I did it. Looking in the mirror I see a perfect round head covered by thousands of minute black spots. I don’t want it really smooth, because studying numerous pictures on all these crazy internet sites of the bald fans I know that I like to see that I have hair, even though each hair is visible only as a millimetre-long bristle.

How long did it take to come to this final stage of my travel in haircut-country, or is it better to say hair fetish-world?

I move my flat hand softly over my head and wonder how long it will take till the sandpaper feeling will change again in the experience to feel a soft pelt. Will I wait till then or will I play barber myself with the clippers which I bought a long time ago, but which I rarely use?

To be honest I like it most of all if a hairdresser, or even much better a barber, is performing the job. In fact it took quite a long time before I had the courage to ask for short haircuts and even more time to make it exactly clear what I wanted. How many times did I leave a hairdresser, going home with a lot of chagrin? And then at home with household scissors and the help of a mirror I tried to improve the whole thing.

Up till 8 years ago I had long hair, something I had from early youth, from the time that I had the courage to do what I wanted myself. My mother always made it easy for herself, taking me regularly to a hairdresser and asking for a short haircut easy to wash, because she did not like to waste her time brushing my hair. But then one time, totally unexpected for her, I refused to join her to the hairdresser, declaring that I would brush my beautiful long black hair. And that is how I let my hair grow.

For years I was very satisfied about it and then suddenly one day a fellow student in the small group with whom I liked to work together reappeared after lunch with very short hair. It was all (as far as the hair that was left was concerned) combed forwards in her face with terrific wispy but very short bangs. At first I did not find it terrific but awful till I realized that the usually shy girl looked much more beautiful and showed a self-awareness, not disturbed at all by the sometimes far from kind remarks of some of the male students.

But those nasty remarks were not heard anymore when our favorite docent said that he liked the striking new appearance of Jess. That evening I studied my own head in the mirror and pulling all my hair out of my face I wondered if my head could have such a short haircut. Pulling it extremely tight I hardly saw my hair and in a dream I saw my head bald without hair. I think that was the very moment that my fantasies about short hair and even a bald head started. I did not want to go to a hairdresser soon after Jess’ makeover and for the time being I wore my hair in a ponytail, pulling the hair tight from my face as I did that evening.

The summer holidays started and I stayed for the time being at my room in the town whereas most of the other students went home or on holidays. Then one day I took scissors and started to cut my hair and the result was a kind of bob cut to the hairline at my nape. I lost all courage to make it shorter and my ears were still covered by my beautiful black hair. After the holiday most people seemed to like my new hairstyle but it was still dull compared with the Jess’ hair.

Each month I re-cut my hair and one time I cut it by accident somewhat shorter above the hairline and shaved my nape when I discovered my mistake. When the regrowth started I discovered that I liked to rub the short bristles. When I met an old friend somewhat later she told me how cute those short hairs at the nape looked and that is how I started to cut the bob shorter and shorter. I didn’t totally shave away all the nape hair, but I bought my first clippers trying to create short bristles at the nape. Sometimes I tried a hairdresser, but usually the result was worse compared with what I did myself.

At that time I met Albert, a nice man but I found his hair too short and asked him to have his hair longer. To my surprise he said, “Okay, but – maybe you find it strange – in that case I hope that you will have it in a very close-cropped style.”

I really felt shocked when he explained how short it had to be; only 1-2 cm long at the sides and back, and up to 3-4 cm on top. He indicated exactly that he liked to see the ears totally free and said that he liked very short bangs. It almost seemed the description of Jess’ haircut, who he did not know and who seemed to have been disappeared to another university to continue her studies. I felt very uneasy about the strict way in which he tried to prescribe what I should do with my hair, and I almost experienced the same as years ago when my mother said how it should be cut. It was quite strange because on the one hand I vaguely knew that I liked to have that very short hair, but I disliked the idea that it was not by my own initiative, and that is where my irritation started.

