I am told that I am “Michelle with the bangs.” My suitemate mentioned that someone at a party asked her who she was living with, and she said “Michelle.” But because there are quite a few first years with the same name, she had to specify, “the one with the bangs.” That apparently rang a bell, and the person she was talking to was able to put my face to the name.
I know when I wake up in the morning whether I’ll have a good or a bad day depending on how my bangs look. If you also have bangs, you know what I mean. Some days, I roll out of bed and somehow they’re perfect — others, I do my careful roller and Dyson airwrap routine and they look like shit. It’s a wildcard every day.
Sometimes I part the front of my hair to see what I would look like without them, and I look — in the most respectful way possible — dumb as hell. Without realizing it, my bangs have played a huge role in how I perceive myself, and I had no idea that it was also a part of how I was perceived by others.
When I see photos of me as a toddler, the one word that comes to mind is “bangs,” a 180 degree straight line across my forehead. I had a fuck-ass-bob, also known as a FAB. If you have ever had the Korean Choco Boy snacks, I looked exactly like the little guy on the front of the box, like someone put a bowl on my head and used it as a template.
I had less aggressive bangs in elementary school, but by the time I was in middle school they had grown out, and I swore to never have them again. I would cringe thinking about my hair when I was little. I hated the way I looked then. I used to wish I could go back in time and relive my early childhood without bangs.
The no-bangs era was cut short with the start of COVID-19 in the spring of eighth grade. Like everyone else who was stuck in their house with nothing better to do, I attempted to give myself some curtain bangs, and the results were disastrous. The right side of my hair was off-balance with the rest of my head, and I’m grateful that quarantine guaranteed that few people saw what my hair really looked like.
Traumatized by that experience, I stayed away from the scissors and let my hair grow out again – until 10th grade. This time I went to a real hair salon, and they turned out exactly how I wanted them to, and I liked that I looked different — it felt like entering a new stage of my life. In high school I loved getting ready, putting rollers in my bangs every morning.
That being said, having bangs comes with its ups and downs. One time, I told the stylist to make sure they were still long enough to go past my eyebrows, but the sound of a hairdryer drowned out my voice, and instead she cut way above my eyebrows. I’m not going to lie, a few tears were shed that day, and I felt like my FAB era had returned — it was kind of funny but also kind of not, and it was not my ideal way to start my senior year of high school. Hair grows back, but when I get a bad bangs-cut, it doesn’t grow back fast enough.
And as the impulsive person that I am, I have had my moments and have randomly chopped away at them only to regret it immediately — if you are having a bad day, NEVER reach for the scissors.
At college, I carefully cut them in my dorm room and then sweep my dead ends from off the floor. But after too many self trims, they’re starting to look a little funky. I’m not a pro, and it’s starting to show; if you look closely — please don’t — they look a bit uneven at the sides.
Even though at this moment, I am in desperate need of a professional haircut. I like my hair. I reclaimed that awkward, choppy-haircut girl I used to be. My bangs are something that I grew up with and eventually grew into, something that I hated that became something that I like about myself. Now I look like me — my bangs are a seamless part of who I am, and it makes me glad that they’re something that the people around me notice too. That little girl I see in those old photos is just so me. Who would I have become if I never had bangs?
If 6th grade me knew that I have bangs now, she would have flashbacks to her FAB era of childhood and probably throw up, but I wouldn’t be myself without them. I hope I can be “Michelle with the bangs” forever.