Ah the fringe. Nature’s cheap Botox, foundation saver and fulfiller or every girl’s secret Brigitte Bardot aspirations.
I regained my own fringe back in October, having allowed my forehead to be exposed for the better part of 10 years or so. I first gained the head curtain (that won’t catch on) when I was 12, in a life-changing (yes) makeover.
Eventually that fringe grew out, and I oscillated between a totally bare forehead and a few wispy nods here and there. Until, like I said, October rolled round and I realised I wanted to be one of those girls forever shaking hair out of my eyes. It has a certain mystery to it, right? There’s something sultry about a fringe, a sort of understated cool in the tousled accessory.
Of course, everyone who has ever had a fringe will appreciate that it has its drawbacks. For one, you’re never quite satisfied with the length. It is perpetually in need of a trim, to the point where, as you’ll see in these photos, it flicks out at the sides like a weird spaniel. But when you finally do get it snipped, it’s too short or too clean-cut, and you find yourself missing that seemingly effortless (but in reality lengthy blow-drying process) messy curtain.
I’m dreading the day when I wake up and realise I don’t want a fringe anymore, because the ensuing growth period will be painful not just for me, but for everyone around me who has to hear about it. Until then I’ll be channelling Alexa Chung with my own Iron Curtain – that is, when it grows out, because I had it cut last week and it is impossibly short.
Outfit: Culottes and blouse, both Zara; heels, Whistles.