Albert took me one day to a hairdresser and tried to instruct the hairdresser, but I told him to shut his mouth, because I wanted to explain myself what should be done.

The result was the shortest haircut ever in my mature life, with too-long bangs, my nice ears still half covered. In fact it was not exactly what Albert wanted and in fact also not what I wanted. I know that I hurt Albert’s feelings, but he had no courage to show it and was afraid to lose me, knowing or anyway hoping that one day my hair would be as short as he dreamt about. It was a feeble base for our relationship, but anyway we spent several years together.

Coming back from that hairdresser I cut the hair around my ears, totally exposing my ears and the happy Albert promised me earrings if I was willing to have my ears pierced. Again a lot of struggle, me declaring that I only did it for him and now years later I know that I will stress the pseudo-baldness of my head with the extravagant earrings which people indicate as one of my characteristics. Indeed, I feel bald without them.

All Albert’s suggestions about my hair resulted in irritation, I saying to him that I did not like short hair, whereas the reverse seemed to be true.

Some years later one of my colleagues, who usually had rather short hair, came to the office with a new revolutionary haircut; the sides and back clipper shaved, still covered with very short bristles, whereas only the hair on top was left long.

The hairdresser seemed to be very good, creating a very nice transition from the very short hair to the longer hair. On one hand it was extremely boyish, but on the other it was extremely sexy and feminine. It seemed to be in fashion because a week later Albert just casually said that he saw a girl with a beautiful haircut; the description could have been of my colleague. Of course I did not show any reaction to Albert’s story, not showing that the idea of this haircut was moving around in my brain and I knew that within some weeks I could not suppress the need to have my hair like that.

Even though I owned clippers I knew that this haircut was far too difficult for me and should be done by an expert. I did not want to ask my colleague about it and wondered where to go. I started to stroll through the town observing all kind of hairdressers and I even started to wonder if I would do better going to a barber, because in fact the haircut was mainly a man’s haircut.

In one of the streets in my neighbourhood I discovered a small hairdressing salon, where I observed both men and woman as customers. The hairdresser seemed to be a young man assisted by a girl for the washing work etc. And then one afternoon I saw a girl in the chair and the barber/hairdresser with clippers in his hand. I walked slowly farther and came back after a minute and saw that most of the girl’s hair was clipper shaved. I wondered what to do and discovered a small restaurant on the other side of the street. I found a place near the window and could more or less observe the activities at the barbershop. I ordered a sandw
ich and coffee and saw how the barber worked at leisure, taking time to create the transitions, constantly checking if the haircut was perfect.

At last he was finished and I saw the girl paying and leaving the shop. She looked very good and I knew that I might pay as well. It seemed that no other customers were present, except the odd woman sitting under a dryer, and I remember myself crossing the street and entering the shop. At first I felt uneasy, but I just asked if my hair could be cut and the girl said that I was lucky because just some minutes ago an appointment had been cancelled.

The girl asked me to sit down, but I refused, thinking that she was the one willing to cut my hair. I almost aggressively refused and said that I wanted my hair cut by the man. The girl reassured me that she was not the one cutting my hair, her boss would do the job, but he was just in the kitchen drinking a coffee.

Soon he came and offered me a coffee as well. He asked how I wanted my hair and I told him, surprising myself that I just saw the girl leaving the shop with the haircut I wanted myself. I told him about my fears that somebody would make a mess of it and how I had been looking around to find a real expert and, “You are supposed to be such a person,” I said, grinning.

I expected him to suggest that my hair should be washed, but he just looked at my hair and said how nice and clean my hair was, and how unnecessary to wash it again. He added: “Moreover, it is only clumsy because I need dry hair to use my clippers.” He asked if I was afraid of the clippers, explaining that it was only time-consuming to cut the hair at the sides and back with the scissors over the comb.

