My Type by aells

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I'm grateful to have found such a great, close-knit group of friends. Every Friday, almost without fail, we gather for a movie night at somebody's place. Sometimes we actually watch the movie, and other times we get bored and just goof around. A week ago, during a rather boring romcom, we got talking on the topic of dating. Specifically, we were talking about or "types", and what kinds of celebrities we found attractive. The answers were fairly standard; men and women alike named the usual suspects— traditionally handsome hunks, blonde bombshells, etc. And then there were outliers, like Olivia, who's into much older women, and Freddy, who likes short, pudgy guys. Eventually it was my turn to share, and I pulled up pictures of a couple guys I've always fawned over since middle school. They were mostly musicians, really heavily pierced and tattooed. Dressed almost completely in black. Clean shaven and super short-haired. Punks and borderline punks, really. I ellicted a few "oohs" and "ahhs", a "hell no!" or two. One of my friends was rather quiet though, sipping his drink and looking awkwardly ar the floor.
Randall is undoubtedly not my type. He dresses a bit like a divorced middle-aged dad in baggy shorts and shirts that engulf his scrawny frame. He wears the same ratty white Converse with almost every outfit and looks like he never, EVER brushes his hair. It's a dark brown, frizzy mess that falls down to his collarbone, parted down the middle in a way that looks like floppy dog ears. He's a meek and awkward guy— which I don't mind— but physically, he always looks to me like he's hiding inside his hair and clothes. He's pretty much the opposite of my type.
And Randall, you see, is absolutely infatuated with me.
He thinks I can't tell. Thinks he does such a great job of hiding it. No matter how hard he tries to play it cool, though, he can't make up for the fact that his extremely fair skin blushes tomato-red at even the slightest hint of nervousness.
Then, this Friday, in an especially poorly-hidden display, I watch from the corner of my eye as he glances at me and waits for a moment when he can speak up and catch my attention. He makes a joke to the group and everybody laughs, and then he uncharacteristically pushes his wall of hair behind his ear on one side. He has that ear pointed in my direction, trying to make sure I notice the black studs on his earlobes. Now, although Randall's ears are a rare sight, I would've definitely known if his ears were pierced— and up until now, the absolutely were not.
I realize what he's doing. He thinks that a new piercing will sway me into liking him. Not quite, Randall, but I have ideas. I can work with this. He may not be my type now... but I can turn him into it.
"Hey," I say to the group, "anybody want anything from the convenience store? This hard seltzer isn't really what I'm in the mood for tonight and I was gonna make a run down the street to get something else." A couple of my friends put in requests and I drop my Venmo link in the group chat for them to compensate me. "Anyone wanna come with?" I add. Now, it's been a long week, and it's late, so I'm hoping everybody else is too tired to get up and walk with me— and they are. Everybody except for...
"I can go," Randall says with feigned nonchalance. I notice a couple people giving each other looks. Clearly they can tell, too, that Randall's into me. I wait for him to put his sneakers on, and we depart.

