In keeping with the recent tone of this blog, which is one of emotional chaos and instability, I am going to follow up a supremely emo post about the day my family found out I’d decided to divorce my husband with a post about hair! Because, obviously.

On Friday, I went from this (read: looking like deathbed-Beth from Little Women)


to this:


(While this is a story about bangs, it could very well also be a PSA about the dangers of fluorescent lighting.)

I think I may hate them. I knew that I would, but I did it anyway because I am so rebellious. They aren’t even really what I wanted, because my attempt to go full Zooey Deschanel was thwarted by the man charged with cutting my “fringe.” We had a long, lost in translation moment when I first sat down, when I told him what I wanted and kept demanding “bangs,” forgetting, of course, that I’m in a country where asking for things like “rides” and “bangs” means something decidedly different. When I finally pulled out my phone to show him all the photo examples I’d collected, he said, and I quote, “With your hair in this weather? No.”

I strong-armed him into what I currently have, and I’m thinking now that my first mistake was thinking bangs were a good idea. My second was trusting a man who didn’t understand half of what I was saying to attempt to cut them.

It’s been two days, and I’m already looking into creative ways to pin and braid them back. So.

At least that’s going well.


One thought on “Fringe.

  1. I totally did the exact same thing about 4 months ago! There’s something about life changes and passages of time that makes a girl want to cut her hair. And then you immediately regret it. I’m halfway through growing it out and it’s been a painful process!


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