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i’d never dated a girl before, and she was bad news the way boys can never be, because with boys it’s always possible to draw up a list of pros and cons, and see the matter rationally, from either side. but you could make a list of cons on charlotte stretching to azerbaijan, and “her bangs” sitting solitary in the pros column would outweigh all objections. boys are just boys after all, but sometimes girls really seem to be the turn of a pale wrist, or the sudden jut of a hip, or a clutch of very dark hair falling across a freckled forehead. i’m not saying that’s what they really are. i’m just saying sometimes it seems that way, and that those details (a thigh mole, full face flush, a scar the precise shape and size of a cashew nut) are so many hooks waiting to land you. in this case, it was those bangs, plush and dramatic; curtains opening on to a face one would queue up to see. all women have a backstage, of course, of course. labyrinthine, many-roomed, no doubt, no doubt. but you come to see the show, that’s all i’m saying. (from zadie smith’s ‘the girl with bangs’)