the big bangs theory

For the last 45 years, I have hung onto the belief that because of the shape of my face, size of my forehead and how fine my hair is, I had to have bangs. Whether these beliefs were based in any fact is now entirely debatable. Because over the last 6 months, I quietly grew them out and I am enjoying my new look.

I was inspired by comments my husband made about liking hair pulled back as well as pointing out the awkward peek-a-boo space my bangs left when I wore a pony tail. Normally I would have consulted my best friends first as wells as some 20-other people. Instead, I just went for it and was surprised when the grow-out was not as painful as I envisioned. 

I have two clear memories about my hair from when I was little. The first one was when I was in kindergarten and got what I, at five years old, perceived to be a “bad” haircut. I don’t remember the style of the haircut, it was likely “giving” Dorothy Hamill, but I do remember that it looked wrong, it was uncomfortable and just not me. Confronted with my tears of shame, my mother said she could fix my hair and it would all be OK. She parted my hair down the middle, put it in two pigtails, and I was soothed. The bad hair cut was successfully hidden and I felt like myself again. I wore those pigtails everyday, without fail, for the next four years. I wore them to sleep at night. I wore them while swimming. No one saw me without them, ever. 

By fourth grade, it started to seep into my consciousness that a change might be needed. I began thinking that the pigtails were affecting my social status. Plus, I was envious of Valerie Bertinell’s hair on “One Day at a Time” and, of course, Farrah Fawcett’s amazing mane. I knew that Farrah’s hairstyle was out of reach but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted that look despite not having thicker, more textured hair. I finally verbalized the desire to get my hair feathered with bangs to my mother who was so eager to get me out of my pigtails that she quickly agreed. 

Strangely, I can’t remember anything about the momentous haircut that ended the five years of pigtails. I do vividly recall that I was both elated about the change I had made but scared to show at school for the big reveal. I had worn pigtails every day of my conscious life and it had become a part of my identity. When I arrived at school, tentative and self-conscious about my new feathered hair, my close friends were positive and didn’t make a big deal about it – which was perfect. I was happy to have made the big change and, feeling a bit more mature and on trend, went forward with confidence.

The feeble attempt at feathering stuck around through the end of 6th grade. Post-feathering, I made my way through a variety of different techniques – perms, diffusers, undercuts – anything to pump up the volume of my San Fernando Valley hair – but always with bangs cut straight across my forehead.  

Since college, I have tried layering and sweeping. I persisted with bangs even after MANY horrible bang trims that would require a month or more of growing out so that they would reach my eyebrows, all because I was certain that I needed bangs. I believed wholly that without them, I would look horrible – my forehead would overwhelm my square face and round cheeks. There was no option to be fringeless for me. 

My worst bangs trim happened in Atlanta, Georgia in the summer of 1995 right before I took my business school welcome book photo. It haunts me to this day. By then, I had learned to give stylists very specific directions about the trim I desired: please cut my bangs dry instead of wet, make sure the length is at least to the middle of my eyebrows and cut them longer rather than shorter because that is easier to fix. Regardless of how clear my instructions were, my bangs ended up in the middle of my forehead a la Jim Carey’s character in Dumb and Dumber also referred to as “baby doll bangs.” My heart sank before I even left the salon. This is not a look I enjoyed. There is nowhere to hide too short bangs except under a baseball hat and that was not how I wanted to show up to grad school or really anywhere.

Here I am decades later and I have suddenly made what I perceive as a huge change. I am still getting comfortable with this new look but I am happy with how it turned out. It was an easier process than I anticipated and have no plans to go back to the fringe. It’s made me realize that for the last 40 years I built a personal boundary that did not need to exist. This is reinforced by the fact that, prior to publishing this, not one person has said anything to me about it. No one has asked, “Hey, something is different about you…did you grow out your bangs?” 

Instead of letting the lack of feedback bother me, I have decided that this journey has been a really surprising eye-opener. Growing out my bangs has reminded me again of the universal truth that, while you may think people notice every little thing you are doing, they rarely do. Also, and more importantly, bangs are just one of the many arbitrary limits I’ve set in my life. Other supposed truths I have told myself include: I don’t wear pointed toe shoes, I don’t like sushi, I can’t handle an east coast winter, I am too restless to meditate, I don’t like cruises. But, knowing how long I deluded myself about the bangs, maybe none of those are true as well?