Thoughts of Meagre Me: ‘My Fringe’

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For as long as I can remember I’ve had a fringe, which in the US is often refereed to as ‘bangs’, but where I hail from that speaks less about the hair that lops from the front of the scalp and more about carnal instincts, and I don’t want anyone to be confused about what I’m talking about. When I was young my fringe used to cover the entirety of my forehead, down to my eyebrows, which was fine once I had hair long enough to establish it as a fringe, at the back, but for about three years of my life made me look somewhat like a boy.As I grew older my mother stopped cutting my fringe for me, and on occasion I would try it myself, but it always looked messy and uneven, and so I would just get her to do it anyway, or I let it grow so long that she sat me down and demanded I do it. I remember a time when I was about seventeen, I was visiting friends in the US, but I had avoided getting my fringe cut before hand, and one of the adults I was staying with put thirty dollars in my hand and made me get it cut at a local hair-dresser.

A few years ago I experimented with growing my fringe out, and not having one at all, but once it had reached the stage where it was not quite a fringe, but not long enough to tuck behind my ears, I got bugged, and trimmed it. Sometime later I tried again, but when I examined myself in a mirror, I noticed that one of my eyebrows was slightly higher than the other, and at the time I was pretty sure my looks were the only thing that would make men attracted to me, and so I chopped the excess hair to the exact length I believed would conceal my imperfection. Since then I’ve learned to keep my fringe relatively straight when I cut it, which is whenever it gets too long for me to brush it to one side. In this routine I go through about two weeks of a noticeably shorter fringe, and then a side-fringe, which still conceals my uneven eyebrows, but which also doesn’t make me look like I’m five. Over the years of my unskilled handy-work, parts of my fringe have been missed and pushed back into the bundle of my hair, so I now have a somewhat less-thick fringe than I would like, but I’m too scared to attempt cutting it all back in.

The trouble with my fringe is that it doesn’t fall straight, but kind of kinks, and after cleaning, it develops a middle parting, which makes me look like I’m emulating a member of the Back-Street Boys. About a year ago I had a moment of insanity in which I cut my fringe when it was wet and flat, and when it dried it bounced back to its original shape, and it only just reached the middle of my forehead. Embarrassed, I spent the next month pinning it to the top of my head so no one would notice how ridiculously short it was; no one commented, so I think for the most part I got away with it, but I do worry that my friends and family did realise my forehead was very bare, and were just too polite to remark on it.

Nowadays I constantly question whether keeping my fringe adds to my childlike appearance, and whether or not I should just do away with it, or visit a hair-dresser and have them give me a style more fitting to a person of my age. I asked my sister what she thought I should do, and she, having abandoned her frontal hair long ago, told me that he didn’t really like fringes and that I should probably do away with it; my other sister told me it looks fine. I’m not really sure on whether or not I believe either of them, but I hope one day I can either learn to love my fringe, or hate it enough to not have it anymore.

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