What Happens When You Talk Too Much About Your Wigs
I get that my love of wigs might seem strange to some, but I really did see it as a little quirk, maybe an eccentricity if you will. It may be weird, but it's not intervention- or even therapy-worthy. It's not like I'm Star Jones or Wendy Williams. Apart from certain major holidays or bachelorette parties, you're seeing my real hair.
Then, the other day, shortly after I posted about Halloween, this -- no joke -- arrived in my e-mail inbox:
Hi!
I am the Associate Producer for the new TLC series that is showcasing serious and dedicated collectors and passionate enthusiasts of all kinds. We will follow the individuals on their pursuits for the next great piece, or delve into their world as they teach us what it is that drives their passion.
I came across your article about your wigs, and wanted to discuss the possibility of appearing on our show.
Let me know your thoughts!
Since it was Halloween, I thought it might be a joke. However, I checked out the production company mentioned in the e-mail signature, and it seemed legit. Never one to let even the oddest opportunity pass me by, I wrote back. If curiosity really did kill the cat, I don't know how I made it past pre-school.
Hi Laurel
Here's where I bowed out. My earlier concerns aside, I'm just not the level of collector they need, and I can't lie to anyone affiliated with the network that produces Kate Plus Eight. They'd probably sic some of those Duggar kids on me, and I'd be repenting or procreating far more than I ever planned. That, or again, I'd run the risk of being stuck with hoarders. I wrote back:
The Wig Collection Exposed
When it comes to this blog, I try not to talk about my relationship or work. (Imagine trying to exclude these two things from your life and see what kind of topics you end up with for those of you who’ve noticed that some entries aren’t exactly thrilling.) Sure, I let the SO appear in certain stories, but he’s there more as a character to show a reaction to what’s happening or provide context. I do not want our true personal life on the Internet. Plus, just because he dates a writer, it doesn’t mean he signed up for full disclosure of certain parts of his life on the web.
As for the work thing, I will talk (occasionally ad nauseum) about working from home and my frustrations with writing/life, but you’ll also notice that I never name my clients or what I do for them. That’s because I want to keep my clients, and I want to keep the SO, too.
However, I do feel that this one story warrants the SO playing a slightly larger role than he normally does, so please bear with me and we’ll see how this goes.
The SO and I met at an improv comedy practice. (This probably isn’t all that surprising.) I was there with a friend who’d mentioned that she might want me to collaborate with her on writing some comedy sketches, so I tagged along to see what her group was like. Little did I know, I’d leave with a crush, too.
Dating someone in improv means that I attend a lot of comedy shows. Some shows are in the style of “Who’s Line is it Anyway?” and some are longer form. For the longer form shows, the SO has to develop a character he’ll be throughout the evening. For his last performance, he decided to play Scott Bakula’s brother Trent, whose mild obsession with his brother’s fame meant that he thought he was continually leaping through time and space.
Now, if there’s ever a role I was qualified to help someone prepare for, it’s this one. Does anyone know more about Quantum Leap than me? Doubtful. I own the soundtrack for God’s sake. So, being the girlfriend that I am, I decided to help the SO get ready by watching episodes of the show with him and pointing out some of Dr. Sam Beckett’s most outstanding characteristics.
Choosing which episode to start with was the first obstacle. “Should we just go straight to ‘The Leap Home’ when Scott jumps into his younger self and plays his own father? Is he ready for the Beth episode? Maybe we should start with something more basic. Glitter Rock?”
“Can we please just pick a show? It’s getting late.”
Oh, but how to pick just one.
Since my disk with ‘The Leap Home’ wouldn’t play – something I have yet to deal with because of the emotional trauma – the SO insisted that we just watch whatever was first in line on the next disk.
“Now, every time Sam leaps into a new person, he says ‘Oh, boy,’” I said as I began our tutorial.
“Is he always blue when he leaps?”
“Of course he’s always blue when he leaps? Have you even seen this show before?”
Then, I went on. “Al is the hologram, and he’ll spend most of the episode giving Sam info from Ziggy, a super computer. There’s also Gushy, who has really bad breath, but I’m probably getting ahead of myself.”
“He just said ‘Oh, boy,’ for like the fourth time this episode.”
“Well, that’s not standard,” I said. “Let’s get back to Al. He’s been married five times and is always chasing women …”
Eventually, the SO fell asleep, and strangely enough, he said “he was good” with the one episode, and we didn’t need to complete our study through “Private Dancer,” “What Price Gloria?” or any of the other episodes I suggested.
On the night of his performance, whenever the SO decided it was time for his character to leap, he’d turn around, make a strange sound (once shouting, “It feels like childbirth”) and put on a new wig to be a new character. Then, another performer would bring in a mirror of some sort so that he could figure out who he was. (I was so proud he knew about that already.)
At intermission, the SO’s character was much discussed, and the conversation seemed to revolve around his wigs.
“Where did he get so many wigs?” someone asked.
“He borrowed them from me,” I said.
“He got them from you?” Long pause. “Why do you have so many wigs, Laurel?”
“Well …”
“Laurel’s wigs,” a friend chimed in. “You really don’t know about those? She has tons.”
“Tons? You mean there’s more than what I’ve seen on stage?”
That’s when I decided that I wanted the conversation to be over. Yes, I have a wig collection. Why? Because I think wigs are fun. That’s really all there is to it.
When I went on a bachelorette weekend in Nashville, I knew that I was fading fast on the drive up. I also knew that I was going to have to rally because a big night of bar-hopping lay ahead of me. What to do? I put on a wig and decided to wear it out. Something about it lifted my mood. Plus, I was in a different town and the wig was so ridiculous, it gave me the push I needed to stop yawning and get with the program. (The program being shots and hitting up Coyote Ugly.)
The next day as everyone was getting ready for lunch, one of the girls I didn’t know turned to me and said, “You have such pretty hair. You really don’t need the wig.”
It didn’t occur to me that anyone would think I was wearing the wig for real. It was cheap and magenta. If I were going to go Wendy Williams, I’d put a little more money into it. This Halloween, I did pull a Star Jones and buy a wig to go with my costume an hour before my Halloween party because I realized I wouldn’t have time to do my hair, but that really was a one-time thing. I swear.
In college, on bad or boring nights, I’d pull out some wigs for me and the roommates, and the mood in the apartment was instantly lifted. I repeat, wigs are just fun.
I started buying wigs to go with my Halloween costumes years ago. (One of which was a washed-up country singer who had one hit with “Why did you have to ruin my credit score while you ruined my virtue?” That wig is not attractive – imagine Reba McEntire with alopecia.) And like anything you have more than one of, people assume you’re collecting whether you are or aren’t. A friend leaving a job gave me all of the wigs that had gone with her promotional activities, and before you know it, I was in the 20+ range.
So, yes, it’s weird. But I also challenge you to give it a shot. Bad day at the office? Stuck in traffic for too long? Too many bills? Grab a wig and pour yourself a glass of wine. The secret is that it’s nearly impossible to take yourself too seriously in a cheap wig, and that’s exactly the point. The shear ridiculousness of it all should have you in a better mood before long. After all, as someone much smarter than me once said, life really is too short to be taken so seriously.