Glam's Worst Hair Moments (From Mall Bangs To Regrettable Dye Jobs)

Try as we might, even beauty editors experience a poor hair moment. It might feel right in the moment only to mire you in regret later, or perhaps a cut or color session goes awry. In either case, the inevitable always finds its way to fruition, and we experience, at least once, the spiritual pain of sporting hair we don't particularly love.

For many of us, this stems from childhood days when we didn't have full creative control over our hair, so we couldn't get picky about the cuts or styles we wanted or the colors we thought would look rather stunning on us (nonetheless the right hairstyles for our face shape). For others, a college experiment might prove less than desirable the next morning. In the end, we all learn what we like and don't like, leading us to brighter hair pastures. As such, Glam editors have come together to share their worst hair moments so that you know you're not alone. Even the worst cut, color, or style can make the best story. 

Once upon a time, I thought I was a hairstylist — not at 24 or 14, but 4. It's the age-old story: Little kid gets ahold of scissors and has a sudden impulse to chop her hair off. (Take one look at those bangs, and you'll know where this story is headed.) Growing up, I loved giving my Barbie dolls makeovers — or makeunders, as they turned out, since my Barbies usually ended up looking like the Angelica doll from "Rugrats." But nevertheless, it was a hobby.

Eventually, I graduated from Barbies and wanted to give the real thing a go. That's where my little sister comes in (yikes). Her makeover didn't go so well, but I guess I figured doing it on myself would be easier (double yikes). Call me the world's youngest trendsetter. That's right, 4-year-old Lindsay brought back the bold micro bangs trend we see today — at least, that's what I tell myself to feel better.

Of course, little me didn't know we were doing family photos that week, but let's be honest, I would have made the chop anyway. I now have this gem of a photo to showcase one of the worst haircuts I've ever had. As for my sister, well ... these days, she sports a gorgeous, thick mane that takes 30 seconds to grow. And me? I'm stuck clipping and taping extensions into my hair to get similar results. Karma doesn't forget. But, hey, I could have ended up like my Barbies, so I'll take it.

With naturally curly hair, getting a haircut can be challenging. There are hairstylists who get it spot-on, while others often miss the mark entirely. In fact, I either love or despise my cut for the first few weeks after getting it trimmed. It's usually a process of waiting for it to grow out a bit before I can wear it proudly.

This cut I had at the Grammy Awards in 2013 was tricky to style, especially if I didn't have my hair tools handy. While rehearsing non-stop and preparing for ET Canada's live Grammys red carpet pre-show as an online producer, I didn't have my trusted hair tools with me or the time to get to a hair salon for a rescue blowout. So, this mash-up of curly, wavy, straight, and choppy layers was the result. I have no regrets about the live pre-show, but I definitely regret this hair appearance on the red carpet.

Mall bangs were all the rage in the late '80s and early '90s: Just think Candace Cameron Bure during her "Full House" days or Tiffani Thiessen during her "Saved By the Bell" years. In 1990, my mom was all about the mall bangs and insisted I get them. I was only 8 years old at the time, but I was way ahead of the times; I hated the style, but I was a kid, so I complied. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who thought the style was stupid — I remember being referred to as "the girl with the big bangs” at school that year.

The main problem was getting the look at home without a professional's help. Every day, my mom would curl my bangs with a curling iron, yet she didn't exactly know what she was doing. To make matters worse, the style made the cowlick in my hair very noticeable, so my bangs would ride up my forehead at some weird angle. After Mom accidentally burnt my forehead with the curling iron one day, we both knew it was time to give it up. Between my general distaste for the look and the maintenance it required (not to mention, the loads of hairspray), I was more than thrilled to put this hairstyle in the past.

What's funny about this picture is that my husband went to the same camp that summer (though we never crossed paths), so, fortunately, he has no memories of me and my mall bangs.

As far as haircuts and styles go, I've always been pretty vanilla. But colors? I've tried everything under the sun, from Ariel red to Nicki Minaj purple. I never considered going strawberry blond until I saw "Bohemian Rhapsody" and decided I wanted to look like Lucy Boynton. My hair was already bleached after going platinum earlier that year, so I figured it couldn't hurt. As we can see in the photo, though, it definitely hurt.

It's not that this is a terrible color, but together with my skin tone, the saturation had a comic-book effect (and not in a cool way). I think I asked my colorist to start work a few inches from the part because it seemed like "less maintenance," but mousy roots with strawberry dye is not the move. Maintenance wasn't an issue in the end because, after 24 hours with this color, I began scrubbing my hair with a clarifying shampoo three times a day until the last traces of orange were gone. The only upside to the experience was briefly twinning with my orange cats, which I consider a win.

It's giving mushroom, and it wasn't intentional. Middle school Preston didn't truly understand hair length, highlights, or how the combination of them on his head simply didn't work. Now, at the time, you couldn't tell me anything; they were solace from bullying and other life pressures. Cut to present day, and I see the errors of my ways, though I'll always love them for the comfort they provided.

Today, I rock a shaved head on the sides and back and have experimented more with hair dyes. I haven't done highlights since my freshman year of high school, now fully bleaching my hair on occasion to live my true Barbie fantasy or dabbling in pinks and purples for extra pizazz. I also don't wear my hair down anymore, instead sporting a soft, slicked-up updo because I've long grown tired of whisking hair from my forehead. 

Ultimately, this cut and color combination is a reminder of the suppressed version of me from before I came out — before I embraced the hairstyles, clothes, and more that I truly felt the most confident in. I respect my mushroom era, but I'm most proud of the journey from that era to now.