Yesterday I had my first ever wig fitting session. To be honest, it all felt pretty unreal to me. I am still going through the motions of another person’s life. (A person I don’t even know yet.) The experience was another small but significant and oddly terrifying step into her world. Not only am I going to be taking on her illness, but stealing elements of her appearance too. I understand that the wig part of the process is very, very much for my own good and I am truly grateful for it. But it’s as if I find myself walking faster and faster, further and further, along a new and unfamiliar path: soon there will be little or no chance of turning back, ever.
At first I couldn’t quite bring myself to even utter the word “wig”, and resorted instead to a bit of whispering or miming. A W-I-G seems such an unreasonable item to request from a complete stranger, especially as I still have all my own hair. Anyway, I did find the nerve to ask if there might be something similar to my natural hair - only better? I knew I had to see this in a positive light and as an opportunity for an ‘upgrade’. The kind lady there enthusiastically (yet diplomatically) agreed.
I had been invited to sit in a nice chair in front of a dressing table with a mirror. Behind me, there was a cupboard full of boxes. A selection of these was carefully put on the table. I looked at them. They lay there, like unopened presents: slightly alarming ones. I had very mixed feelings towards them. In total there were four wigs to choose from, in various shades and lengths and degrees of waviness. Each wig came with its own distinct ‘personality’. None was particularly like mine though. Which was actually quite convenient because it’s surely time for a change for me on that front as well. I would like to become a much, much braver person. And I am ready and willing to look for that courage anywhere now, including boxes with wigs in.
I think I must be very shy, at least in situations that involve mirrors. Because during the session, it was kind of intense having to deal with a person just staring at me, then glancing quickly away, over and over again - even if that person was myself. (I kept on thinking of the ‘Cat poses in mirror’ video, on YouTube.) Fortunately, the lady introducing me to the wigs was absolutely wonderful and so professional. She had excellent social skills and managed to put me at ease. She clearly knew how to interact with people, and no doubt with cats as well.
After making my choice, I wondered if I could take the wig home, for a trial run, before making a final decision about keeping it? Sadly, no: this was not an option. Once a wig has been given to you, it is yours forever. You cannot return it. You are responsible for ensuring its survival by taking good care of it, not unlike a baby. Well, that sounded like my sort of challenge then. So far, I have had a great deal more experience in bring babies home from hospital than wigs. I have enjoyed collecting my children one by one and love them all. Maybe one day I will feel the same way about wigs. That is my hope.
