served this secret economy was the modest ‘Roberts & Schultz solicitors’ a small practise that advised people and businesses, mostly from the east, on how to hide money in London’s web of investing firms.

Roberts & Schultz was different in one sense, rather then hiring the alumni of Oxford and Cambridge (or more accurately Eton and Harrow), they recruited their candidates and put them through university in a path leading to eventual partnership.

 

This year was significant in that they had taken on two interns rather then the normal one every two or three years. Me and Ivana, the two interns, had been recruited after finishing school and supported us through our law degrees.

Me and Ivana became best friends in our time as college roommates. She was a beautiful Czech brunette and, by far, the smartest person I knew. Despite her natural good looks, she wasn’t interested in fashion or beauty and chose to dress more like a librarian then a 22 year old student.

She was known to wear heavy bohemian cloths and thick framed glasses but her signature feature was her butt length hair. Natural copper strands highlighted her warm brown mane of voluminous thick curls that would have overwhelmed most people.

When we first moved in together I had tried to get her to join me partying, but she wasn’t the clubbing type. I had stopped going out, as much, not long after getting swamped by work.

While not as signature as Ivana’s, my hair was equally impressive. Scandinavian blonde and, though not as thick as my roommate, very thick. Inspired by Ivana, throughout our time as roommates I grew it longer and longer. Now the straight strands reached down to midway up my thighs.

We became known for our signature hairstyles that turned heads across campus. In the occasions when we had finished our work and where to tired to do anything, we spent hours pampering and playing with each others manes. Sometimes we would even wash each others hair massaging luxurious shampoos and natural oils into each others scalps.

 

“to us” we tapped our glasses, toasting our new jobs.

Ivana and I had grown so use to living together we decided to continue post university. With our first full day tomorrow sharing a bottle of wine seemed like a more appropriate celebration then anything else.

Inevitability, it ended up with us playing with each others hair. Normally I styled her hair in half up styles but today I chose to brush it out before putting it into twin Dutch braids. With her hair straighter the twin thick braids nearly reached my knees.

“your turn” Ivana said moving my head into place above her lap.

Her hands started to stroke through my silken crown. I couldn’t stop myself purring as her fingertips tickled my scalp, much to her delight.

“having fun, my lap cat” she teased

“stop calling me that”

Ivana took as much pride in my hair as I did. Since I had grown it longer, she took it upon herself to act as its guardian making sure I didn’t ruin its natural beauty.

The tips of her nails continued to tease my head. She tried a few things, the cogs in her head whirring, before deciding what to do. Once she had decided on a style she reached out for a brush and started to part my mane.

A soft purr left my lips. Her touch felt like ecstasy my mind slipped back from the high. Another purr escaped my chest, as my head lightened under her power. My eyelids shut themselves bringing me deeper into a trance like state.

Ivana couldn’t help but release a cute little laugh. I could feel the smile written across her face.

She wasn’t going to let me hear the last of this. I didn’t want to.

Once my hair had been prepped, Ivana started to do similar twin Dutch braids. My hair was pulled tighter then she normally allowed but instead of continuing the braids she fixed two buns. Somehow she had managed to get my mass off my shoulders, except for the two three foot stands she left out at the front.

She pulled a flower from the bouquet my mum sent as a moving in present. The lily was tucked onto my ear before we took our normal post styling photos.

Something about the two long stands at the front found us letting out giddy laughs. Maybe we had two much to drink.

 

The next day we got up early to get ready. We wore our most formal cloths. Ivana pulled her hair into a mid height ponytail before helping me secure my hair into a French twist with a dozen bobby pins.

We had been worried that our long hair would make us seem unprofessional. However, our soon to be supervisor informed us that our role wasn’t front facing and we could essentially wear what we want. Our formal dress then was more an attempt to make a good first impression rather then work uniform.

Our generous salary afforded us a quick commute to Roberts & Schultz main office. The ground floor housed most the client side facilities and was the picture of professionalism. Upstairs was a more relaxed environment and as we meet our new colleges it was clear we overdressed.

One thing we noticed was the number of women in the office. It wasn’t all women but nearly all, with the few men seeming out of place in the slightly feminine surroundings. Most dressed in casual, slightly conservative, cloths but what we noticed most was their hair.

