“Wiggin Out,” as defined by the Urban Dictionary, means a few different things:
- Trippin, paranoid
- Acting cooler than you really are
- Smoking marijuana and freakin out
So when I say I’m “wiggin out”, what do I mean?
Well, definition #2 isn’t right. I AM cool, in my own kooky way, and proud of it!
Definition #3 is most definitely out! I don't do (illegal) drugs!
So that leaves definition #1. Trippin. Paranoid.
But what do I have to be paranoid about?
Well, definition #2 isn’t right. I AM cool, in my own kooky way, and proud of it!
Definition #3 is most definitely out! I don't do (illegal) drugs!
So that leaves definition #1. Trippin. Paranoid.
But what do I have to be paranoid about?
I have been taking a chemotherapy drug called Methotrexate, which I often shorten to Meth but is also known as MTX, since July of 2007. The Meth reduces inflammation and squelches my immune system from being so over-active and attacking my own bodies’ tissues and joints. I take it as an injection administered by my mother, or whomever happens to be close by, once a week. I don't suffer any of the common ill effects of Meth except that it causes my hair to thin and fall out. I naturally have thin hair, but the amount of scalp that has become visible, with one flick of a comb, is just ridiculous! As a result of the medicine, my hair sheds and sheds whenever I simply run my fingers through my hair!
I’ve tried styling it to create body by teasing it to create some height along my hairline to hide the thinning. After seeing my blaring scalp in pictures taken of the top of my head, I realized that my endeavors weren’t working as well as I thought they were. I turned to wearing my hair naturally in a curly fro. However, the look I admire in others wasn’t, in my opinion, working for me and it was taking too long to style my “fro” in a way that I felt fit my face. It was at this time, that I gave some thought to wearing a wig. It just seemed physically easier.
Wearing artificial hair was not something that was commonplace growing up in our household. I admired the weaves and hair braiding that I saw on the young women around me at school, and on the street, but I always found wigs to be laughable. Wigs were for costumes and Cancer patients, in my inexperienced opinion. I always prided myself on being able to pick out when someone was wearing hair that had not grown out of their scalp, and wigs were the easiest to spot. I saw the matted rugs, passing as wigs that some women would wear and I’d ask myself, “Why would anyone wear something like that?” How little I knew about the world of wigs and how prejudiced I had become.
My sister-in-law, Shavonne, was visiting from Philadelphia a few years ago and I voiced my thinning hair concerns to her and she gave me the courage to go to the local black hair care product store to look through their wall of wigs.
In Anchorage, there are two Asian run stores like the ones I was used to frequenting when I lived in Philadelphia. Shavonne and I went to the one located at Debarr and Boniface and I endured the embarrassment of slicking my hair back, donning the tiny stocking cap and then trying on wigs in front of everyone in the store. The owners were very helpful and despite my embarrassment, I kept looking. I’m not sure if I bought a wig that day but I remember my first wig:
In Anchorage, there are two Asian run stores like the ones I was used to frequenting when I lived in Philadelphia. Shavonne and I went to the one located at Debarr and Boniface and I endured the embarrassment of slicking my hair back, donning the tiny stocking cap and then trying on wigs in front of everyone in the store. The owners were very helpful and despite my embarrassment, I kept looking. I’m not sure if I bought a wig that day but I remember my first wig:
It was styled in a way that I imagined that I styled my own hair. It was an artificial, short bob with a bang. (Weird sentence, huh?) My family thought it looked good and after everyone (including the guys) tried it on, it was accepted into the family.
I wore it to work to test it out on non-family members and I got what I perceived to be looks of surprise from the women and brief glances and compliments from the men. “Nice hair cut, Falanya.” or, “New hairdo?” were among the responses I got. My boss, who is African American, complimented me on the new “do” but with a puzzled expression on her face. I explained to her that it was a wig and she nodded her head understandingly and we went about the days business with no further questions. After that first day, not much was said or mentioned about my new hairdo, but I still couldn't help feeling self-conscious when I wore the wig in public.
I wore it to work to test it out on non-family members and I got what I perceived to be looks of surprise from the women and brief glances and compliments from the men. “Nice hair cut, Falanya.” or, “New hairdo?” were among the responses I got. My boss, who is African American, complimented me on the new “do” but with a puzzled expression on her face. I explained to her that it was a wig and she nodded her head understandingly and we went about the days business with no further questions. After that first day, not much was said or mentioned about my new hairdo, but I still couldn't help feeling self-conscious when I wore the wig in public.
One day, I was on an errand for work and I was sent to get a signature from a gentleman at his home. The first time we met, he didn’t say much of anything to me. He signed the document that I put in front of him and I was on my way. The second time I encountered him, in the exact same place and for the exact same reason, I was wearing the wig. This time, he not only looked at me but chatted nicely with me.
"Why the difference?" I asked myself. Could it have been the wig? With straight, well-coifed hair, he noticed me? Did he know I was wearing a wig? Did he think I had cancer and pitied me?
