Books with title Bernice Bobs Her Hair and Other Stories

Bernice, a wealthy, young Wisconsinite, travels to her aunt’s house to visit her cousin Marjorie. The pair have trouble connecting, however, and Bernice soon finds out that her cousin thinks she’s putting a damper on her social life. Bernice doesn’t know how to act at parties, so with her cousin’s help, she turns into a true society girl. Soon she is dancing and flirting, often suggesting she has plans to bob her hair—the trademark of the “liberated” woman of the time. However, as Bernice descends deeper into her new lifestyle, the fickle nature of the social scene becomes increasingly evident.

Based on actual letters Fitzgerald sent to his sister to help her on how to be more attractive for men, Bernice Bobs Her Hair is the story of a socially hopeless girl being changed into a socially attractive girl to end up attracting the boy of her helper. The story is a depiction of the changing face of youth during Fitzgerald's time and has been adapted into several movies as it remains a story that impressed all readers over the years.

The story concerns Bernice, a wealthy girl from Eau Claire, Wisconsin, who goes to visit her cousin Marjorie for the month of August. Marjorie feels that Bernice is a drag on her social life, and none of the boys want to dance with Bernice. Bernice overhears a conversation between Marjorie and Marjorie's mother where the younger girl complains that Bernice is socially hopeless. The next morning, Bernice threatens to leave town, but when Marjorie is unfazed, Bernice relents and agrees to let Marjorie turn her into a society girl. Marjorie teaches Bernice how to hold interesting conversations, how to flirt with even unattractive or uninteresting boys to make herself seem more desirable, and how to dance. Bernice's best line is teasing the boys with the idea that she will soon bob her hair and they will get to watch.

After dark on Saturday night one could stand on the first tee of the golf-course and see the country-club windows as a yellow expanse over a very black and wavy ocean. The waves of this ocean, so to speak, were the heads of many curious caddies, a few of the more ingenious chauffeurs, the golf professional's deaf sister—and there were usually several stray, diffident waves who might have rolled inside had they so desired. This was the gallery. The balcony was inside. It consisted of the circle of wicker chairs that lined the wall of the combination clubroom and ballroom. At these Saturday-night dances it was largely feminine; a great babel of middle-aged ladies with sharp eyes and icy hearts behind lorgnettes and large bosoms.

Bernice, a wealthy, young Wisconsinite, travels to her aunt’s house to visit her cousin Marjorie. The pair have trouble connecting, however, and Bernice soon finds out that her cousin thinks she’s putting a damper on her social life. Bernice doesn’t know how to act at parties, so with her cousin’s help, she turns into a true society girl. Soon she is dancing and flirting, often suggesting she has plans to bob her hair—the trademark of the “liberated” woman of the time. However, as Bernice descends deeper into her new lifestyle, the fickle nature of the social scene becomes increasingly evident.

Bernice, a wealthy girl from Eau Claire, Wisconsin, visits her cousin Marjorie for the month of August. One night Bernice overhears Marjorie complain to her mother that Bernice is a drag on her social life. Bernice resigns herself to allow Marjorie to coach her on the fine arts of fashion, flirting, dancing, and conversation. But Bernice becomes more accomplished at these things than her cousin would have liked, attracting the attention of Marjorie's beau. A rivalry develops. There are irreversible consequences. Bernice Bob's Her Hair is a short story based on letters F. Scott Fitzgerald sent to his younger sister, Annabel, advising her on how to be more attractive to young men. It was written in 1920 and first published in the Saturday Evening Post in May of that year.

Bernice Bobs Her Hair After dark on Saturday night one could stand on the first tee of the golf-course and see the country-club windows as a yellow expanse over a very black and wavy ocean. The waves of this ocean, so to speak, were the heads of many curious caddies, a few of the more ingenious chauffeurs, the golf professional's deaf sister--and there were usually several stray, diffident waves who might have rolled inside had they so desired. This was the gallery. The balcony was inside. It consisted of the circle of wicker chairs that lined the wall of the combination clubroom and ballroom. At these Saturday-night dances it was largely feminine; a great babel of middle-aged ladies with sharp eyes and icy hearts behind lorgnettes and large bosoms. The main function of the balcony was critical, it occasionally showed grudging admiration, but never approval, for it is well known among ladies over thirty-five that when the younger set dance in the summer-time it is with the very worst intentions in the world, and if they are not bombarded with stony eyes stray couples will dance weird barbaric interludes in the corners, and the more popular, more dangerous, girls will sometimes be kissed in the parked limousines of unsuspecting dowagers. But, after all, this critical circle is not close enough to the stage to see the actors' faces and catch the subtler byplay. It can only frown and lean, ask questions and make satisfactory deductions from its set of postulates, such as the one which states that every young man with a large income leads the life of a hunted partridge. It never really appreciates the drama of the shifting, semi-cruel world of adolescence. No; boxes, orchestra-circle, principals, and chorus be represented by the medley of faces and voices that sway to