Cat Garcia
Sarah Jossel
Fringes are my biggest beauty fear – but this clever clip-on
version means I can try one without the chop
“Is that a hamster?!”
“I think so. Why would Sarah bring a hamster to work?”
“Maybe it’s a gerbil!”
I quickly realise that the Style team are standing behind me trying to
work out what I’m stroking on my desk.
“Oh, it’s my new fringe. Well, my clip-in fringe,” I say, lifting up what
resembles a toupee for the office to see.
I should say now that a fringe is my BBF (biggest beauty fear). Some
panic at the thought of red lipstick, others dread everything about fake
tan. For me, it’s the fringe. In my 35 years I’ve never had anything that even closely resembles a high-
maintenance fringe: baby bangs? Blunt bangs? Wispy fringe? Curtain fringe? No thank you times infinity.
My sister was once persuaded by her hairdresser and she came home looking like Lady Gaga in the Poker
Face music video. (Feel free to google now.) She swiftly became Lady Haha in the Jossel household.
When I saw the Larry King £250 clip-in fringe (professional name the Whisk, because the idea is that
you can whisk the fringe in and out) on social media, I began to wonder if I should give the
commitment- free version a go. After all, as a beauty journalist it’s important to try new things — and
good to face fears, right? I began to do some picture research and worked out that I have a similar(ish)
oval face shape to Anne Hathaway, who looks great with blunt bangs in The Devil Wears Prada. Before
long I realise that every celebrity imaginable seems to have braved a fringe at some point: Keira
Knightley, Alexa Chung, Naomi Campbell, Florence Welch and Rihanna to name a few. I decided it was
only right that I give it a go.
I went in on a Thursday morning and Vicki Demetriou, the mastermind of the Whisk, matched my hair
colour — at this stage she likes to have a few hours to dye it so that it blends into your hair perfectly, but it
was almost spot-on so we proceeded. I took my laptop out as I was sure the next step would take ages.
“Line up the two claw clips on your forehead,” she says. “Now slide the fringe back into your hairline,
pull the third claw clip back as far as possible towards the crown of the head — and clip it down!”
No, really, that’s it. Fake fringe in and it looks ... so real! We spent the next hour trialling every style
under the sun. Top knots! Slick ponytails! Messy ponytails! She even whipped up an Alice band braid!
(What a shame I don’t have photographic evidence of that one.) I was excited to get into the real world
and see the reactions. What will my mum think? Will my husband be a fan? Will my
colleagues say I look like Jane Birkin? Maybe Pattie Boyd?
Oh ... well, no one said Jane Birkin or Pattie Boyd or Anne Hathaway. My sister
responded with: “A fringe makes you look like a Mildred who studies theology at
Warwick University.” A friend said I’d suddenly turned very “mousey librarian who
would take pleasure in telling people to ‘shhh!’ for her day job”. Colleague one
couldn’t believe how much the strands across my forehead completely transformed
my face. Colleague two was keen and inquired immediately about getting her own set
of blunt bangs. She loved the idea that she could rock up to work with a different look
as and when she wanted.
My husband? He took one long look and gasped: “This is not what I committed to!
I said in sickness and in health — but I did not say with a fringe!” What is it with fringes
that men cannot stand? While so many women say “hot”, I find most men say “not”.
Husband aside there were some huge perks. First, it covered the spot above my right
eyebrow so no need to faff with make-up. Second, a real fringe is famously so much
effort. You have to blow-dry it routinely and constantly cut it so that it doesn’t poke into
your eyes. This one never misbehaves. It’s real hair that doesn’t get greasy or grow or
change in texture. And finally, no more Botox! Because there’s no more forehead.
So, will I be making the cut? It’s a no from me, but I suppose I don’t need to now
that I have my Whisk tucked away in my top drawer. (My poor cleaner’s face when I
left it on the kitchen table by mistake.) Indeed, I will continue to wonder how Claudia
Winkleman got it so right and I got it so wrong. ■ @sarahjosselTHE HAIR
SPECIAL
The Sunday Times Style • 39