I spoke to my dear mother the other day and mentioned my plan to become a ginger in order to more effectively woo Ryan Gosling when I’m at TIFF next week. 

She poo-poohed the ginger plan (worried about me becoming a soulless devil no doubt) and said instead that I should re-visit my bangs era (I believe it’s called a “fringe”, for those of you over the pond. God, I can be so culturally sensitive sometimes. You’re welcome)

“Go back and look at the pictures,” she said, “You looked adorable.” and yes, admittedly the above picture is pretty delightful. However, this gratuitous self-shot doesn’t show the other 364 days during the ill-fated and short lived bangs-era when my “fringe” was pinned back from my forehead in an unhappy, greasy mess, the days where I would stand before the mirror, round brush and hairdryer in hand just sobbing and curling, sobbing and curling. 

Enjoy this picture guys, because it will NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN.

(p.s. I kind of want bangs now. GODDAMMIT.)

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