For most of my life, my hair was a key part of my identity. Typically, it is long, golden, and wavy, but last summer, I had the sudden urge to chop it all off. The “French girl” bob had taken the beauty world by storm, with celebrities like Gigi Hadid and Hailey Bieber trying the trend. They made it look amazing.
Soon, I felt those blunt lines and tousled elegance calling out to me. The question of “to bob, or not to bob?” floated through my mind like the cigarette smoke billowing outside of a Paris cafe. But could I take on a hairstyle that comes with its own undeniable vibe? Could I pull off the nonchalant, très chic Persian cool-girl aesthetic?
I chose to ease into the short hair club by initially as my hairstylist—who happens to be my mom—to cut my hair into a long bob, also known as a lob, which sat above my shoulders. I loved the length, which could easily be pulled into my signature slick-back ponytail, but the change didn’t feel drastic enough. I wanted something that presented as mature, yet effortless.
I sat with the lob for a month. Then, on a Saturday afternoon at the end of September, during another visit with my mom, I took the plunge. Sitting on the small balcony of my apartment, I watched as hair fell to the ground as a peanut gallery of my roommates and boyfriend watched in shock. When she was done, I ran to my bedroom mirror to get a look for myself. It was perfect—I was in love.
My mother says she drew inspiration for the cut from one of Vidal Sassoon’s early claims to fame, the “Kwan Cut,” combining it with a blunt French bob, cutting it shorter in the back and a bit longer toward the front. It was exactly what I had hoped for, and my haircut was met with praise.
For the first month and a half, I was having a blast with my bob. The compliments poured in, and I loved how it looked and felt. Then, it started to grow.
As my cute cut started to lose its structure, I began to feel more like a “can I speak to your manager?” stereotype than a chic French girl. I mourned my long hair. I hated that I couldn’t change the feel of an outfit with a bombshell blowout or a slicked-back pony.
The upkeep, too, was an issue: I went from barely having to style my hair to using my thermal round brush every day so that my coarse, thick waves wouldn’t cause the cut to sit further above my chin. The bob was still pretty and well-executed, but it didn’t suit me, and I found the boost of confidence it initially gave me faltering.
Rather than getting another cut to avoid the awkward in-between phase, I made the executive decision to let it keep growing. My time with the bob was swift, but powerful, and taught me to approach hair transformations with a bit more caution. It was fun to try out a cool-girl trend I’d seen literally everywhere, but I’m now more cognizant of what my hair will look like a few weeks after a dramatic chop. A low-maintenance cut is what I really need. If asked, “To bob, or not to bob?” now, I would reply with jamais de la vie—not in a million years.
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