What kind of woman buys a wig, anyway?

I mean, the whole wig thing IS a little foreign to most of us. If you’re lucky, a wig is just something you wear to that wild party to sass things up a bit. If you’re faced with chemo and radiation and hair loss, well, that is WAY different. A wig becomes your new 24/7 fashion statement that kicks ass and lets you joyride in spite of it all – with the wind in your wig!

For all women: hairy, bald, blonde, brunette, long hair, short hair, healthy, ill, rallying – gutsy dames all – I encourage you to get in touch with your inner wig.

Me? I had never chosen to “wig out”…until today.

Today, I am reborn with a second hairdo in a sassy, spirited “Ginger.” (I always liked her better than Maryann) It’s a slightly shorter, more highlighted, flipped up version of my current au naturel, and so far, I am 5 for 5 on having people NOT know it is a wig. Day-umn!

Lucky for me, it all started innocently enough. I knew I wanted to slightly change my hairstyle. Nothing major, but a little adjustment to spice things up a bit. So I decided to go to my local, neighborhood wig shop, ‘fess up to the clerk that I had ZERO intention of buying a wig, then slip her a big tip to help me try on a few styles. Bless her heart - and you KNOW this woman has a big heart because she helps women all day long who MUST buy wigs – she played along with the fun and didn’t even look sideways at me like I had three heads (ack- too many wigs!).

Ten bucks later I was trying on Coco Chanel, the long bob, Farrah layers and some sorta way-too-matronly look. I tried red like Brenda Starr, blonde like a horrendous mistake, and finally landed on Ginger. It was kind of like going to the car dealership: the minute I took her for a test drive I was sold.

Here’s my thinking (not that thinking had much to do with my purchase):

For those 6 a.m. flights, I no longer have to get up at 3:30 to shower, style, and have a fabulous hair day. I can lazy around until a good 4:15 a.m. and then pop that sucker on and – voila – chic meets airport security!

And what about those nights when, sure, I could fix a little up-do to go out for that spontaneous glass of champagne and dancing, but why not let Ginger take the floor?! Hey, it worked for Fred.

And then there is the occasional morning when I want to squeeze in an extra 30 minutes of cardio, and my wig – bad girl that she is – just eggs me on. Cagey wench. Already angling for a day out of the closet to show off. We just met and she’s workin’ me over, but good.

So what kind of woman buys a wig, anyway? Hey honey, yer lookin’ at her!