All had short hair. The longest was the receptionist sheik ginger lob, longer strands reached midway down her slender neck with shorter hair at the back. I noticed, as she tucked her hair over her ear, that it hid a high buzzed undercut.

A few had longer pixie cuts but most had various chin length bobs. Some were pulled into small ponytails revealing sharp bristles coating their napes. Me and Ivana’s eyes flicked between each of these short cuts but not as much as they looked at us.

Ivana’s, so long it’s basically down, ponytail drew the attention of nearly everyone she passed. Most of the eyes in the office congregates on her. She grew uneasy from the attention, her lips pressed together and her hands shuffled by her side.

I knew how introverted she is, and how nervous she got meeting new people, but my presence seemed to ease her nerves. As we passed, I gave the slightest touch to the back of her hand.

 

“I think that’s everyone you need to meet, there’s just one thing before you can start.”

Our new supervisor lead us to one of the meeting rooms. The large room looked cramped with chairs and tables moved to the side and the twenty or so of our colleges standing around.

In the middle of room sat a lone chair. A figure stood looking over it, but she wasn’t one of the many women we had been introduced to from the office. She was dressed in black working cloths, rather then the office standard business causal. The dark braid, that fell over her shoulder to her belly button, was out of place surrounded by short haired women.

Around her waist, she carried various brushes, a bottle and to our shock both a large pair of silver scissors and what we recognised as clippers.

Our supervisor explained there ‘little tradition’. That all graduates they brought into the company were expected to get and maintain a haircut chosen by all the schemes alumni.

Her worlds seemed to pierce through us. ‘Haircut’ and ‘mandatory’ echoed through my mind.

As my mind caught up, I started to process what was said and what it meant. Losing my mane, being shorn for everyone to watch. They couldn’t do it, couldn’t make me do it. But, I couldn’t say no. Not only could I lose the job of a lifetime, but I would be burdened with the tuition and costs accrued over their years of support.

I turned to Ivana, she seemed to have come to the same realisations as me. Tears began to form in the corner of her eyes and, like a puppy being taken to the vet, looked at me wanting to escape.

But there was nowhere to escape. No way to run.

 

Ivana was first. Her body went limp as she was lead into the chair and her glasses where removed. The weight of her mane was held up allowing a cape to be pulled tight around her neck.

A heavy brown waterfall crashed down her back. Two and a half feet of caramel copper curls bounced as Ivana’s head rocked from side to side. Her hair was gathered into a loose ponytail, thicker than her arms, the hair tie was pulled down to the bottom of her neck.

With a loud click the hairstylists clippers roared to life. Ivana nearly jumped out of her chair only to be guided, wide eyed, back down. The guard less clippers where planted 2 inches above the hair tie. Thick strands fell one by one into her face the longest strands didn’t even reach to her shoulders from what was once her butt length mane.

The buzzing and crunching of the clippers on hair intensified as her ponytail was twisted and sliced into until only a few messy strands remained. These last hairs were cut causing her messy ‘lob’ to bounce up as her limp two and a half foot ponytail was held up above her. Ivana’s former tail was passed too one of the watching crowd, who secured it with a second tie in a way that made it clear it was not destined for the trash.

The hairstylist fluffed up her hair before continuing. She placed her thumbs in line with her puffy pink eyes, who had by now run dry, and running them back sectioning out her crown. She lifted this section up and twisted it before securing it with a clip.

Ivana’s head was forced to the side her ear tickling against her shoulder. The hair on the side of her head was roughly combed before being pulled taut. The clippers roared back to life. Their blade was planted along my sectioned crown and ran down into her hair, a slight sharp fuzz was all that remained only milometers in length.

Her ear was folded back allowing the copper curls to be sheared. The gentle brown lacked anything that could be described as length. Ivana’s hair continued to be buzzed, once the side was reduced the clippers moved on to her nape. Slowly and methodically her nape was sheared followed by her head being shoved to the left this time and her side was buzzed down to sharp blades.

Ivana now had an undercut that ran 360 degrees around her head. It started inline with her eyebrows and continue over her ears reaching slightly further down at the back. The larger clippers her hairstyle had been using were replaced by a smaller pair that she used to clean up and smooth out her hairline.

