Bang-up Blog on Bad Bangs

I’m currently recovering from the injustice of a terrible bang trim — and by terrible I mean super short and crooked.

A few days after my encounter with a scissor-happy stylist, a colleague, in the throws of an emotional meltdown, called me to lament about her own terrible trim. After she regained her composure, she took matters into her own hands and got hair guru Joey Figueiredo to come on FOX 4′s Morning Show to share some tips on communicating with your stylist. I’m pretty sure this was her way of coping.

As for my method of coping, I stood over my bathroom sink, scissors in hand, and started cutting. My experience with hair trimming is limited, but desperate times called for desperate measures. I won’t bore you with the details of my meticulous efforts to fix my hair, but after several attempts, I eventually managed to craft something I could live with — for the next four to six weeks.

Only now I look like I did in high school. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind looking a few years younger, but it brings back all those memories of awkwardness and teen-aged angst — you know what I’m talking about. Who wants to relive THAT?

Not me.

So while my hair is “acceptable” for now, I continue to play with different styles that don’t remind me of my high school days. Barrettes. Ponytails. Headbands.

But there’s this problem.

It’s called my forehead.

In high school, a few ornery classmates (you guys know who I’m talking about!) literally called me “forehead” because I apparently have a large one. Years later, I learned Tyra Banks says she has a “fivehead” because hers is so large.

But I digress.

Because of this inferiority complex with my forehead, I’ve come to the conclusion that, for now, I can only wear my bangs down (hello, high school!) or semi-parted like I typically prefer, but that requires more hairspray than the ozone can currently handle.

So, I’ve done what any red-blooded American girl would do.

I’ve shoved a hat on my head.