Haircut Curriculum Vitae by GermanCut

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This story is autobiographical, but with some changes (names, dates, places) to preserve my own incognito and that of the other people.



Chapter 1: My Bald Colleague

I had recently started studying and worked in a factory for three weeks during the summer holidays. We were a heterogenic group: two young women who studied like me, temporary workers and the permanent workers. Among the temporary workers, Maurice immediately caught my eye. Maurice had come to Germany from Cameroon half a year ago and still spoke very little German. But the most striking thing about him was his bald head. It was the best-looking bald head I’ve ever seen: completely even and flawlessly smooth.

Maurice and I usually formed a team. Maurice did it certainly because I was the only one among the colleagues who spoke a little French; I did it because I couldn't take my eyes of him. Besides, we liked each other somehow.

At work, I saw his head from all possible perspectives: When we carried a heavy box together, I could look at the back of his bald head; when he bent down, I had the most beautiful view of his shiny skull. How I would have liked to run over his head! But I didn't dare to do that.
The one who dared was another colleague. He liked to engage Maurice in conversations, striking always the theme of his bald head: Who would shave his head? His wife? Or would he do it himself?
Once he asked Maurice if he could touch his bald head. Maurice nodded, although he probably hadn't understood anything. When he felt another man's hand caressing his head extensively, he looked at me with wide open eyes.

I had always been fascinated by bald men, and I found it interesting to notice that my colleague seemed to be, too.
If I saw bald men in the streets, I turned around for them and then quickly looked away again because I feared they might have noticed my interest. Bald men were my favorite erotic imagination. I had a bald fetish and I was gay â€" and didn't want to admit both.
I saw bald singers on MTV, bald athletes, bald actors. They were mostly ebony-colored like Maurice â€" and I found them all handsome. "They look so cool", I said to myself, "but me with my bratwurst-colored skin, I would just look stupid with a bald head. White boys just can't be bald." This was my opinion.


Chapter 2: Decision After Intermezzo with Long Hair

My hair gave me a lot of headaches. No matter how I cut it, no matter how I combed and blow-dried it, no matter how much hair gel or wax I smeared on it: it only looked good for ten minutes. After that it stood out again in all directions. That may sound punky and cool, but it wasn't. Perhaps the only remarkable thing was the hair color: a blonde that glowed red when exposed to a certain amount of sunlight.
I hoped that my hair would look better if I let it grow any longer. But alas! My long hair was stringy and about as attractive as straw.

Long or very short - just not "medium"! Just not a boring haircut! I wavered between extremes. After one extreme (long hair) had showed the most terrible result, I thought about the other extreme.
I reflected the idea of having my hair cut very short, as more and more men did to that time.
Once, on my way from university, I passed a small old-fashioned barbershop. Through the window, I saw the barber running the clippers over an older man's head, while he was smiling. I stopped as if rooted to the ground and watched for a moment. You know, you can only watch others cut their hair through the window for a certain amount of time before it seems strange. So, you must decide whether to go on or have the courage to go in. I entered the barbershop.

"One moment, young man!" said the hairdresser. "We'll be done here in a moment!" But thank luck it took a while, so I was able to watch in peace as the man's hair was shaved to 1 cm everywhere. Finally, the hairdresser took off the customer's cloak, from which a lot of hair fell to the floor. The customer ran his hand over his short-cropped head and said with appreciation: "Thank you! I like it that short, and it looks well-groomed."

I was asked to take a seat in the chair. I tried to give my voice a firm sound, but it trembled slightly when I said: "I'd like to have a haircut like the last customer."
The barber combed my hair for a long time, while he seemed to be thinking about something.

"I have a suggestion", he said finally, "I'll shave your sides and neck with the machine and cut the hair at the top very short with scissors."
I couldn't imagine anything about it and made a questioning face.
"It will look good. I promise!" he assured.

The barber took the clippers and shaved my sides and neck short. I'm not sure if the word "fade" was used at that time, but that's exactly what it was: very short at the hairline and getting longer towards the top.

Meanwhile, he told me about the clipper he had been using for many years, cleaning after each use and oiling it once a day. It made me proud how this older man talked to me, the little student. As if we were colleagues.

