Bangs.
They're not important. I could talk about them forever.
When I first started my current job, I was the only worker in the office with bangs. Now, there are four of us.
Over the past few months, at least three hours of every workweek have been spent discussing every aspect of our bangs. There was the period before—when me and my second banged coworker discussed bangs and windy days, bangs and humid days, growout pains, chopping aversion, bangs as accessory, bangs as stereotype, bangs as celebrity. Dakota, Taylor, and Zooey were practically coworkers.
Then, there was after.
The third coworker went to the salon, the fourth I performed the chop myself. After, we listened: to their newfound styling struggles, face shape changes, and consistent disapproval from relatives. (bangs are, in reality, not that great of a life change. but mothers don’t like them.)
We talked about bangs so often that a coworker joked we should have a podcast titled “Chatty-chatty-bang-bang.” (thank god we don’t)
I’ve had bangs for the past four years. As a child I had a bowl cut, which I suppose embodies bangs only in the most overwhelming sense. My hair grew in symphony with my body and, when my hair reached down my back without any variation in length, I remember my dad casually saying: “Every woman with bangs looks better without.”
Now, all of his daughters have bangs. One’s are dark and curly, the other’s are short and ginger. Mine fall in-between: brown and wisping slightly upwards.
Over the past five years, I’ve cut dozens of my friends’ curtain bangs, enacted at least three full chops, and convinced numerous others to make the leap. In high school, I attended my best friend’s bang appointment at the salon—despite not yet having the style myself. Whenever there is a lull in conversation with an acquaintance, I will invariably bring up the topic: if they’ve ever had bangs, if they’ve ever thought about getting bangs, what kind would best suit their face shape.
In these conversations, the same themes inevitably arise. The most common is The Childhood Bang: “My mom gave me bangs as a kid and they looked HORRENDOUS.” We discuss the fear of looking like a child or returning to the worst version of themselves—a middle-schooler.
The other most common reaction is: “People will think I’ve just had a breakdown.” Fair. During COVID, TikTok had millions of people cutting bangs at home (and a reactionary millions of hairdressers urging the population to put the scissors down). Even post-pandemic, it’s normal to see people who have just had some major life change (most commonly after a breakup) make the chop, usually by their own hands.
When I’m trying to convince people to get bangs (which I do too often for my, and other’s, own good) I don’t try to directly dismantle these ideas. I do find it endlessly fascinating that bangs are associated with a return to childhood and the conveyance of one’s mental state.
I’m not sure why so many mothers choose to give their daughters a hairstyle that is famously temperamental. It’s more obvious to me why cutting your own bangs is an unveiling of one’s mental state. To look in the mirror and see yourself as you are, then have the power to change that image—there’s no greater rush. I’m a huge fan of at-home haircuts. (Warning: tears will inevitably follow. Bangs are a journey.)
Instead of diving into everyone’s inner child or discussing their current breakdown, I usually share why I think every person should at least consider getting bangs. To be honest, not every person's BEST look is bangs. But, bangs aren’t about looking your best. There’s no guarantee bangs will make you look hotter, but I can confirm bangs will make you look cooler. They’re an unattachable accessory. They signal that you made a commitment to your look—an inherently risky one. Depending on how you style bangs, they can be vintage, edgy, sweet, super straight, super gay, or twee AF. There are as many bangs as there are face shapes, and as many cuts as there are personal styles.
To that point, bangs are by no means not mainstream. If you walk down any street or examine any room, you are likely to spot at least one person with bangs. I’m sure many people have had bangs their whole life and never thought twice about them—they’re just a few inches of hair that cover their forehead. At the end of the day bangs, really, aren’t that important.
And yet and yet and yet.
I love that I can spend hours discussing those few inches of hair in all their variety, significance, and temperamentality with the women in my life. I love that cutting bangs is both a cry for help and a signal of empowerment—of taking your appearance into your own hands. Bangs mean that you have actively chosen to make your hair even more changeable to the wind, the weather, and the way you lay your head on a pillow.
If you want to overanalyze bangs (what is this post otherwise), they are an embrace of life’s mercurial nature. They are a return to girlhood and a display of some, whether real or not, inner transformation. They imply spontaneous risk or careful calculation. When you cut bangs, there’s no going back. To return to how you were, you must grow.
Bangs can often be understood as a scream for recognition, of desperately wishing to be an individual. Yet, looking at my zoom meeting with three other banged women— indistinguishable from each other in the poor camera quality—I’ve never felt happier.
Fourth coworker representation
Get banged.