Yes, I admit it. On occasion, I cut my own bangs (fringe). Okay, it is more than just occasionally. My hair grows very fast, so while I often let the sides and back grow two or three inches between visits to a salon, my bangs need more frequent attention.
After much trial and error, and close observation of how my hairdresser cuts my bangs, I have perfected my technique. I must do a pretty good job, too. My hairdresser ‘called me out’ on home bang cutting yesterday, and when I sheepishly admitted that I had, in fact, cut my own bangs she said, “You did a great job. You only missed about six or eight hairs over here on the left side…”
I don’t know what your relationship is with your hair, but I live with a head full of rebellious hairs. They curve and stick up in all the oddest places. Some years I let them all grow (except the bangs) until they are mid way down my back. Some years I have them all cut off to just a few inches. Neither style changes their nature – they still resolutely head off in a contrary direction, each marching to their own drummer.
I grew up in the days when sleek, long, straight hair was what all the cool girls had. All the tall cool girls. All the skinny tall cool girls. Genetically, I am not a skinny, tall, straight haired girl. (The foundations for my distrust of the fashion and beauty industry were laid early, and I don’t even want to discuss why “A Good Hair Day” might mean something to me…)
But – every time I go to a hairdresser, I entertain the hope that a miracle will happen. My hairdresser will find the precise right length to cut each hair (because apparently she keeps track of the length or each and every one of them). That perfect length will be the one where each hair nestles contentedly beside the one beside it. Not a single hair will object to the company of any of its 150,000 neighbours. I will be able to just toss my head and every hair will move into place without the touch of a comb!
Remarkably, this latest haircut seems to be as close to perfection as any I have ever had. Oh, there is still much mass confusion down at my neck, but the hairs on the side and top of my head are serene. My bangs, well, they are quite perfect and the hairdresser only had to fix the eight hairs on the left side.
Tragedy is when you cut your own finger. Comedy is when you cut your own bangs.
Do you cut your own bangs? Any horror stories about hair cuts?
Grey hair stories live here: Go Grey, Girl!