As we stand in the deserted store, I get rather close to him in the middle of the snack aisle.
"I noticed you pierced your ears," I say in a low voice.
"Oh, yeah, I did! Just yesterday, actually."
"Wow. What prompted that?"
"Oh, uh... you know, just an impulse. Bucket list thing, I guess."
"Mmh. So, not like... trying to impress somebody? Someone specific?"
"...impress someone? Uh, no..."
His denial is laughably unconvincing. He goes silent and refuses to look me in the eyes.
"Randall," I say, "I'm not an idiot. I see the way you look at me."
He chuckles nervously and stares at the ground. His face turns the color of a stop sign.
"It'd be an interesting coincidence if you decided 'impulsively' to go get pierced right after I mentioned being into guys with piercings. Buuuut, it's not a coincidence, is it?"
Randall is still looking at the ground. He takes in a deep breath and finally responds.
"No, it's not. I thought I was being low-key about it but I should've realized you could see through me. You're smart like that."
I wanted to reply that it hardly takes a genius to notice something so blatant, but I choose to humor him instead.
"So you like me for my brains?"
"Yeah... and you're, like, ridiculously attractive. And funny. And I feel like a loser whenever I try to impress you."
"Well, I appreciate that you tried."
"Tried... the way you say it, it sounds like I failed, huh?"
It's then that I see my golden opportunity. I've dreamed of the chance to do something like this, and I think if I play my cards right, I can get my way. Randall has no idea what's coming to him.
"Look," I say, "I think you're a great guy. You're a sweetheart, and that's a great quality in a man." And I mean that, I do.
"But you're not into sweethearts, right?"
"I'm not into striped button downs and khaki shorts. The ear piercings are a nice thought, but... I need more than that."
"Oh," Randall says, clearly a little disappointed and confused.
"But, I mean, if you're willing to pierce your ears to catch my eye, then clearly you're open to some changes, right? I'd be down for getting to know you more if you're willing to explore some things."
"Explore? I mean, those guys you showed us, they were like COVERED in tattoos and piercings. And they were wearing so much black, and leather. I don't know if I can pull that off!"
"Do you want to pull it off? Is that a look you'd want?"
He looks a little sad. "I've always wanted to be cooler than I am, yknow? It'd be great to be one of those rockstar-type guys that everybody's into. But I don't think I'm meant to be that way. I'm just... awkward."
"Well, you definitely won't get where you want to be without trying some more. Soooo... if you wanna explore a new look, I'm willing to help. Clearly the look you have now doesn't fill you with confidence. And if you want to spend time with me, then it's two birds and one stone, right?"
Randall's face is so red I'm scared he'll explode, but at least he's looking at my face now. "Yeah... yeah, sure," he says softly, clearly unsure.
"Fantastic. Are you free tomorrow?"
"T-tommorrow?"
"Yeah. Meet me for coffee at the Starbucks on Main and we'll go from there. Noon-ish. Sound good?"
"Yeah... good. Great."
"Amazing. We should check out and get back to the group now."

Randall makes good on our appointment and I divulge some of my plan for the day while we sit in Starbucks. I'm gonna ease him into this. We'll handle his clothing first, since that's the smallest commitment out of everything I had in mind.
"I figured we'd hit the thrift shop across the street. I don't know about you, but I'm on a budget and a new wardrobe ain't cheap," I say.
"An entire new wardrobe? Geez, are my clothes really that bad?" Randall chuckles.
"Let's just say I wouldn't trust you to shop for anyone but yourself." My remark makes him blush in embarrassment. He's quite cute when he turns red like that.

At the thrift store, I make a beeline for anything that's black. I check both the men's and women's sections, just to make sure I don't miss anything good. Every time I pull out something I like, I hold it against Randall's body to see if it looks like it'll fit. I tend towards small sizes for pants and shirts, and larger sizes for outerwear— give him some tighter stuff, but also give him a jacket to retreat into if he gets a little overwhelmed. My favorite pieces are a tiny black tank top that I imagine clinging to Randall's chest, and a pair of black pants with white pinstripes. They have a large rip on the left knee, which is clearly damage from the previous owner tripping and tearing it open. I think it's perfect.
The cherry on top is a massive black denim shirt-jacket, with fading and fraying in various spots. It's heavy, clearly good quality, but it's only $20— and I promised Randall I was covering as much of the cost of his makeover as he needed me to. I have some cash saved up for a rainy day, and although its sunny outside, I've decided that this is gonna be my rainy day. Randall looks sheepish as I help him put the jacket on over his goofy polo shirt. I let it fall off his right shoulder, so I can see more of what's underneath. Which isn't that impressive at the moment, but once I get him all dressed, the effect will be major. I grab some various chains and rings to top everything off and we check out. Walking down the road, we chat a bit, but I stop him when we get down to the corner of the block.
"The thrift store wasn't the only reason I wanted to meet around here."
Randall looks confused. I point a finger behind him, prompting him to turn around and look at the building across the street: "YNK: Tattoos & Piercings on Main".

