Being a new mother put me in the mood for a new hairstyle, but I didn’t want to inadvertently convert myself into a soccer mom. So, I went to my stylist Rodeyo and suggested a slightly different hairstyle. He said, “Let’s do BANGS!” I gasped and almost fell out of his cushy salon chair. What was I to do?!

To help you understand my dilemma, the chronicle of my struggle with bangs follows:

4 ½ years old: I decide I want bangs. I chop off the hair above my forehead, continuing several inches backward to a length of ½ inch, giving myself a spectacularly unlovely reverse-Mohawk.

10 years old: The pretty new girl at school has bangs. I tell my mom I want bangs too. She says bangs are for little girls. I’m too big for bangs. I give myself an unattractive but salvageable hair cut that evening.

15 years old:  The night before a trip to Disneyland with my BFF, Jean, we color each other’s hair and give each other bangs. My hair color and bangs look fabulous; Jean is rushed to her mother’s stylist at 8:00 p.m. for emergency reconstruction.

High School: I wear bangs and bleach my hair white throughout high school. In college, I decide that bangs are unflattering and give them up entirely (I still bleach my hair mercilessly).

The Melanie Griffith Incident:  Several years ago, I go for a shoulder-length cut with bangs. Egor spends the next two months pointing out bang-less hairstyles on TV and in magazines, mentioning how becoming they would be on me. The real killer is an assessment from my BFF, Susan. She tells me that my new hair makes me seem “mature” adding, “You look just like Melanie Griffith.” AAUUUGGGHHH! Needless to say, I swore off bangs for good—until today!


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