A Boy With Girly Hair - Part 11

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Milwaukee Model

We gathered our necessary things for the Saturday day trip to Milwaukee. My directions app said it was a mere hour and fifty minutes to Milwaukee. Not too bad at all. However, that was a whole hour and fifty minutes that I would have to worry and stress about my first modeling shoot.

Yes, I knew that everything was a low risk no facial shots, just doing my hair and taking pictures. I’ve gotten quite used to that by now. But for whatever reason, Jenna and I had yet to inform Trista that I was in fact a boy named Sam, and not a girl named Sammi.

But the $500 was going to make it all worth it. I didn’t have a job at home, so this was going to be $500 (well, my share would be $250) that 100% all mine. Completely up to me what to spend it on.

Though my parents knew Jenna was taking pictures of me I was occasionally dressing up for her Instagram page, I don’t think they quite understood how deep this was getting. We decided that it would be best to tell a white lie and say we were going to Milwaukee so JENNA could meet with this woman to learn about the industry, making no mention of the modeling opportunity for me. She seemed to buy it, and we were off in the family’s car for the day.

The trip flew by, and before we knew it we had reached Milwaukee, home of the Brewers a rival to my family’s beloved Cubs.

The salon was fairly bare-bones from the outside. We studied the barren windows, wondering if they would soon be filled with pictures of my own hair. Jenna and I were greeted by a smiling face at the door.

“Hello hello!” Trista came out running. She looked sort of what I had expected. Very nice hair, but her face had shown signs of age. I suppose 30 years of being a lawyer would explain that. She was a little heavy, but naturally beautiful.

“Jenna and Sammi, it’s so good to see you,” she said as she gave us each a hug. “Let’s go inside.”

Did she know? Nothing in her reaction to me suggested she was surprised to see my visage. Did she think I was a girl? Did she know I was a boy but just didn’t CARE?

The salon was plain, as expected. A few salon chairs were out in addition to the expected intricacies of a regular salon.

Trista began, “So—“

“You know what, wait.” Jenna blurted out. “I’m sorry, but I just have to get this off my chest. Trista, you ordered a model, and we brought you one. But Sammi here, he’s a boy, and you need to know that.”

Jenna’s frankness surprised all of us. Even her.

Trista blinked.

“Hmm,” she said. “I didn’t know that, but, very well. Makes no difference to me.”

“Really?” I chimed in. “You’re not curious as to WHY I’m a boy?”

“Oh, certainly. But I’m not concerned with the gender of the person. I’m only interested in beauty. And you are beautiful.”

I blushed. I couldn’t believe how well she was taking this. However, we figured we owed her at least a short explanation about how I got roped into creating an Instagram account, and now we’re here.

“I admire how open-minded you are. None of my sons would ever let me do this to them.”

Trista sat me down and we looked in the mirror. The nerves in my stomach had mostly gone away from fearing discovery that I’m a boy, but a whole new unsettling had begun as I was about to get my first professional styling.

“You’re lucky to have such beautiful hair and so much of it. There’s truly a lot to work with. However, I’m thinking of a layered style for you today.”

I nodded, not exactly sure what she meant, but Jenna seemed to like the idea, so I rolled with it.

After prepping my hair, she got to work with the scissors. It appeared to me that she was simply trimming my hair, but then she started cutting off a pretty decent amount. I didn’t want to object, because I had already agreed to the money. But how far was this going to go?

Snip snip. Snip snip. Snip snip snip.

Hair kept falling to the ground. She was using different types of scissors and cutting on angles. My haircuts usually were just cut at the end, and I’d let split ends grow out. But this was not the case. Trista was actually creating a feminine shape to my hair.

During the haircut, Jenna and Trista mostly chatted with each other about hair and clothes. Jenna was intrigued by all of Trista’s knowledge of salon life, even though she didn’t have much professional experience.

Once the hair was dried, Trista took a curling iron and gave me soft, loose curls.

Wow. I looked at myself in the mirror and was more surprised by the outcome than I had ever been. The haircut made a real difference in appearance. Though I was familiar with curls in my hair, it had mostly been the same length throughout, thus limiting it to a certain look. But here, with an actually layered haircut, my hair looked professionally done.

Trista applied a spray to hold it, and then we were done.

“You look wonderful, Sam,” Jenna complimented me. “And Trista you are an artist.”

“I appreciate that,” she replied. “But now, we need to take care of what I brought you up to Milwaukee for.”

She walked us to a back room where she had a camera set up with a white sheet and lights. It looked nearly professional.

“Take your shirt off, Sam. I don’t want a boy’s shirt to be in the shot. Plus, the bareback will add a sexier touch.”

“That was a little strange. I never thought the aim was for ‘sexy,’ but I suppose this is a salon that will be used for grown-up women who desire that trait.”

It took off my shirt and stood on the white tarp. The lights were bright and the sheet was reflective enough to appropriately light my hair.

She instructed me to turn around as she steadied the camera.

“Jenna, could you clean up Sam’s hair,” Trista asked while staring through the viewfinder.”

Jenna walked over and primped my hair just a tad so it fell perfectly on my shoulders. The soft curls felt nice on my bareback.

She stepped away and Trista snapped a bunch of photos. Most of them were pretty much straight on from the back.

At that moment I felt like a celebrity. It was a strange feeling making money for my beauty. Sure, I’d been showing the world (or at least the thousands of Instagram followers) my hair and clothing, but never before was I paid.

Attention is nice, but money is validating.

Hearing the camera snap from behind me gave me confidence that I had never felt before. Jenna and Trista couldn’t tell, but I was smiling. I had the best of both worlds—the self-confidence that style can give you (with anonymity), and money to go along.

“Gorgeous, Sam,” Trista said. “You know, I feel like I should just call you Sammi when we’re in photography mode. That okay with you?”

I was just the three of us. And I guess it’s close to my name anyway. “Go for it,” I confirmed.

She took some close-ups and from slight angles that still hid my face, but I could still tell that Trista was longing for more.

“What’s up?” Jenna could sense something was wrong.

“I totally understand why you want to conceal your face—I totally do,” Trista began, “and I know that I only called you up here to do pictures of your hair, but you must understand that hiding your identity really makes it difficult to get good pictures.”

She had a good point. She was getting full shots of my hair, but keeping my face out of it was certainly limiting what she could do.

However, I didn’t like where this was going.

“Trista, I agree with you, but you know I can’t let anyone know this is me. If the people at school found out“

“But would they find out?” she interrupted. “Would they? We’re in Milwaukee, which is a long way from your school. The chances that anybody from your school would come up here to this salon, see a poster, and recognize you are slim to none. Remember, I’m not advertising you as Sammi Jaclyn.”

“Are you sure we couldn’t blur my face?” I asked.

A light bulb lit up above Jenna’s head, “I have an idea. You want to be concealed, right Sam? Well, if we were to put make-up on you, then you wouldn’t look like yourself. You’d look like a normal pretty girl.”

“Plus, we can still stray away from the direct shots to your face. God knows any girl looks different with and without makeup.”

Now I really didn’t like where this was going.

Trista and Jenna were practically brainstorming to themselves by now, leaving my thoughts completely out of it.

“Excellent idea, Jenna! I’m glad I brought up such a smart young lady.”

“It’d have to be a full makeover. The heavier the makeup, the less likely he is to be recognized.”

“Yes!” Trista agreed. “But it wouldn’t be too bold, as to distract from the hair.”

The two of them went on, raving on about my possible makeover.

I couldn’t just back out now, could I? I already accepted a job, and we’d come so far.