A tattoo wasn't quite in the budget today, but I still found a little something to help in Randall's transformation. As we walked towards my place, he tried his best not to fiddle with his new septum piercing, a small ring of black metal right through the middle of his nose like a bull. It doesn't really suit him right now, and I think he's still in shock a bit— hes gone from having zero piercings to three, one of which is smack in the middle of his face, in just three days. But when I'm done today, it'll all come together.
Once inside, Randall heads for the bathroom to examine his new jewelry in the mirror some more. I shove the bag of clothing in there with him and tell him to get changed. A few minutes later he emerges in my ideal outfit— the ripped pants, tank top, denim jacket, and necklaces. The only problem is that he has the jacket buttoned closed, hiding his torso. I walk over to him and unbutton it. He blushes with his collarbone and upper chest exposed by the low-cut top, but I just stand back to admire him.
"So far, pretty damn good, huh?" I say.
"Yeah, I think so. I'm a little more exposed than I'm used to, but I kinda like it. Wait— so far? What else is there?"
I approach the spot where he's standing in the bathroom doorway. I get in real close, my face just inches from his. He looks at me with anticipation, but I dash his hopes when I merely pass by him into the bathroom and open the cabinet beneath the sink.
I take out a drugstore bag— Randall doesn't know this, but I made a quick stop this morning to buy some supplies for what's about to happen. I reach into the bag and pull out my new primary implement of transformation— a pair of clippers.
Randall's eyes go wide like saucers.
"Wha—... what are you gonna do with those?"
"What do you think I'm gonna do?"
"Okay, the clothes shopping was nice, and I'm not even mad about the piercing, but I did not come here ready to cut my hair! Or shave it, or whatever you're planning right now. Sorry."
"Oh, you didn't realize this happening? Sorry, I assumed you would've noticed, and that you knew this was part of the plan."
"Noticed...?"
"That all the guys I showed you had buzzcuts."
His face falls. And it turns red again. I'm not sure of the exact reason— because he's embarrassed for not picking up on that detail, or because he's nervous over what's about to happen. Probably both.
"I... oh God, I'm an idiot. This is my fault, I should've realized. I'm so stupid."
"Hey, Randall, look at me." I step over to him and place a hand lightly on the side of his face. I can practically feel his heart beating out of his chest. "It's alright. I should've walked you through my plans so you knew what you were getting into."
"I just... I can't see myself with a buzzcut. I don't think I can pull it off." He says it like an apology.
"Can I be totally honest right now? There have been times where I've looked at you and thought, 'God, he's got a pretty face... but you can't see it!' I always felt like the hair hid you, like a hood over your head. I wondered what you'd look like with short hair, and I imagined you'd be... pretty cute."
The corners of his mouth twitch upwards into a slight smile and he gazes into my face. "And you just wanna, like, do it yourself? No barber or anything? Just right here, right now?"
"Well I already bought the stuff, so... yeah. And you know, doing things yourself is a pretty core tenant of the alternative mindset. Especially haircuts. People like that just kinda pull out the scissors just cause they're bored, yknow?" I wrap my arms around him, pulling him close into a sort of half-hug and listening to his anxious breathing. "You can trust me to do this. You're in good hands."
"...okay. Yeah. Let's do it. Oh my god, I'm actually doing this!"
I drag a chair in from the other room and place it facing away from the mirror. "Oh. God, im actually doing this," Randall repeats, but now he sounds scared. He sits down hesitantly and bounces his leg with anxiety as I get things ready. I make him ditch the jacket and necklaces for now and wrap a towel around his shoulders, which he grabs onto like a security blanket now that his actual security blanket is in peril. I click the clippers on and Randall flinches at the sudden noise.
Standing behind him, I tug a bit on the back of his head, directing his gaze up at the ceiling. I hide my excitement as I place the grumbling machine at his hairline. I look into his upside-down eyes— "here goes nothing," I say with a smirk— and pull the clippers along the entire top of his head and down to the bottom of his neck. In its wake emerges an inch-wide strip of stubble, #2 length, with his ghost-white scalp visible through the hairs. He lets out a soft involuntary gasp and shuts his eyes in fear, and he looks like he could cry.
"Oh, it's gonna be perfect," I say.
"Y-yeah?", he trembles.
"Yeah, I can already tell."
He looks ridiculous with that single missing strip of length, so I show him mercy and get to work on the rest. I pick up my speed a bit, removing swaths of hair in a disorganized and messy manner. New paths of stubble criss-cross and intersect at random like a road map. Long shiny locks of deep brown plummet to the floor— the ones that don't fall all the way end up caught on Randall's shoulders. I feel like a cat is sitting on my feet, but it's just the growing pile of discarded and ruined hair. I notice towards the end of the deed that, although Randall's eyes are still shut, his look seems like less of a fearful one and more so one of contentment. Like he's accepted what's happening. I think to myself that he's probably giving in to the surreal vibrating sensation traveling over his head and enjoying it the best he can.
