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A New Era by DaveB
As I stared into the barber’s mirror, the gravitas of the situation was not lost on me. Last week I was a student - my lifestyle embodied by my long, carefree hair - and now I was being transformed into something entirely different. While I'd previously gone to a hairdresser, today brought a new experience in the hands of this barber, which signified today as day one of being an employee.
My dad was a funeral director, and today I was joining his company. He'd just said I needed a haircut, which was going to be inevitable, but there had been no discussion beyond this. He put a lot of pride and focus into appearance and everything being just so. So, while a change in style was a shock, it was no surprise to me that a haircut would be part of the deal. And when we arrived, little was said. He just asked the barber to give me 'a traditional side part with short back and sides.' There's been no other discussion between any of us, and I took the seat.
The barber had already chopped all of my hair down with scissors to just under 3 inches all over. He now wet my hair and crafted the very straightest of side parts on the far left of my head, and drawing the hair straight across from this part line.
From there, he picked up a powerful looking pair of clippers, and muttered ‘number 2 i think’ as he clicked on a guard. I jumped slightly as the metal contacted with the side of my face, this being a foreign experience to me. Now the clippers were climbing up the side of my head, through my sideburn and up to nearly an inch below this new side part, at which point the clippers were expertly flicked outwards, creating a gentle increasing length, and leaving a small triangular patch of the remaining longer hair sticking out slightly below the part. This shaving continued around my head, with the vibrations through my skull being followed by a strange feeling of a breeze around my head. The short bristles left behind glinted in the morning sun that was streaming in the barber's window. My skin through the remaining stubble was clearly visible, and I could see a mole that I had never known was there, as my hair had never been anywhere near this short before. A bead of sweat fell down my face from the mushroom of longer hair that stood out starkly against the military crop on the sides.
He now started combing and cutting the hair on the top to a slightly shorter length. This was then followed by using the clippers over the comb inserted into my hair at an angle to cut the longer top to blend into the short sides.
At this point I moved my foot, and the stiffness of the movement of my foot brought me out of my daze, and reminded me that his haircut was the second and final step in my transformation. The sheen of my highly polished black shoe glinted as my foot could just be seen sticking out below the long barber's cape. I had been measured for my uniform some weeks before, but this morning was the first time I put on the thick, itchy woollen pinstripe trousers cut in traditional style so that the crease of the trousers fully covered the lacing up the front of the rigid formal shoes that had yet to be broken in, and felt like a casement surrounding my foot. This was complemented by a white shirt and black tie tied firmly around my neck, sitting beneath a black waistcoat and black suit jacket, bulking out slightly my slim figure, and feeling heavy like armour.
Thinning shears were now attacking the remaining hair on my head, reducing the volume further - I could have sworn that my head had now shrunk to around half it's former size, with only a very minimal amount of hair having been spared anywhere.
Finally, the hair on the top of my head beyond the part line was brushed forward, and just below the hairline on the right of my forehead the barber placed his scissors and cut very deliberately and at a severe angle, leaving me with a very odd looking fringe that was swiftly brushed upwards and away from the part.
Now the chair was tilted back and my attempts at facial hair were efficiently removed by a cut-throat razor, along with sideburns that were cut off squarely just below the top of my ears.
Having been returned to an upright position, the razor removed some small hairs that were the last remaining element of scruffiness, having grown below my nape which was now also cut squarely in a line running parallel to my shirt collar.
The hairdryer then pointed at my head seemed somehow unnecessary given the shortness of the hair left. This was clearly focused on training the hair to sit properly in its new parted position, though this cut would undoubtedly allow for no other style.
The barber then took some brylcreem in his hands and violently rubbed it through the two islands of hair that sat either side of my newly acquired parting. His hands forced the hair firmly against my head and further emphasised the precise part as the hair was being pulled in opposite directions, expanding the line of pale scalp that stood starkly in contrast to the greased hair. My hair now shone in the light, sculpted and groomed, as a comb was then run through it, giving it's final shape and precision, leaving fine rows of hair running out from the line of skin that ran as straight as a ruler all the way down my head, with these ridges of hair themselves petering out smoothly to the cropped sides of my head.
He then showed the back of my head, asking 'is this the right length?' Both me and my dad nodded. This was less about a question for now, and more about for future cuts, as these cuts became a fortnightly military process, where the clippers removed just small flecks of hair, ensuring that I maintained a consistent smart appearance. This was a far cry from the quarterly haircuts I'd previously got as a longhaired student. Now the clippered hair on the back of my head looked like I was ready for military service, while the sculpted shining hair on top looked like something from a previous era. It was all very crisp, precise and deliberate. This was a business haircut all about conformity.
In the weeks to come - and even when I was off duty - the formal haircut reminded me of who I was now becoming. In my downtime, like going to the gym or pub, I tried not wearing brylcreem, but my hair just stuck out slightly and looked a bit frizzy, and was out of keeping with the formal style and shaved sides that couldn't be deviated from - with longer hair, I could style it in many ways, but with this cut there were zero alternatives. There was no escaping that one of the first things people would see was that I now wore a side part, and I needed to just embrace it. So each day I applied the brylcreem and combed it slickly in place, in the same way that I shaved my face, tied my tie and polished my shoes. It just became routine and requirement. This job could be physically and mentally demanding, but showing the peak of professionalism was essential, and this was part of that.
As I stood up, my foot slipped on the pile of my long hair that littered the ground. I grabbed the chair to steady myself, and as I did so I saw my reflection in the mirror, and something made me stand up straight as I adjusted to the new sight in the mirror. I didn’t necessarily like my new look, but I did respect it.
