When it comes to looks, my stance has always been, “I gotta work with what God gave me.”  (Unspoken was, “and you should, too,” as I looked somewhat askance at women with fake boobs and bad hair weaves.) But when I hated all my photos from a fancy party I attended recently, I acknowledged that what God had given me had really gotten on my nerves. A seriously bad hair day had me looking like a scarecrow in every picture. I was not happy about that.

A few days later, I agreed to go with a friend-who-won’t-let-me-use-her-name to get her wig. She’s always been very clear that she wanted lots more hair than she could grow and was very comfortable augmenting it with the store-bought variety. I tagged along because I thought it would be fun. We could catch up, and—an added plus—I could save her from going overboard with her new hair. As I watched and waited, I remembered how my own hair had come up short a time or two.

Well, whaddya know. Long story short, I too now have new hair.

Yep, I bought a wig. Not for everyday use, but for those days when my own hair acts like it has a mind of its own.

Here’s what my own hair looks like on a good day. It’s a little unruly, but I like it. It’s natural, not perfectly coiffed. It fits my personality.

But too often, it looks like this. I know I can look better than this… I just don’t always know when.

It’s true that when I don’t know my hair looks bad, I can have a grand time. It’s only when I see the photos later that I get annoyed. But when I’m out and I know my hair doesn’t look good, it can make the event less fun. Not that the event itself is less fun, but I’m self-conscious. And that’s certainly not fun. So I’m taking control.

 

"Satin Edge," one of Hadiiya's award-winning styles.

Hadiiya, the woman who did our wigs, is a “wigstress to the stars,” so to speak—my words, not hers. She does wigs for celebrities and models and video vixens, making them larger than life in both styling and spirit. I got all caught up in the excitement. My new hair wasn’t as dramatic as most of her styles, but it was very dramatic for me.

 

 

 

 

 

When I left her salon with my new hair, I didn’t just leave—I danced away. I felt transformed. It was very exciting.

 

I was almost “ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.” I wore my new hair out to dinner with friends that night, and sashayed into the restaurant. It wasn’t until later, when I glimpsed myself in the mirror, that I thought, “Hmmm.”

Maybe it was a bit too much. I started to think that I looked like I was waiting for someone to hand me a microphone. Like I was about to go onstage. Like I was screaming, “Hey, look at me.” And that’s not me.

Wouldn’t you know it, here I was, self-conscious about my hair again. On the way home, a drag queen in full regalia complimented me on my hair, confirming what I was starting to think: it’s too much.

So I went back, and Hadiiya gave me a bit of a trim. One that’s more to my liking. Feels a lot more like me. And that’s what I want: to look and feel like me…not like me playing dress-up.

So now, when my own hair—the hair that God gave me—doesn’t want to cooperate, I’ve got back-up. Here I come!

 

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