I hate bangs. They suck you in with their adorableness and the fact that you NEVER have to pluck your eyebrows. Then you start to get annoyed because they grow out in five seconds. No matter, they still make your hair look done even when it's not so you keep them. You have a hairstyle and thus you have a discernible "look."
One day, however, you see a picture of yourself with scraggly bangs and decide this madness has to come to an end. Bangs are only good to you 40 percent of the time and that is no way for a hairstyle to be. So you decide to grow them out. You pin them to the side, wear a beanie on weekends, dream about the day you have normal hair again.
You tremble every time you see a picture of a hip girl with stick-straight perfect bangs. Smiling happily, "Life is good because I have the best bangs."
"That could be me," you whisper silently to yourself. "That could be me."
The scissors gleam from their place in the corner.
"You are so great at cutting your own bangs," they seem to say, "you can HAVE those bangs and they will be straight and fall into place perfectly every morning. They will never be in your eyes or messed up every time a breeze blows."
I can do this. I can let go of the bangs. I can last one more month I am rewarding myself with a professional hair cut.
2 comments:
solidarity sister! we can do this together.
I am always mesmerized by the hip girl with bangs. I'd like to think I could be like her, but it's to hard to give the "swoop" that I've had since I was 12. But the "swoop could never be like straight across bangs. Never.
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