Jane Larkworthy

Jane Larkworthy.

“Absolutely not.” That was the hairstylist Serge Normant’s reply when I asked him if he’d give me bangs. “They’re too much work,” he reasoned. “You’ll have to come for a trim every three weeks; you’ll have to grow your hair longer, because that’s how they’ll look best; and I’ll have to chop into your ends to give them that Françoise Hardy look.” I waited a beat, then smiled at him: “So you’ll do it?” After a few more huffs, Normant picked up his shears and gave me a cut that resembles Mademoiselle Hardy if I squint, and Garth from Wayne’s World when I put my black glasses on (tell me I’m wrong). Friends say I look 20 years younger. Going back to Normant every three weeks seems like a small price to pay for that kind of magic.