The Summer I Got the College Bob
Graphics by Julia Yezukevich
The Summer I Turned Pretty has yanked us by the hair- single sixteen-year-old, bored middle-aged, and beloved young adult jerks alike- and turned the season into the summer we loved to hate on Belly Conklin’s fuck-ass bob.
Fresh off the year’s messiest situationship and the wedding no one asked for, our heroine bolts. Now what? The logical answer might be seeking out help, reconnecting with nature, or perhaps diving into a self-help book. In our world? The only thing that makes sense, the only viable option: the college bob.
Because in truth, the bi-curious-bob asks for the attention it deserves. It signals to the world an intrapersonal shift among the Belly Conklins of reality. Challenges posed by pursuing higher education seem to start the moment you step on campus for the first time, up until crossing the stage on your last, and the changes in living accommodations, relationships, majors, or course load can make life feel out of control. As young adults, these may be the hardest choices we have faced. This sense of powerlessness develops a craving for change, the ability to take control.
Enter the haircut as coping mechanism. A phenomenon that has taken over the generation has us convinced that big changes in life should reflect drastic alterations to our appearance, especially our hair. Hair holds memories- of breakups, botched exams, friendships turned sour— and somewhere in that mix, a manic chop or crooked bangs always sneak in. Amid the chaos of our young adulthood, the simplest way to wrestle back control is to cut it off. Grab life by the split ends and do the big chop.
The college bob, ironically, redirects growth inward. Among the bobbies and freshly bobbed, its bluntness pulls back the perfectly blown-out curtain and dares you to face yourself head-on. Angles you never knew you had suddenly announce themselves. There is nowhere to hide. At first, it’s jarring—sometimes emotionally scarring—but the exposure forces a sharper kind of self-love. Over time, the hairline you used to side-eye looks almost noble; that slightly crooked brow starts to feel like it was always meant to frame your face.
Still, as with all big swings, the bob can be bad. It can be truly awful. But you’ll never know until you swing the scissors. Worst case: it grows back, and you’ve earned a cautionary tale. Best case: you discover a new look, a tougher sense of self, and the satisfaction of having done the unthinkable—on purpose.