Bob

Twenty minutes later the barber swung her round to face the mirror, and she flinched at the full extent of the damage that had been wrought. Her hair was not curly, and now it lay in lank lifeless blocks on both sides of her suddenly pale face. It was ugly as sin--she had known it would be ugly as sin. Her face's chief charm had been a Madonna-like simplicity. Now that was gone and she was--well, frightfully mediocre--not stagy; only ridiculous, like a Greenwich Villager who had left her spectacles at home.
-from "Bernice Bobs Her Hair" by F.S. Fitzgerald

Well, I've just done the same thing as Bernice . . . but fortunately, I don't regret it a bit. (Bernice's reason for doing it was to impress her trendy friends. My reasons? Less to fuss with, and a layered bob fits my round German head.)