When in doubt, cut a fringe

By Erin Deborah Waks

An actual text I sent to a group chat 3 months ago: ‘This morning I had a meltdown. Then I cut a fringe. That is all.’

My friend’s equally apt response was: ‘a story of modern life.’ He’s right. Why is it so predictable, basic, that a woman changing her hair seems an almost universal solution to life’s woes? Men do it too, of course - my own brother shaved his head once, while another friend did a kitchen sink bleach job straight after a job interview. It appears as though when something needs to give in life, we more often than not take it out on our hair.

I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. Quite the opposite. As far as coping mechanisms go, dyeing your hair or chopping a fringe far beats drugs, alcohol, smoking, binge eating, and other reckless behaviour.

I’ve done the classic ‘reinvent myself through my hair’ several times over - and to varying degrees of success. When I was 15, I died my hair for the first time, straight after my GCSEs. A horrible, fake pinkey-red colour. A year later, an even worse shade of navy blue that did little for my colouring and made me look like a witch. At 18, when I was starting university, I chopped my brown hair much shorter in a bid to be cooler, and straightened it regularly. When I was 20 and had just moved to Paris, I went for a superbly chic (and superbly expensive) blonde balayage and curly blowout that would’ve looked gorgeous - one someone else. I dyed it darker two years later while working in an art gallery in the South of France. I’d just graduated - I wanted to give off that artsy, cultured vibe, you know?

I think changing one’s hair is more than just an outlet for rebellious tendencies, perhaps especially for those of us inclined towards seeking a need for control in many areas of our lives (control freaks, I’m talking to you). It represents a significant outward display of transformation. It might be a physical manifestation of an emotional need to shift mental states, or a literal transition from one chapter of life to the next. Whatever it is, I’m sure we can all agree it often has the desired effect - signalling to the outside world that we’ve changed. We’re better, somehow, than before.

I don’t think it matters whether the change looks any better. All that matters is that is feels better, that it achieves the desired externalisation of a highly internal change.

But it’s no coincidence that my most recent change, a return to my natural dark brown hair colour, natural curls and a brand new fringe - albeit similar to the one I had when I was 6 - is the best look I’ve achieved yet. Funny, that it’s coincided with the most myself I’ve felt in my life thus far.