THAT I WOULD EVER DO THIS

No, don't worry, I'm not going to tell you that I pulled a white legging out of the closet. Not that it even lies in the closet, although I must say that I'm not that anti-white legging, it's more about the type of person who wraps themselves in it than the garment itself. Picture Kate Moss in a tight white short to mid-calf, a tunic over it and cowboy boots from our dear Isabel and the thumbs go up. But somehow the white legging works on somewhat corpulent women like Jimmy Choos on Carrie Bradshaw. With the undoubtedly unintended Kips liverwurst effect. Anyway.

It was about me. And about my bangs to be precise. For years I was not on team bangs. I even once had a digital battle with Josselin who was the president of the fan club of all bangs and I was the mild critic.
Until... yes, until. Until I saw photos of myself and couldn't scrub that image of that generously sized and quite shiny forehead from my retina. Apparently, Leco had noticed it too, because during our last session he casually asked if I had ever considered bangs.

I parked the issue. Until I went looking for old photos of Brigitte Bardot and I saw it: the perfect bangs. Casual, flowing smoothly, a bit messy but above all... forehead covering.

What’s in my head doesn’t sit in my butt, so I texted Leco. On vacation. No worries. There was Floor Kleijne with whom we shot a series with Anna Drijver (for our new magazine! Coming out next week!) and while Anna was breastfeeding baby Lea, Floor and I dove into the kitchen. With scissors. “You have to tell your hair every now and then that it’s bangs.” The philosophy of a hair stylist. I probably had too little dialogue with my hairstyle, because the bangs quickly disappeared into the whole.

Leco was still in Morocco. I checked his Insta on a daily basis, but there was salvation in the form of Bert Visser, the award-winning hair stylist from the Meraki salon under the Conservatorium Hotel. Bert had time. And a sharp pair of scissors. Brigitte was going to be it.
I still had to get used to those strands in front of my eye, so during my trip to Greece, I massaged the hairs into a lock. Message from Bert: “Are you making a lock of your hair??” Not that he thought it looked bad, but the bangs were just so sexy. So Brigitte, so Caroline de Maigret.
He was right. No guts no glory, that half business is nothing at all. So before I entered the marital abode, I decided to step it up a bit. A little perfume on, brush my teeth, nice shirt on and my hair forward. I would show my beloved what it’s like to have a vraie Parisienne in bed. I walked into the room, he laughed. Kissed me and said: “With your Bon Jovi hair…”