Then he took a lot of time with my hair on the top of my head. It would have been much faster with the machine than with the scissors; but the result was worth to see and worth to feel.
"Touch it!" said the barber. "It's like short fur."
I ran my hand over my head and was surprised:
"It feels like the rabbits at my grandparents' house."
He laughed.
I think I thanked him very effusively at the time. I couldn't remember the last time I was so satisfied with a haircut.
What had never happened to me before was happening now: People at university I didn't have much to do with made compliments on my new hairstyle. Friends greeted me with "Hello, GI!" or "Hey, cool!" and told me how terrible my long hair had looked before.
They could have told me that before, I thought…


Chapter 3: Everything off?

I have kept my hair short since that experience. Why change the perfect hairstyle? Besides there was enough change in my life: I took my exams, moved to another city and started looking for a suitable job. I realized that it was easier to study than finding good work. The suitable, well-paid and interesting jobs were hard to find, and if I found one, there were countless other people who applied. I lowered my standards, but even then, I didn't find anything. "You're overqualified", I was told. Then I gave up looking and worked in all kinds of jobs that had nothing to do with what I was trained for.

It was a time when I changed jobs frequently. I didn't commit myself, not even concerning sex, which wasn't good in my case. I still didn't want to admit to myself that I was gay, had dates with men as well as with women and usually chicken out at the decisive moment. When it came to sex every now and then, it was very mediocre. Who’s surprised?

My hairstyle changed constantly during this time, like everything else. The hair remained short, but otherwise I had all kinds of things done with it: I had the sides and neck shaved or let the hair grow longer there; I tried bleaching them in the most unnatural blond tones, sometimes wearing the hair on the top very short and sometimes styled it upwards with hair wax. The comments from my friends at that time were not entirely positive: "You look like Pittiplatsch", someone said after I let my head shaved very short and left only the bangs standing. (Pittiplatsch is a character in a German children's TV broadcast: very cute, but uncool.)

I went to the barber about once a month, not only because of my hair, but also to be able to watch other men get their hair cut. I began to admit to myself that I enjoyed watching men getting haircuts, especially very short ones or even a head shave.

I especially liked the barbers in the poorer districts. Not only because they were cheaper, but I also found out that they had the most interesting customers. I preferred to enter the barbershops when they were crowded by other men, so I had enough "illustrative material".

Once, at a late afternoon, as I sat down in the last free waiting chair at the barbershop, a man was called to take a seat. I guessed it was a construction worker, because he was still wearing his earth-encrusted work boots, shorts and an old checked shirt with cut-off sleeves. He was muscular and tanned from his work. He wore a grown-out short haircut. He was totally hot.
I began to sweat not only because of the temperature, but because I supposed that there would happen something spectacular with his hair.
I was right.

"Well, my friend, everything off? Bald again?" asked the barber. "Yes, everything off!" the guy answered bluntly.
No fuss. No long discussions. Just two words: "Everything off!" Hair is not something that has to be styled with elaboration. Hair is simply something that grows and gets shaved off. A handsome man doesn't have to worry about his appearance. He looks particularly good with a shaven head. Driving the machine over the whole head without an attachment: that's quick, uncomplicated, radical, honest, courageous - and awesome.
I watched as a guy's head was shaved bald two meters in front of me: live, in color and without subtitles. He was calm and watched his transformation in the mirror, while the barber grinned and seemed to be having a lot of fun.

"Great!" the guy commented. "That's the best hairstyle for the summer!"
The barber laughed: "You call this 'hairstyle'? You're funny! And you don't just like this ‘hairstyle’, as you call it, for the summer. Didn't I shave your head last winter? And didn't you tell me that this was the ideal hairstyle for winter because you can wear a hat without your hair getting flat? I’m sure that I'm going to lose you as a customer soon, because you'll probably buy a clipper. You’ll be a four-season-baldy."
Now they both laughed while I felt myself getting hotter and hotter and my mouth drying out. A bald shave and conversations about being bald shaved! I was completely overstimulated.

"Great!" the guy said again as he paid. "Thank you, mate, for shaving me the s**t off!!"
I saw him standing in front of the door, lighting a cigarette and caressing extensively his freshly shaved head. I would have liked to smoke a cigarette, too, but now it was my turn.
This time I got the shortest haircut I've ever had.
I would have liked to get a head shave like the last customer, but I still lacked courage.
But I knew that the day was not far away when I would say these two words:
"Everything off!"


(To be continued)

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