First of all I was invited to take my earrings off and I wondered how they might look in the very near future. He started to comb my hair and within a short time he exposed the part to be clipper shaved, pulling the rest of the hair upwards and using a lot of clips to keep it on top of my head. In between the middle-aged lady emerged from under the dryer with a head full of curlers. The barber took a seat on a chair, switched on the clippers and I heard the well-known sound. I felt the still cool iron at my nape and realized that the barber pushed the clippers upwards close to my head, coming to places which were never exposed before in this extreme way.

“I assume that it is the first time that you have your hair this short?” asked the kind barber and I could only confirm that it was more than true. In the mirror behind me I saw that first ridiculous mown lane and could only grin and felt for a moment the fresh stubble. I saw the lady with the curlers wondering about the crazy girl.

The barber continued the work at the back and soon I saw how the whole back of my head was only covered by a dense but very short stubble. The barber brought his moveable chair to the left side and placed the clippers close to my skin under the sideburns. Now I saw how close the clippers shaved my hair, going much higher than I expected, although I had indicated how high he should go. With a pffff I saw long locks falling down. Each movement of the clippers was repeated several times to prevent any longer hair from escaping. Soon a new movement started, partly ending above my ear and suddenly I saw that ear in the open air, no hair touching the upper rim anymore. Several centimetres of my head above my ear seemed to be very bald, but turning my head somewhat I saw the same dense stubble like at the back.

The barber continued his work and soon the sides and back of my head showed the shortest hair ever.

The barber put away the clippers and loosened the hairclips and it seemed as if I had longer hair again, with the longer locks from above falling down again, partly covering the stubble.

This illusion soon disappeared while the barber removed most of the overhanging hair with fast snips of the scissors. It seemed not very nice, but the barber seeing my doubts said that this was only crude work, because the real blending, creating the nice transition with the longer hair would be done with the thinning scissors. At leisure he worked with the thinning scissors and soon I saw the regular pattern and stared at the cap of longer hair which still covered my head. The bangs were left quite long and I liked what I saw in the mirror.

The barber took a hand-mirror, showed me the back of my freshly shorn head and asked if I liked the result.

Honest as I am, I answered that I did not know that for sure and at that moment I heard the lady with the curlers asking: “Why in heaven did you ask for such a haircut if you did not like it?” I answered that I wanted to see if I liked it and that I was not yet used to it, and added that I did not like the perm she was having, but usually I kept my mouth shut about it. I paid the barber, made an appointment for three weeks later, knowing that this haircut was only perfect if cut very regularly and left the shop, forgetting the earrings. Just when I walked outside, feeling my head, I heard somebody running behind me; it was the barber bringing my earrings. He told me not to worry about the lady and said that he thought that I looked very nice with my short hair.

Albert was shocked that I had this haircut but liked it of course. The reactions of family, colleagues and friends were quite mixed, varying from “nice” to “how could you do this?” A good friend of mine, Barbara, with very long hennaed hair, found it very nice and declared that she should like to try it but had no courage at all.

Every three weeks I returned to my barber and during the summer I used to have shorter bangs and even the hair on top somewhat shorter. The first time I asked to make the hair on top somewhat shorter the barber grinned and said that he wondered when the time would come, that I wanted all my hair clipper shaved in a crewcut. I denied that I had any plans like this, but that evening I looked longer than normal wondering how it might look.

A year later I went with Barbara to Nepal. We must have been a strange couple and I think a lot of people must have been thinking that we were lesbians, I the male part with my boy’s haircut and she the female part with that very long hair. The day before we left for our trek through the Himalayas we were sitting in Katmandu on a small terrace when a most attractive girl with extremely short hair took a seat quite near us. She had the perfect round skull and it was the most wonderful short hair that I saw on a girl’s head.

Barbara noticed my interest and just casually said: “It would be also perfect for you.” I thought she was joking, but saw that she was quite serious about it. “She must have done it here, I assume, because I saw her on the plane, already with rather short hair, but much longer than yours.”

