I've never been a big fan of wigs. Even when they were ultra-fashionable back in the 70s and my mother seemed to have a wig or hairpiece to match every occasion, it always seemed like a time-consuming process just to look like someone else. My mother always seemed to be transformed from a very humble-looking housewife to someone who was about to take the stage. While I loved the glamour of it all, it also reminded of the Cinderella fairytale and I would often wonder what would happen once the wig came off. Would she be back in the kitchen scrubbing floors ?
This is why my current adventure in search of the perfect afro wig is so unusual to me. I've had natural hair since I was about 23 and I'm now 42. I haven't let a straightening comb, weave, jheri curl or anything else that involves a great deal of time and chemicals near my hair. Wigs to me are what other women wear. Women who perhaps appear on stage or who are so image conscious that it's important for them to look like a diva everyday. Now that my endeavour to find a wig could be seen as a necesssity or at least a boost to my current chemo-steam rollered self-esteem, it somehow makes it all the more important to find the perfect one.
And I think I need to note that I don't want to look like Erykah Badu, or Chaka Khan or Beyonce or any other fantastic looking uber-woman who currently graces our screens. I just want to look like me again. A black girl with a semi-sensible looking 'fro.
Anyway, my friend R has just texted me to let me know that she's bought me a wig for me. I'm going to have a hairstyle makeover by Trevor Sorbie next month and I panicked a bit once I realised how difficult it was getting finding a decent wig. The one she's found only cost £15 and looks more like a jheri curl style than anything else but it's something. She bought it from a hair shop in Finsbury Park. I'll see if I can put a picture up next time....