Sorry, Chic Ain't Effortless 

Photo courtesy of the author

Bangs. For years, I flirted with the idea of them. My thick, coarse, shoulder-length waves—a mainstay for over a decade—felt so uninspired. With bangs, I could be a capering Audrey Hepburn one day and a rebellious, sneering Chrissie Hynde the next.

"But they're so much work," one friend said. "You'll regret it. And they take forever to grow out," another warned. Put that way, it sounded like a difficult marriage followed by a bitter divorce.

So, I tabled the bangs.

After all, who has time to wrestle with her hair every morning? Not this working mom, who awakes with a halo of frizz to a hungry toddler. Bangs, in my opinion, were for single 20-somethings and celebrities. In essence, they belonged to those who would choose their flat irons over their vibrators. Or toasters. I couldn't live without toast and butter on a Sunday morning.