It was typical Barbara, because she just went to the girl asking her where she had her hair cut, because, and she pointed to me, “my friend likes it very much and wants to have hers the same.” I could not stop the discussion and heard how the girl was willing to show me the barber.

Barbara came back and I said that it was okay if she was cutting her hair as well, but in the way I had it now. The girl, from France, paid and came over to our table and I told her that the haircut was fine as long as Barbara also lost her locks. Of course Barbara started to chicken out, but I suddenly had the feeling that Nepal was the place to try this most extreme haircut.

The girl took us with her and soon we were in another area of the town with several barbershops. Soon we came to a shop where the owner sitting outside recognised Michelle and asked us to come inside. I thought about Barbara’s haircut and wondered what she would do but to my surprise she took a seat and the barber wrapped a rather dirty cape around her neck. It was quite easy, I pointed to my head and indicated that Barbara’s hair should be identical.

I still doubted if suddenly Barbara would come out of the chair, but she remained calm when the barber took enormous scissors and cut off mos
t of that hair with a number of coarse snips. I stared in disbelief but for Barbara it seemed more or less planned, because suddenly she pointed at Michelle and indicated that her own hair should be not as my hair but the extreme short crewcut that Michelle sported.

I heard Michelle murmur: “That will be a quick job.”

From a cupboard we saw a sign of modern times, electric clippers that made an almost roaring sound. The barber even had an attachment which I recognised as one leaving next to nothing of hair. The barber placed the clippers on Barbara’s forehead a little bit behind her bangs and started to clipper shave her head. Within a very short time, a short tuft of hair remained as the rest of her bangs. The whole procedure took only some minutes and the last the barber did was to reduce the bangs to a cute forelock, although I noticed that I did not like that for myself.

I was the next to be shorn.

I took a seat. Michelle pointed at her own hair and indicated that my hair should be the same. The barber grinned, showing the two teeth left in his mouth and the cape, which looked not too clean, was wrapped around my neck. The barber studied my head with the hair that had been partly clipper shaved some days ago, probably wondering about those crazy ladies. It was a quick job, because in fact only the hair on top had to be removed. Even though I was used now to the feeling of the clippers I was nervous enough about the result, but even Barbara looked very nice with her crewcut leaving only vague indications of the red henna. Before I had any time to think, the barber placed the clippers on my forehead and I indicated that no forelock was needed, just like with Michelle.

Soon I saw locks of hair coming from my head and I saw a nice brush of short black hairs. It was crazy but within a short time the whole thing was finished and I suddenly felt the urge to ask if the barber could shave my hair totally. At the same time I realized that it was nice for now, but I remembered my old wish for that bald head.

There was a lot of laughter when we walked together through Katmandu, but we were just satisfied ourselves with our hair.

We had a nice trek, joined by Michelle, and just three weeks later, before we left, we once more had a haircut at our favourite barbershop. In the weeks between those haircuts and after my return I often thought and dreamt about a total head shave. In fact I can do it myself but I want to have it done by my own barber.

Seeing me for the first time after my return from Nepal he had to laugh and reminded me of his prediction that sometime I would go for the crewcut. Since I returned he had already cut my hair several times. Each time I had to suppress the wish for the total clipper shave, but now it was the summer holiday and I wanted to try it. That is how I entered the barbershop this morning and when the barber just said, “The usual?” I just added, “But this time really short.” Looking at me in the mirror he tried to understand what I meant, but it was clear what I meant: as short as possible with the clippers.

It was silent in the shop when he switched on the clippers. I heard the door and it was the middle-aged lady coming for her curls. I saw the barber grin, remembering my first visit. He placed the clippers just in front and with a hmmmmmm, I exaggerated my feelings, grinning about the look of the women behind us. Soon my head was as bald as possible with the clippers and happy with my own look I paid and went home to study my head in more detail.

I wonder what Albert will say, but I can imagine some of the chagrin that he did not see this, but for the time being I like to feel my head myself with that sensational feeling of those prickly hairs.