When I was a kid, my stylist recommended bangs all the time. She would sit me in the kitchen chair - the one with brown faux leather and two wooden steps that folded out to create a ladder/chair, throw an apron over me, and ever so slowly use the kitchen scissors to cut a clean flat line across my wet hair. I can still feel the slightly ticklish, slightly menacing cold metal above my eyebrows. I can also hear the delicate, crisp cut of my hair and the metal swishing sound inside my head.
Needless to say, it wasn't a fine science. Sometimes she would place a plastic comb between the bang and the forehead in an attempt to not accidentally scar me. The woman rarely stopped to sharpen the old kitchen clippers. She also never fully digested the fact that the bangs would shorten up once they dried and that following the curve of a head might make for shorter bangs on the sides
(now I can appreciate she was busy and trying to save a buck but then I walked around looking like this...
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ps. I thought perhaps I was at an age where I cut my own bangs but 4 out
of 6 Cornish girls in this photo are sporting the same shortened stylings. |
and then later on in the 80s I rocked this look).
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| photo haircut courtesy of Toni & Guy |
In any case, it's been years since I had bangs - most likely this middle school photo represents the last real bang in my life. Sure there have been "wisp" bangs that I cut a few times. You know the ones, they're kind of like dating someone in secret: a few people know what's going on but for the most part no one really notices. These bangs blend right back in to the general haircut when your uber-annoyed at their unfamiliar presence.
Lately though, I've been flirting with the concept of serious bang-age. For a few cuts, my new stylist, much more professional than the one I had when I was 8, would not welcome my half-hearted attempts to convince her I wanted bangs. She informed me that I really didn't want them because I would have them already if I did.
I realized it would take some serious commitment on my part: to a new look and to a
new attitude (yep that's right, enter Patti LaBelle and one ragingly 80s video). That and seeing my sister rock hard core bangs was all I needed. Well all of the above and some righteous photoshopping skills to present my argument to my stylist; to whom I presented Exhibit A and Exhibit B (actually just Exhibit B but I don't want to loose the hard work of EA).
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| Exhibit A - Rockabilly Bangs |
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| Exhibit B - Heidi Klum Bangs |
So Exhibit B was presented at my cut last Saturday. My stylist sighed...she didn't even mention the Photoshop skills which I thought were outstanding given the situation. So I ordered bangs. Real bangs. Straight across. A definitive billboard saying "NEW" or "CHANGED" or "Coke Light".
This is not to say my stylist is against bangs, what she is against is listening to the ensuing neurosis of a woman, who hasn't had bangs in over 20 years, getting her hair cut and picking apart each snip. I stopped my banter half-way through and reminded myself to let her do her thing. When all was said and done, I had to admit I was pretty happy with the change.
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| shameless self promotion |
A change of sorts it is. We went to party that night and I was surprised at how AWARE I felt of my new look. A friend reminded me, "sometimes with bangs, the cut wears you." (so true old sage) But these days I feel compelled to throw off the shackles of expectations since that philosophy partially pushed me in to this new look (you would think I was rockin' a Mohawk with the controversy I'm acting like this is creating). Sometimes subtle change is what we need to welcome a new perspective; to open the window so to speak and let in the fresh air.
I have forgotten about the bangs subconsciously; though every now and then I do move the unfamiliar warm weight to the side like some summer skate punk or I check myself in the mirror hoping I don't look too much like Roseanne Roseannadanna.
The bangs do demand a level of attention my old hippie-like doo never required. Showers = more; wet hair to dry in the sun = meh; flat iron = a must if I'm going out but possibly not on the bangs themselves. It's a learning curve; one I welcome with the sweet challenge that comes from anything new. It just goes to show you, it's always something--if it ain't one thing, it's another...
