Cutting Bangs

As a rule, a man’s a fool. . . . .

I really thought I finally had my whole style thing together, all figured out. In fact, I was feeling pretty smug about it. I long ago made peace with my out-of-control curly hair, learned a couple of ways to wear it that were relatively trouble-free. I must be able to pull it back when I work.

As a rule, a man’s a fool. . . . .

I really thought I finally had my whole style thing together, all figured out. In fact, I was feeling pretty smug about it. I long ago made peace with my out-of-control curly hair, learned a couple of ways to wear it that were relatively trouble-free. I must be able to pull it back when I work.

I’d accepted the fact that I was never going to walk in stiletto heels or high platforms again.  More’s the pity. And mini skirts, well, I said goodbye to those some time ago unless opaque tights are involved. I had found the type of jean that fits and looked as well as can be expected on a woman’s body (as opposed to an anorexic teenager’s). Stretchy jeans rule. And no straight legs for me. No sir.

Moreover, I’ve decided that I can (and do) wear the same few pairs of jeans and black slacks I’ve owned for years. I like ‘em. Why get rid of them?  As long as I rotate some old and new jackets (longer than 27 inches, always, usually picked up on EBay for a song), it’s OK. Work clothes are easy. Bags must be all leather, and if they’re Fossil or B. Makowsky, so much the better. Boots of all varieties and the 20-year-old Ferragamo flats in many colors (for dress) work for winter. The same Ferragamos, Born sandals and sneakers are good summer. Work boots all year round. Turtlenecks with jackets in winter, tank tops with hoodies in summer. I really thought I had it all figured out.

So what was the problem? Well, it always seems we humans like a change now and then.  Here’s a poem my father taught me when I was small. — Still so true today:

As a rule, a man’s a fool.

When it’s hot, he wants it cool.

When it’s cool, he wants it hot.

Always wanting what is not.

Universal truth. I thought I was immune to wanting change. But I was wrong. I know better than to cut my hair all over or cut it in layers or anything drastic like that. I must be able to slather on enough goop to slick it back into a tight bun or chignon when necessary — and can let it go wild when appropriate. So why did I think about changing my hair? Well, I was tired of it. I was the proverbial fool from the little poem.  It didn’t look right. I thought I needed some softening around my face.  Blah, blah, blah, yadda, yadda, yadda. Vanity, thy name is woman.

The above introduction brings me to the point where I’m standing in front of a mirror with wet hair, scissors in one hand, a few candidates for wispy bangs in another. I say to myself, “I have no forehead. My hair is too curly. This will never fly for summer. I know this will be a huge mistake. I know I will regret it. I KNOW I will SO regret this.— Well, what the heck?  Be adventurous!” SNIP. And just like that, hair that hadn’t been more than trimmed regularly at the ends for over 20 years got a big surprise.

I’m trying to remember exactly how I dealt with this kind of  “do” years ago. You’d think I’d remember, but I’m still experimenting a bit. Sometimes it looks awful, has a mind of its own. The hair iron my kids gave me a few years ago makes it TOO straight. When I was younger, there wasn’t any such thing as too straight! It’s all a little more trouble, takes a little more time, and I still have to work on my technique — but you know, I kind of like it. And if I put enough goop on it, I can still pull it back when I’m desperate! When I’m working outside, no one around here cares about my hairdo.

So I admit it. I needed a change. I told Zack not to panic. He looked a little bewildered when I walked into the living room after the attack I made on my hair. At least I wasn’t changing cowboys, only looking for a little variety in hairstyles.

Gene Ellis, Ed.D is a Bosque County resident who returned to the family farm after years of living in New Orleans, New York, and Florida. She’s an artist who holds a doctoral degree from New York University and is writing a book about the minor catastrophes of life. Check out Genie’s blog at http://rusticramblings.wordpress.com/