About five or six years ago my mother came to visit me in Columbus. It was my birthday and one of the first things she said to me upon arriving was “Have you thought about getting bangs again?” I mean, okay, I know that I have an unnaturally low forehead (I once pulled up my bangs at work and showed Co-Worker C and she was in peels of laughter for way too long) but that’s not exactly the first thing you want to hear from your mother, on your birthday. So, because I’m relatively paranoid about things that other people point out, I immediately went out and got bangs. Actually, she gave me such a complex about it that I will probably have bangs until I die. That’s fringe for all you UKers, by the way.
But, now? Now I wake up every morning and I look like Jamie Bell in this picture:
They are, without a question, everywhere. Now, I’ve never been a get up and go sort of person, but this is extreme.