Women love wigs. Bring a wig, any wig, into a room of
50 women of any age, race or brand loyalty, and you can
bet that every one of them will scramble to try the thing
on. And why not? Even preppies secretly want to be somebody
else from time to time, and nothing transforms someone's
identity better, quicker and cheaper than a wig.
You could be Marilyn Monroe in a wig, you could rob a
bank in a wig, you could even successfully smuggle drugs
across the border in a wig--that is, if you fashion yourself
properly. Poor Peggie Ann McEachern and Angela Cole did
it all wrong. The two, who were recently caught attempting
to smuggle coke under their wigs through Mexico, had the
right idea but the wrong stylist. As reported by inspectors:
"It was the hair. Something about it didn't look right...the
height of the wigs seemed a little strange."
Yes, out in the real world (not Hollywood--makeovers
are something they have down pat), a good wig is hard
to find. Sure, we see girls running around in those banged,
bobbed China doll wigs colored glaring red, blue, purple
or gold purchased from retro boutiques. And you have your
little old-lady customers turned out in curly whites and
discreet wavy grays, but where do you see the forgotten
fall, the wiglet, the full-on huge, honkin' hairpiece?
In other words, in this era of anything goes, why have
we dismissed clever wigs that don't scream little girl
playing dress-up?
I advocate a return to the serious "whoa-whoa-whoa, she's
a lady" wig. The type that comes in colors actually
found in nature, the kind that fools the eye.
They're around. Some women wear them so well, we can't
tell the hair is faux. According to Rhonda Cabine-Purifoy,
co-owner of the 26-year-solid Mrs. C's Wigs, "they have
become a lot more realistic" and, within the last five
years, more popular. Especially with younger women.
Shirley Wells, the funny, razor-sharp owner of Wells
Hairgoods and Accessories, attributes the upswing to Raquel
Welch. "People who were wearing wigs in the '70s are coming
back because of the Welch line," she says.
Wells, who has been running the business for 30 years,
has seen it all, wig-wise. She reports that not many younger
women shop at her store--except for the China-doll wigs
I mentioned earlier. Wells explains that these customers
want people to know they are wearing wigs and have
"incognito parties" to show them off. How cute.
Wells remembers when chicks were proud to wear wigs.
"In the '60s and '70s it was OK to wear a wig. The first
time I wore a wig...it was like a status symbol!"
If only it were now. Women who are gutless about wearing
wigs are the same people who deny coloring their hair.
Oh! The horror of being revealed as unauthentic, as unfashionably
unnatural. We recall Patty Duke (who wore some nice falls
herself) pulling off Susan Hayward's red wig in Valley
of the Dolls and yelling, "Oh my God, it's a wig!
Her hair is as phony as she is!" and then flushing it
down the toilet. We fear that some similar scenario could
happen to us.
Relax. No one really cared in the '60s, and no one should
worry now. Decades ago, secretaries proudly changed-up
their hair with all sorts of fake accouterments, correctly
treating hair pieces as accessories. Now, young women
strive to appear au naturel, but who do we really
think we're kidding? There's nothing pure about bleach,
dye and hair spray. There's nothing wrong with augmenting
what you were born with, but why not give your tresses
a break from all that product?
Become a student of the great Dolly Parton, who has her
own line of wigs and understands the meaning of glamour
and fun, and wear a wig to work. Think of the ease: no
shampoo, no blow dryer, no styling. The result? A damn
good hair day.
If Dolly doesn't do it for you, regard Ashley Judd in
her latest movie, Eye of the Beholder. Judd plays
a serial killer (I'm not suggesting you take that
up) and hides her identity by donning different period
costumes. She sports the most spectacular wigs, from a
noirish blonde to a black Louise Brooks bob. Judd looks
so classy and beautiful that any thought of a telltale
senior-citizen wig or a typical fetish-night 'do will
be erased. Simply put, wigs look cool.
So get over the fear. I know I must.
I'm starting to feel guilty and wimpy about all the wigs
I own (I'm wearing one as I write this) but only wear
out at night. Is it right that the Joey Ramone number--made
of real hair, no less--lies about neglected? Can
I really justify saving the pixie golden blonde, the china-doll
platinum and the Julie Christie ash-blond number (from
Shampoo, not Doctor Zhivago) for special
occasions? I've also got a weird, grayish Carol Channing
thing (never worn it), a blond-and-black genie tail extension,
a long, sandy-blond Tovar brand tress, a platinum-banged
Brigitte Bardot, a beautiful, wavy red '50s Technicolor,
a gorgeous blue china doll and an extra-long bangless
platinum sitting around. Not to mention the black Reese
Witherspoon and chunky blond Britney Spears wigs that
I'm waiting to receive in the mail.
I'm either gonna open a wig shop of my own or hold my
head high and heed the advice of James Brown: "Sometimes
you like to let the hair do the talking."
