Now, you might think turning 28 is a big deal and in some ways it is. I’m no longer in my mid twenties, and I’m inching closer to 30, which feels kinda serious. The “What am I doing with my life?” question has started popping up more frequently and sometimes lingering in the background. So you’d think this past week would feel crazy, existential but oddly enough the most significant shift in the past week wasn’t turning 28… it was getting bangs.
For the last 20 years, I made a very conscious choice to keep my hair long,I dreaded going to the hairdresser because the idea of short hair was not for me. Sure, I’ve flirted with the idea of changing things up over the years. One particularly bold moment had me dyeing my hair silver-purple which, let’s just say did NOT go as planned. The hairdresser bleached my hair three times with what I can only describe as a “massage + croissant roll + heat” technique, then dyed it twice resulting in second degree burns on my scalp and chunks of hair falling out. The whole process left my hair damaged for years and made me extremely cautious with any future hair choices
I’ve never enjoyed monotony. The feeling of stagnation often leaves me disconnected from myself . But lately, I’ve been learning that what I label as “monotony” might actually be routine and consistently/predictability can definitely be a good thing. Yet in those restless moments, the idea of switching something up often leads me back to the same tempting thought “ what if i cut my hair? Usually, the impulse stays just that a thought but this time the idea of getting bangs took hold of me. I left the hairdresser dazed and kind of exhilarated. At first, I loved them. I was seeing myself, but not myself in the mirror. My partner loved them too, only reinforcing a positive feedback loop.And then… reality kicked
he day I got them, a friend joked, “Bangs are like having a child.” I laughed it felt like an exaggeration. The stylist had just twisted a few strands, snipped, clipped, and done. Ooo I was so very wrong.
My partner jokes that my relationship with bangs is like going through the seven stages of grief:
- Shock - “Oh wow, I actually did it”
- Denial - “They don’t look that different”
- Anger - "Why won't they sit straight?!!!!
- Bargaining - “Maybe if I buy a round brush and heat protectant, everything will be fine”
- Depression - “I’ve made a huge mistake”
- Testing - Okay what if I part them slightly off-center and add a little product?
- Acceptance - They’re not so bad”
And honestly, that’s where I am now somewhere between testing and acceptance. Bangs still feel like an accessory, and on days when they’re stubborn But there’s something freeing about embracing the newness, the awkwardness, and the not quite perfect parts of change. I can’t undo the bangs and maybe that’s the point. Like turning 28 or facing the slow shift into a more serious phase of life, some things aren’t meant to be reversed and perfect every day. They’re meant to be worn in, shaped, and made your own over
