From Carrie Bradshaw to Belly Conklin: Musings on the Implications of the Bob

Words: Saniya Jaffer

On the last Wednesday of summer, social media algorithms far and wide abandoned their credo of an individualised curation to put one thing front and centre—the finale of The Summer I Turned Pretty, and the haircut Belly would be sporting. 

Belly spends the penultimate episode walking the line between embracing her life in Paris and avoiding the one she left behind, nearly a year ago, finally ending on a decisive tone: signing a lease in Paris, and in her most fluent French yet, making a trip to the hairdresser. 

Reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday—running from her own life—Belly was set for a chop in Paris (after all, Emily was already in Rome). 

The week that followed was filled with more online speculation about the chop than the story’s ending—little did we know that the story wouldn’t be ending at all. The hope was that she would be shedding her proclivity for a crisis and, maybe, be moving on. Minutes into the finale, we see Belly who, despite turning pretty all those years ago, has rarely suffered any more variation to her hair than perhaps some layers—bobbed out. She greets Conrad, who pays her an impulsive birthday visit in Paris and whose grasp on her is the show’s throughline, with what she and her Parisian friends might call nonchalance.
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Although the passage of time in the previous episode blurs this, it is noteworthy that Belly received this haircut within the last 24 hours. Yet, something about the cut renders her transformed entirely. No longer susceptible to the charms that previously governed her. It made me wonder, if bangs indicate a cry for help, what are the implications of a bob?

Sported by Leslie Bibb, Anna Wintour, Gracie Abrams, and Edna Mode alike—the bob is a cut with an archive as rich as it is iconic. Historically, they’re best associated in Western society with the flapper girls of the 1920s, though what was even more in style was discouraging the cut. There’s a gender anxiety that the bob often induces in its beholder. 

It took the form of bans for school girls, hospital nurses, pamphlets proclaiming it causes illness, among much other nonsense, which was met with creative solutions from aspiring bob bearers—including arrangements with family doctors to prescribe the cut, to girls claiming they were robbed of the length in the streets, only for them to be discovered as the culprits. 

“Sported by Leslie Bibb, Anna Wintour, Gracie Abrams, and Edna Mode alike — the bob is a cut with an archive as rich as it is iconic.”

Even now, somewhat further removed from those rigidities of gender presentation, there is a rebellious quality that remains in its DNA, that its length, or lack thereof, bestows upon its bearer. This is perhaps one of the bob’s greatest powers. 

It has a spontaneous quality, which it shares with bangs, but a blunt je ne sais quoi that it retains exclusively. I, personally, have always hesitated to go short. Part of it might be the schoolyard association I forget where I took short hair to mean lice-ridden, but as I’ve grown older, any apprehension has been most characterised by the exposing, unforgiving nature of a bob. It leaves nowhere to hide, mandating a confident transparency when it comes to facial structure. But even through this exposure, those who wear it, tend to wear with it a quality of being unknowable that makes you that much more alluring. Bangs come with oversharing, bobs come with a quiet pursing of the lips and maybe a hidden agenda.  Where the growing out of bangs is an endless process punctuated declarations that they’re being grown out, impatient trims and reacquainting oneself with their forehead, the growing out of a bob is definitionally moving in silence. 

The bob also has a long-standing association with the girlboss archetype. She doesn’t need to ask for a hair-tie, nor is she carrying one you can borrow. She’s too busy for the vanity or the upkeep—a well-maintained ruse; keeping the length requires regular trims and deft styling. It’s the haircut equivalent of every dad’s favourite detail about Steve Jobs—that he wore the same outfit daily. A testament to his work ethic.

The term girlboss, of course, hasn’t been the same since its rechristening in Shiva Baby (2020). It ushered us into a post-girlboss society, all while inducting the improviser behind that line, Rachel Sennott, into her rightful place in the girlboss lineage. About to debut her own HBO show “I <3 LA” this November, alongside the bob she’s been sporting through this process. Her contemporary and collaborator Ayo Edebiri, debuted a bob at the Golden Globes in 2024 just in time for her awards sweep. They both knew they had arrived, and they had to make sure they looked the part.  

“The bob also has a long-standing association with the girlboss archetype. She doesn’t need to ask for a hair-tie, nor is she carrying one you can borrow.”

Another sparkling example of the impact of a blunt cut like this is canonised in the second season of Fleabag, when Claire gets a cut too short to bear. Fleabag has to reassure her sister, “Claire, it’s French.” in this scene inspired by Waller Bridge’s own dramatic haircut before filming season one. She perfectly captures the grieving period that often follows a major trim, “Hair is everything, Anthony.” Then again, it could be argued that fuck-ass or just plain fab, the bob is just the fuel Claire needs to pursue the life she truly wants as the second series comes to a close. All those Emmys later, it’s Waller Bridge’s signature hairstyle. 

I suspect this is a wisdom Greta Gerwig carries too. She made her directorial debut with shoulders unburdened by hair. Her first screenplay, written in collaboration with her partner Noah Baumbach, Mistress America, embodies this impulse, not yet acted upon, in a scene where Tracy confesses to Tony, “Sometimes I really think I’m just smarter and better than everyone else.” she continues, “And if I could just figure out my look I’d be the most beautiful woman in the world too.” This dialogue carries the feeling of knowing one’s true potential and acting on it. 

A crucial step in the journey of a bob is the fantasizing that comes before. Putting on a sweater and, for the short while before you pull your hair out, trying on the person you’d be without the weight of hair past your shoulders. It is this fantasy that has to be obsessed over, not too long. This escapist thrill that is decisively acted upon. 

There are, of course, exceptions to the rule. See: season 4 finale Carrie. Although unanimously deemed not Carrie’s look, the bob felt like her attempt at shedding delusions and changing her ways. The bob has a reputation for being unsentimental. In the season 4 finale of Hacks, Ava Daniels’ styling mandated a trim to sharpen the bluntness, preparing her for the ruthless tactics required to become head writer. 

Thus, in a world “hair is everything, Anthony.” coexists with “It’s just hair, it’ll grow,” it seems to me that if bangs are a cry for help, a bob means business. Let’s see what story Belly’s hair will tell come time for the movie.