Fringes. They're a conundrum that always begin and end with exactly the same uncertainty: the size of my forehead. A broad, high slab of pale skin that has until recently always been swathed with a bluntly cut curtain of hair. However a few months ago, perhaps informed by a gut of editorials with centre partings appealingly taking centre stage, or an increasing number of people thinking that I am of school attendee age, I decided that above all else it was time for a c.h.a.n.g.e.
Like some hide behind their long hair (ah the luxury) I hid behind my fringe, terrified of my own temple, and wary of revealing too much facial flesh. Six months in and its now hit chin length, the mismatched strands giving away my hair cut history without a hint of ever meeting up with the ends. It has taken a strong will, and with ladies like this around the will is most definitely wavering...
JM
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