Bangs, In The Real World

I blame deciding to slice my bangs up to my eyebrows on every high fashion magazine there is.  I saw all of those glamorous models with their thick, dark bangs and wanted some of my own.  Little did I know, there were a few side-effects that come with the sudden impulse to go Edward Scissor Hands on my hair.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my new ‘do –  I feel extra sheek and sassy, a little bohemian, and eyes seem to pop out more than Pamela Anderson’s boobies. But after prancing out of the hair salon, life happened and I was graced with the slightly annoying presence of my new bangs.

If you’re chewing on the idea of taking the fringe plunge, I give you a look into a world of bangs:

12:45 P.M. Now that the rest of my hair has been trimmed and styled, my hairstylist finally comes to the melodramatic point of cutting my bangs. I stop her for a moment, take a deep breath. Once I’m mentally ready, I give a slight nod and she comes at me with the scissors. I watch my life (full of good hair days) flash before my eyes as 4 inches of my former layers flutter away to their final resting place on top of my Ugg boot. I hold the arm rest tighter, trying not to make a scene. I make a mental note to Google image ‘celebs with bangs’ when I got home to make myself feel better about this hasty decision.

1:15 P.M. I play with my new hair a little bit in front of the mirror. I look left. I look right. I look at it from the back. “OK,” I think to myself. “It looks good.” I breathe a sigh of relief. After paying the girl at the front desk and hugging my stylist (“OMG thank you!”) I walk home. And look at my reflection in every reflective material: car windows, mirrors, spoons, phones, computer screens. I don’t look twelve, I don’t resemble Justin Bieber, and I have already forgotten to Google image ‘celebs with bangs.’ Things are looking up.

5:00 P.M. I am standing on the treadmill attempting to put my hair up for a much needed jaunt. I check my reflection in the TV:  I look like an adolescent boy with a bowl cut. It’s creepy, not at all cute, and unfair to all people attempting to have a workout free of silent giggles. I try a headband. Bad move; my bangs stick out the back like a Ricky Martin haircut. That would be fine if I was shaking my bon bon on stage for millions of adoring girls, but I’m not. Now I just look ridiculous.

7:00 P.M. My light workout (I lasted 10 minutes before I got frustrated and gave up) has sent my bangs into an uproar.  The pieces that are not sticking up everywhere are plastered to my forehead; I look like I just ran a marathon with Katie Holmes. It’s awful. “Am I going to have to shower ten times a day to make these puppies look presentable?” I have a mild meltdown in front of my mirror.

9:00 P.M. After much primping (and more priming), I am about ready to hit the town, and my bangs…look…good. Like, really good. Although they are hiding some very serious flat-iron burns on my forehead, I managed to put them together nicely. And they make my basic black top and jeans outfit look way more chic. “Yay bangs!”

10:00 P.M. While lurking around the bar awkwardly, I am stopped by many boys commenting on my bangs. Guys. It was quite the honor; I felt like I needed to give some kind of acceptance speech for being so awesome.  When was the last time men commented on anything besides my French Maid costume?  Yeah, they definitely went south once the dancing started (and by “south” I mean “wet, wavy and stuck to my face”), but I had a few emergency bobby pins on hand to fix the problem.

Despite the ups and downs (and one wasted trip to the treadmill), I say bangs are definitely a do. They won’t be easy, but they will definitely be worth it.

Besides, good or bad, you can always grow those suckers out.

Valentine’s Day Gifts for Both of You
Valentine’s Day Gifts for Both of You
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