This isn’t going to start chronologically, but it is logically the start of my hair journey in the sense that it is the start of when I started accepting my hair. Ironically, I was only able to start accepting it after I started to hide it under a wig.
In high school, I had all but given up on trying to comb through the naps. I wore scarves and bandanas until teachers called me out on it violating the dress code. (Side note: bandanas violated the dress code because they could be perceived as having gang affiliation however I still mandate to this day that there is no gang out there willing to rep a hot pink Hello Kitty bandana. But I digress…)
I would sometimes switch it up to hats like slouchy beanies. That didn’t always butt heads against the teachers, but it still did sometimes for the sticklers. The best way I flew under the radar was using a black beanie that blended in with my hair, and occasionally, when I was really feeling myself, I would accent it with a faux set of bangs that were certainly lighter than my hair. No photos exist of that period in my life (for good reason) but here’s an idea of what I was working with:
Image description: A synthetic hair bun accessory
It wasn’t even an actual ponytail - it was basically the type of thing you’d wrap around your ponytail or your bun to accentuate it. It had two bendable arms for you to wrap it around your ponytail, but I just bent them one over the over and tucked it away under my beanie, leaving just a bit exposed to simulate bangs. I really thought I was clever.
However unbelievable it may have looked, that was my first foray into using a stand-in for my hair (Second if you count the one time I wore loosely braided extensions for a pool party that I took out the next day). So when I was heading off to college, I knew I couldn’t pull the old bangs trick forever, but I was willing to go for the whole… shebang.
I don’t remember if I consciously decided that I was going to buy a wig, or if I just locked eyes with it one day at a Spirit Halloween and from then on I just knew, but something felt right about it.
Image description: A classic bathroom selfie of myself, wearing a black and white layered wig and a black slouchy beanie.
The wig I picked was perfect: bold yet sophisticated. I felt like the pretentious art student that I was racking up thousands in student loans to become. And as someone who has always dreamed of being able to dye their hair (not an easy feat with dark curly hair), I felt like I was finally able to express myself.
Now, I have to take a little detour here and talk about my angel of a college roommate/best friend/tolerator of my bullshit. You may recognize her from my article about her dramatic AF youtheral.
We come from very different backgrounds - I being a black liberal Democratic atheist from the colorful hood of Chicago, and her being a white Christian Republican from Small Town, Illinois. We had thoroughly Facebook-stalked each other in preparation of our meeting and latched onto the few known similarities we found between emails (a false love of tea parties and a pretty strong love of Doctor Who). We were already headed for quite a culture shock as college freshman, and this dynamic only piled onto it.
When I first got to college, I wore the wig during freshman move-in. I would quickly learn that wigs are sweaty when you’re doing strenuous work. I’ve since grown accustomed to heavy lifting in a wig, but this was my first go at it.
Mind you, I didn’t have a good solution for dealing with the wig. I always had short hair so I didn’t have a hair tie, and I might have even been wearing a beanie on top of that because I wanted to have the best first day of school outfit right out the gate. So already off to a bad start, moving wise.
So my roommate and I and our collective families were moving our stuff into the dorm, taking trips up and down the stairs/elevator to the car to unload more stuff, quickly working up a sweat. At some point I had had enough of my sweaty wig and, in an effort to avoid heatstroke, nearly gave my new roommate a stroke of her own. Because at one point, I removed the entire wig, cap and all, set it on the desk, and headed back downstairs to grab more of my belongings.
I did not warn anybody that I was essentially scalping myself in the middle of the room before I left. Which left an interesting and horrifying surprise for my new roomie’s family as they had to address the snatched elephant in the room while I was downstairs playing reverse trunk Tetris with a storage hamper.
I’m told that my dearest roommate had strong reservations about continuing her college experience after finding my hair no longer attached to my body, but she stuck around and continues to endure her share of hair nonsense from me. God bless her.
Image description: A photo of Emma wearing one of my wigs - a short bubblegum pink Bob style that she bought me as a present.
Over the years, my wig collection, much like my self, grew and evolved. I started out with funky Halloween clearance wigs, upgraded to anime cosplay wigs, and soon found myself receiving wigs as gifts from friends and family members. It was the ultimate show of support to see them indulging me in my new obsession, but also not questioning my hair journey but accepting it as just another way that I chose to be me.
Me and my wigs were as synonymous as me and Emma, or college students and ramen, or millennials and ramen. One of our classmates came up to me and Emma and said that he had a dream where Emma and I had switched hair, so she was wearing one of my wigs and I had some blonde locks. Funny enough, I had never worn blonde hair before then, but next Halloween, we bought a blonde Thor wig just to freak him out! The wigs had a place in my college experience, and in my college dorm.
May I present to you… the Wall of Wigs.
Image description: Four wigs are hanging off of a folding closet door in our dorm room
The Wall of Wigs was my ingenious method of storing my wigs outside of ziploc bags. Space is finite in a dorm room, so adhering some command hooks to my closet door and hanging my collection of hair on display was brilliant and one hell of a conversation starter.
I think the funny thing is that I never really tried to hide the fact that I wore wigs. I didn’t shout it from the rooftops, but if anyone ever asked or commented on my hair, I’d say “thanks, it’s a wig” the same way that women say ”thanks, it has pockets” whenever you compliment them on a dress or skirt because 90% of the time, we only bought it because it has pockets.
And in my next wig installment, I’m going to tell you just how open I was about my wigs.
Tune in next time!
Image description: A snowman that my friends and I made. Before christening said snowman, or rather snow woman, with the name Big Rhonda, we dressed her in my scarf and wig. I thought to post a side comparison of myself in the wig and do a little “Who wore it best?” Competition but there’s no competing against Big Rhonda.
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