A lock of his left sideburn is the last man standing, and I take my time a bit when I take it off. The sound clicks to a halt and Randall hesitantly opens his eyes. Squatting down in front of him, I put a hand under his chin and push his head upward so he'll look at my face. Taking a look at him, I'm... shocked. Honestly. I knew this would be an improvement, but... wow. He looks incredible. His jawline is so much sharper than I thought and I'm really noticing the highlights in his big brown eyes. I collect myself, though. There's still more to be done.
"Step one complete. And I gotta say, it already looks amazing."
"Step one? There's more to the process than just scalping me?"
"Oh yeah. I have a bit of a surprise."
From the same plastic drugstore bag I pull out step two: peroxide. "You're not looking in the mirror yet, right?"
"Nope," he replies with a sniffle.
"Good."
The process of bleaching his new buzz goes fairly quick due to the small amount of hair. I have a second plastic bag that I wrap around his head while it works its magic and he looks incredibly goofy. But it's necessary. We make small talk as we wait it out and he actually gets a couple laughs out of me. We talk more about ourselves— people we've dated in the past. Surprisingly, he's got a bigger list of names than I do— but, yknow, my list of names is pretty empty, so that's not hard.
My phone timer sounds and I peel back to bag to observe the effect of the peroxide: his once chocolate-brown mane of hair now a short covering of chicken-yellow fuzz. Luckily for him, there's a step three. I'm careful taking out the box so he doesn't see what I have in my hands. Surely, he realizes I'm dyeing his hair— but I don't want him to know what color yet. Another long few minutes go by as I let the dye seep into the remains of his hair, finally washing out the excess and blow drying the finished product. God, it's even better than I had imagined.
"All done?", Randall says.
"With your hair, yeah," I answer, "but there's one last tiny thing I wanna do."
The last surprise is an eyeliner pencil, pitch black. Randall looks at me skeptically— he didn't think he was the kind who could pull off an all-black outfit or a nose piercing or a buzzcut, so I'm sure he also doesn't think he's the type who can pull off makeup. But I know what I want, and I drag the black pencil across his lashline on each eye, top first, then bottom. I take my thumbs and smudge the lines out. He's absolutely gorgeous. "My masterpiece."
He chuckles slightly. The process is over, but he still has no idea what I've done to him. I take his hands and help him out of the chair. I guide him and position his body square in the center of the sink, back facing the mirror. "You ready?"
"No," Randall says, "but I'm gonna look anyway."
"Attaboy."
Holding on to his shoulders, I spin him around. The guy with the shaggy hair and ill-fitting clothing is gone. In his place: a stunning, striking punk. The metal studding his face and ears glistens in the light and his eyes are rimmed with smoky black, the same color of his outfit. And on his head, where there used to be a poorly-kept mess of brown hair, was now a short uniform buzzcut dyed a shocking color of bright red.
Randall stares at himself, dumbfounded. He even forgets to breathe, eventually remembering and exhaling harshly like a deflating balloon. "I... I don't... I don't recognize myself. I look like a different person. Is that really me?" Like a child discovering their own reflection, he moves his arm to make sure the person in the mirror moves the same way. He bring his hand up to his head, first feeling the hair at his temple with just two fingers, then traveling up and around so his entire hand experiences the feeling of his own shorn head for the very first time. He rubs it slowly, taking it in, his jaw still hanging open.
"Oh man, what am I gonna tell people? They're gonna ask why I turned into a different person in a single weekend, and how do I explain this? They're all gonna stare at me, I—"
"Look, that's a problem you deal with when you get there. Don't worry about that right now."
He turns to the side to examine the shape of his head and feels the contours of where it curves. He lets out another little gasp. God, I'm jealous— that should be me rubbing his head. But first, I have to ask him...
"So... do you like it, though?"
"I think I do!", he answers like he's surprised by his own feelings. He probably is.
I can't wait any longer. I spin Randall to face me and go in for the kill. I kiss him in a frenzy and grasp his head tightly. As we stand there, furiously kissing one another, I rub the soft velvet underneath my hands. My palms end up lightly stained with fresh red dye. I grab the sides of his face and feel short clippings of hair still stuck to his cheeks from the shearing. We get so into it that we collapse to the floor together, me on top of him. I don't know if he realizes it but Randall's head is resting in the pile of hair I just shaved off of him. The last remnants of the old Randall.
"I really like the new you," I tell him.

Randall stays over at my place that night, thankfully. The next day we meet up with our friends for lunch and they look confused as I walk over with my "new" friend in tow. It's not until we get closer that they finally recognize him. There are lots of "OH MY GOD"s and "WHAT THE HELL?"s and "WHAT HAPPENED?"s. "I needed a change," Randall tells them with a smile. We sit in our seats and I plant a kiss on his cheek, much to everyone's further shock. The shock stays on their faces for the rest of the afternoon, but I think they understand the why now.

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