The only length Ivana had left was released from the clip on her crown. It was roughly combed straight. I had never seen Ivana with straight hair, it almost seemed unnatural on her. Then her hair was forcefully parted slightly to the side, far from her natural parting.

Forced straight the tips of her hair barely touched her collar. This length was quickly robbed with a dozen quick snips, her bob was now cut blunt an inch below her chin. The hairdressers comb returned to try and, much to my surprise succeed, in taming her mane. The curls where gone replaced by a professional yet stylish ‘mum bob’.

She pulled out a smaller more delicate pair of scissors and carefully tidied up her hair. The blunt ends where thinned and smoothed out as her hair was shaped and finished. I was amazed at how thick her hair was, only when she tucked a few strands behind her ear could you tell half her head was shaved.

Once she was de-capped and handed back her glasses, Ivana caught the first glimpses of her self, a new women. Her pride and joy had been stripped for her. Looking like a sad puppy she had been tamed, the vibrant outgoing Ivana, replaced by a broken business woman, who looked unconfutable in her own skin.

She slowly climbed out of the chair and stepped over the mess of hair that littered that floor.

It was my turn.

 

A dozen hands pushed against my back and shoulders, guiding me too the chair.

I swore to myself that I wouldn’t cry, but as I was sat down and caped I could feel tears forming in the corner of my eye. The hairdressers fingers were cold on my collar.

My French twist had its pins removed causing a cascade of blonde to fall free. A gasp echoed across the room as my hair fell, first to my shoulders then my back until the last 6 inches of hair fell below the chair.

“you’ll have to stand up for this bit”

I couldn’t comprehend her tone, it felt like an order and a whisper. I complied, rising out of the chair. The hairdresser started to brush out my hair. I normally loved having my hair brushed, but this was different.

She finished brushing out my hair and tied it into a mid height ponytail. Then she clicked on the clippers and plunged them into the base of my hair, above the tie. I swallowed hard as the air left my lungs. Chatter echoed across the room but passed through my ears, my mind wasn’t in the room.

The clippers finally severed the last few strands, and my tail was passed away. I was suddenly light headed and lighter. My promise to myself that I wouldn’t cry lay in tatters as I broke down in front of everyone. I shrunk into the chair, I wasn’t sure if I had been told to sit but I needed to in so I didn’t faint.

My hand reached from out from under the cape to feel my hair. I realised, unlike Ivana, she hadn’t pulled the ponytail down instead leaving me with less than an inch beneath where the ponytail once stood. The hair at my nape and front was longer and messier but as she fluffed up my crown the longest strands of my fringe barely reached my top lip.

I winched as cold water wetted my hair, before jolting up sharply as my remaining hair was combed up. She pinched the trapped locks between two fingers and sliced into them, sending a cascade of hair falling over me.

Section after section was cut to just under an inch. Once she finished with my crown, her clippers where reignited and ran over my left ear. I couldn’t tell what she was doing but I could feel the guard vibrate against my scalp. She pulled the clippers away from my nape and changed the guard before returning it to the back of my head.

Finally, she switched back to the smaller pair of clippers and used them to blend into my hairline.

Once the hairdresser was satisfied, she released me from the cape Ivana ran her hand through my new hair. There was enough for her fingers to run through but no more. In the reflection on one of the meeting glass walls, I could see a little boy looking back at me. They had been crying and looked small with a little boys cut lacking any hint of femininity.

Only when I reached up to my hair did I notice that little boy was me.

 

 

 

 

Me and Ivana got use to our new haircuts. We didn’t like them, hated them in fact, but got use to them. Although, we missed our hair.

We found out not long after that we would be expected to maintain our new haircuts. The fact some of our bosses had maintained there short hair for there entire careers only disheartened us. It seemed that we would be forced to have short hair for the rest of our life.

We tried wearing wigs but they weren’t the same. Ivana still wore one on rare occasions and I would consistently wear a black armpit length wig on days when I wasn’t working, blonde wigs all looked fake on me.

One Monday, two years after we started I noticed a strange sight in the office. A long thick ginger ponytail swinging to the lower back of a fresh faced intern. I walked over to Ivana who was similarly enthralled and we, as well as some of our co-workers, began discussing what would best suit this newest intern. Because her long beautiful red hair would simply not do, maybe it would look good shorter and she would definite be a beautiful brunette.

 

fin