I may have mentioned a few weeks ago, in my post about the baby chicks, that I got bangs. Not banged, you Ukrainian perv, bangs. I had been thinking I needed to do something new with my hair having worn it the same way, more or less, for fifteen years, and then I saw this movie called Side Effects with Roony Mara, and at the end my friend asked me, "So, what'd you think?" and I said, "I think I should get bangs." See, Roony Mara, who is so watchable its a little unsettling, had bangs in this movie and they were all I could think about. Her hair-do wasn't particularly stylish or anything, but there was just something about it.
I made the mistake of asking my husband, my daughter, and my mom if they thought I should get bangs. They all said no way. The only person that seemed in favor of it was the woman who cuts my hair, and she is very stylish and relevant, and she said she thought it was a great idea. This also happens to be the same woman with the baby chickens. After we took care of the baby chicks and set them off on their journey to become food, we talked about the possibility of me getting bangs, and I showed her movie stills of Roony Mara, and she was all, "How about now?"
I washed my hair in her kitchen sink, and then she lopped off the hair in front of my face. She asked if I could feel it yet, that I had bangs, and I couldn't. So she kept shaping, and cutting, and layering, snipping around my head like she always does when she cuts my hair, and suddenly I looked in the mirror and - whoa - I had bangs, man.
I know this seems like I'm making a mountain out of a mole hill here, but these bangs have been a freakin' revelation.
I went to a school fundraiser the other night, mostly attended by women and some uncomfortable men, and my bangs were the talk of the night. (Well, except for by the 98% of attendees who don't know me, or give two shits about my hair.) Every person I talked to went nuts over my bangs. I finally found my friend, White Pants, and tales of my bangs had made their way to her and she commented on them before she even got a good look at them; like, "Everyone is talking about your bangs!"
What an ego boost! Seems I can't leave the house without talking about my bangs!
If you look around, I would say that roughly 40% of all the women you look at have bangs. Its not, like, a big deal, and if you're reading this and you have bangs, you probably think I'm nuts. But I now believe I was meant to have bangs, and it just took me this long to get here.
Of course, my bangs have a mind of their own. One part really wants to go sideways instead of down, and if I don't blowdry them right away they look very Flock-of-Seaguls. When my hair is wet from the shower I look like The Fonze, and sometimes, even after the most aggressive of blowdries, they feather backwards like the 80s. I call them my Carly Rae Jepsen bangs, and Rob hates this. Michelle Obama bangs isn't the correct title either, so we'll just call them my mid-life, rock'n roll bangs.
Stay tuned a year from now when I start writing about what a pain in the ass it is to grow out bangs...