I had my Jane Birkin inspiration photos pulled, an appointment with my longstanding hairstylist in New York City, and was going through a rough patch in my relationship. In other words, I was in the perfect (and worst) position to get bangs. As the 14-inch snips fell to the floor, I instantly felt a sense of freedom and excitement. I was actually doing this. I looked in the mirror and loved my blunt-cut fringe more than I love Chipotle burritos. That week, all my outfits looked cooler, my hair felt “done” even in a messy ponytail, and the Instagram likes were breaking triple-digits. That was it: I was officially a bangs girl.And then, I started to sweat. No, seriously, I really started to sweat. What started as cute, sexy fringe ended up as sticky, separated hair plastered to my forehead by day’s end. I realized that between my oily hair and my oily forehead, bangs were going to take way more time and maintenance than I had previously considered. And I didn't have the schedule or the patience to tolerate them. About two weeks into daily sink-washings and blowouts (and more than a few cans of dry shampoo), I’d had enough. I was due for a bang trim, and I called and cancelled it. That’s right — my bangs lasted just two weeks. And it was going to take years for them to catch up to my waist-length hair. You already know what I was thinking: What. Have. I. Done.“Oh no, growing out bangs suuuuuckkks,” everyone (and every story I read on the subject) told me. So I invested in multiple packs of bobby pins, hair ties, gel, and hairspray, and hunkered down in my bathroom like a category-five hurricane was approaching. But it never came. Instead, styling my in-between bangs became the best thing that ever happened to my hair. It just required me to stop hating them, and instead embrace them for what they are: incredible volume-givers.