Invisible man becomes an influencer pt 2 by HairNoMore

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Steve had changed more in a few months than he had in the previous twenty‑four years. The high and tight, the tattoo, the earring, the new friends, the confidence — it all felt like stepping out of a fog he hadn’t realised he’d been living in.

He started experimenting with facial hair. At first it was accidental: he forgot to shave for a couple of days. Then he realised he liked the look. He trimmed it. Shaped it. Adjusted the neckline. Tried it slightly longer, then shorter. Eventually he found the sweet spot: a neatly cropped stubble beard that sharpened his jawline and made him look older, more defined, more intentional.

And yet, now that he was out of it, he found himself noticing things he’d never paid attention to before. Especially other men’s haircuts.

At the gym, on the street, in the pub — his eyes kept drifting. Fades, buzz cuts, skin fades, high and tights. But one look kept catching his attention more than any other: shaved bald. Clean. Smooth. Unapologetic, bold. He tried to ignore it at first. But the more he noticed it, the more it tugged at him. And with it came a storm of thoughts he couldn’t control.

He liked his current haircut. It suited him. It made him feel sharp.
But he hadn’t chosen it. Not really.
The barber had taken control that first day, and Steve had just… let it happen.
What if he shaved his head and hated it?
What if he felt exposed and self-conscious again?
What if people stared?
What if they laughed?
What if he looked ridiculous?
What if he looked too intense?
What if he looked older than twenty‑four?
Was he too young to walk around with a shaved head?
What if it didn’t suit him at all?

He’d lie awake some nights, running a hand over his short bristles, imagining them gone. Imagining the cold air on bare skin. Imagining the boldness of it. Imagining the freedom. Then he’d tell himself he was being ridiculous. It was just hair. He could grow it back. He should just be bold. Just go to the barbers and do it.

But when the day came, and he walked into his usual barbershop, the barber looked up and said, "Same again?" And Steve heard himself say, "Yeah."

He hated himself for it instantly. As the clippers buzzed up the back of his head, he stared at his reflection, furious. Coward. He was a coward.

Halfway through his cut, another guy was taken to the chair beside him. Mid‑twenties, confident, relaxed. Moderately long hair. The barber asked what he wanted.

"Head shave. All off. Completely bald."

No hesitation. No nerves. No second‑guessing. The guy smiled as he said it. Steve felt his stomach twist. He watched the first swipe of the clippers plough through the man’s hair, watched the thick locks fall away, watched the guy grin and chat casually as if nothing monumental was happening.

Steve’s haircut finished first. He paid, stepped outside, and the moment the door closed behind him, he felt heat rise in his chest.

He should have done it.
He should have been bold.
He should have said the words.

He stood on the pavement, fists clenched, staring at the ground. He considered going back in. But the idea of walking back in immediately — of the barber looking at him like he’d changed his mind, he couldn't do it. So he walked.

He didn’t know where he was going. He just walked. Two streets later, he passed another barbershop. Smaller. Quieter. No one waiting. He stopped. His heart hammered.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he pushed the door open. The barber looked up. "What can I do for you, mate?" Steve swallowed.

"I… I want a head shave. Completely bald."

The barber nodded like it was the most normal request in the world. "Take a seat."

Steve sat. His pulse thudded in his ears. The barber didn’t waste time. He picked up the clippers — no guard — and placed a steady hand on Steve’s head. The clippers touched the centre of his scalp. And then came the first swipe.

A deep, vibrating buzz. A warm trail of metal gliding across his skin. A thick strip of hair falling forward, sliding down the cape, landing in his lap.

Steve’s breath caught. It was happening. He was doing it. No going back.

The barber made another pass. And another. Each stroke exposed more bare skin, pale and smooth. Steve watched himself transform in real time, watched the last remnants of his old self fall away in clumps.

His emotions tangled together — fear, exhilaration, disbelief, pride, panic, relief. He felt exposed. He felt powerful. He felt like he was shedding something heavy he’d been carrying for years.

When the clippers finished, the barber ran a hand over Steve’s head. "Now for the smooth finish."

Warm shaving cream spread across his scalp. A hot towel. Then the razor — slow, deliberate strokes, scraping softly, leaving nothing behind but clean skin. The sensation was strange, intimate, electric.

When the barber wiped away the last of the cream and spun the chair toward the mirror, Steve barely recognised the man staring back.

His jaw looked stronger. His eyes looked brighter. His stubble beard suddenly looked intentional, masculine, sharp. His tattoo stood out even more. He looked confident. He looked bold. He looked like someone who made decisions.

He loved it.

He paid, stepped outside, and the cold air hit his scalp like a shock. He grinned. He was never going to grow it back.

At the gym that evening, Matt spotted him first.

"STEVE! Holy— mate, look at you!"

Craig’s jaw dropped. "That is unreal. You look incredible."

People he barely knew came over. Compliments flew from every direction.

"Looks class."
"Proper bold move."
"Suits you so much."
"Man, that takes confidence."

For the first time in his life, Steve didn’t shrink under attention. He stood tall. He felt… manly. Strong. Decisive.

He promised himself then and there:
No more overthinking.
No more hiding.
No more waiting for life to happen to him.

The very next day, that promise was tested.

He was in a coffee shop, waiting to be served, when he noticed two men in their thirties at the next table. Loud. Rude. Unnecessarily intimidating an obviously flustered waitress. She kept apologising, her hands shaking slightly. Steve watched for a moment. It went on too long.

He stood up. Walked over.

Both men looked at him.

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t puff his chest. He simply met their eyes and said, calm and steady:

"Gentlemen. Enough."

Silence.

The men exchanged a look, muttered something, and within a minute, they paid and left.

The waitress stared at Steve like he was someone out of a film. Grateful. Relieved. A little stunned.

She was pretty. Warm‑eyed. Kind‑looking. She kept glancing over at him.

When Steve finished his coffee and went to pay, he hesitated — but only for a heartbeat.

"Would you… like to see me after work?"

She blushed. Smiled. "Yeah. I’d like that. I finish at six."

Steve walked out of the café with a steady stride, the winter air brushing across his freshly shaved scalp.

He felt unstoppable. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t just existing. He was living.

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