|M’Amélie chérie. This collage created using stolen internet images and Fotor.com.|
I have been hemming and hawing over this for ages, but I have finally committed to it: I am growing out my bangs. I’m not getting rid of them, though. I wouldn’t dream of it — my bangs are well and truly a part of my face. I can hardly remember not having them. They hide my expansive forehead (my dad says that in our family we have fiveheads) and draw attention to another family trait: Jack Nicholson-like eyebrows.
I love my bangs, but they have been hell-bent on scalp domination. When I first had them carved out of my once-thick head of curls they began, at their deepest point, an inch past my hairline. With glacial speed the part has worked its way back from there, advancing one stray follicle at a time, as I cut my own hair for the last ten years. Now the apex of the U-shaped part is precisely at the tippy top of my skull. When I look directly ahead the part is invisible in the mirror. I estimate that more than one quarter and perhaps as much as one third of the hair on my head is tied up in laying flat over my forehead. This is hair that could be better occupied giving the illusion of volume in its natural state: soft, wide-gauge ringlets.
So I’m growing the mess out and gouging in a new, much, much shallower part. And I like my bangs super duper short, too, so I’ll be giving myself my beloved Amélie’s bangs. (Just the bangs, though. My hair’s not as kinky as it used to be but I still think I would be invoking a whitegirl afro by chopping it that short.) It will be a trial, I know, but it shouldn’t take too long because the longer part of my bangs is already 5 inches long (just measured it right this very second) and the bangs I want will only be about 1 inch long!
Wish me luck. From what I hear from other folks who have grown out bangs it can be a royal asspain. Thank goodness I have a stockpile of scarves and hats.
I promise before and after photos!