In my mind, I seemed to be getting more nods and smiles from men than I remembered getting before the wig. Were they compliments? Could everyone tell I was wearing a wig? Was this all in my mind? I didn’t know what to make of it, so I bought a different wig hoping that it would look more and more like my own hair and hopefully decrease the amount of attention I perceived I was getting. Then I bought another and another and another. Was I trippin’? Paranoid?
I was wiggin’ out!
"Why the difference?" I asked myself. Could it have been the wig? With straight, well-coifed hair, he noticed me? Did he know I was wearing a wig? Did he think I had cancer and pitied me?
In my mind, I seemed to be getting more nods and smiles from men than I remembered getting before the wig. Were they compliments? Could everyone tell I was wearing a wig? Was this all in my mind? I didn’t know what to make of it, so I bought a different wig hoping that it would look more and more like my own hair and hopefully decrease the amount of attention I perceived I was getting. Then I bought another and another and another. Was I trippin’? Paranoid?
I was wiggin’ out!
I don’t know what happened to help me calm down about my new wig wearing situation. It could have been a reduction in the amount of Prednisone I was taking (which will be a new blog post called “Blame It On the Pr-eh-eh-eh-eh-ednisone”), or that common sense returned, but I calmed down and relegated my growing wig collection to a dresser drawer.
I now have two wigs that I enjoy wearing interchangeably depending on the outfit I’m wearing. And they couldn’t be more different from each other. One is artificial, short, black, thin and shiny. And the other one, my sister Jemilah lovingly bought and surprised me with, is human hair, brown with highlights, curly, and medium length. I have my issues with the both of them but that’s just my weird perfectionist personality.
I now realize that I will never be completely satisfied with the hair on my head, but then again, there are thousands (maybe millions) of women who aren’t satisfied with the hair that comes out of their heads.
Being chronically ill, sometimes it takes a lot out of me to keep my arms raised above my head, or even at head level, to fuss with my hair. So I've come to rely on my wigs and to be thankful for them because they provide me the opportunity, and the energy, to look on the outside the exact opposite of how I feel at times on the inside. At times, I still wig out but those moments are far and in between. Instead of worrying about if people can tell I'm wearing a wig, or worrying what they might think about me, I'm just glad to be seen at all!
I now have two wigs that I enjoy wearing interchangeably depending on the outfit I’m wearing. And they couldn’t be more different from each other. One is artificial, short, black, thin and shiny. And the other one, my sister Jemilah lovingly bought and surprised me with, is human hair, brown with highlights, curly, and medium length. I have my issues with the both of them but that’s just my weird perfectionist personality.
I now realize that I will never be completely satisfied with the hair on my head, but then again, there are thousands (maybe millions) of women who aren’t satisfied with the hair that comes out of their heads.
Being chronically ill, sometimes it takes a lot out of me to keep my arms raised above my head, or even at head level, to fuss with my hair. So I've come to rely on my wigs and to be thankful for them because they provide me the opportunity, and the energy, to look on the outside the exact opposite of how I feel at times on the inside. At times, I still wig out but those moments are far and in between. Instead of worrying about if people can tell I'm wearing a wig, or worrying what they might think about me, I'm just glad to be seen at all!
I would just like to take this time to share with you the things I have learned, through trial and error, as a result of becoming a part of the wig-wearing community:
Rule #1: Do not publically adjust your wig, no matter how uncomfortable it may become. Seek a restroom and a mirror. Quickly!
Rule #2: Do not lean too far backwards to reach something in the rear seat of your car when your niece and nephew are sitting back there, as your wig will fall off and cause great surprise and much laughter.
Rule #3: When people compliment you on your hair, do not proceed to tell them that it’s a wig, where you purchased it, and how much it cost you. In all likelihood, they didn’t realize it was a wig in the first place.
Rule #4: If your wig is adjusted too tightly or even too loosely, chewing and smiling can cause some serious wig slippage. Which is NOT cute. Believe me!
Rule #5: Resist the urge to frequently touch it. You may simply wish to keep the hairs in place but the more you touch it, the more attention you draw towards it. If you don’t draw attention to it, then its very likely that no one else will even notice it.
Rule #6: Find one that fits your face (Be honest! If you have a really short neck and a really round face, really long wigs may not be the wisest choice for you) and stick with it. If you change them out too drastically, it’s bound to attract unwanted attention.
Rule #7: (Cancels out Rule #6) Switch them up depending on your mood or outfit. Have fun with them. If the change elicits a response from someone, say “Thank You” in the sweetest Southern drawl you can muster and keep walking.
Rule #8: Just because the wig wears like a hat, doesn’t mean that you can’t wear hats with it. You’d be amazed how many hats when worn over a wig look AWESOME! Not to mention its added warmth in the winter months!
Rule #9: Be yourself and have fun with it. If a wig has become a necessary part of your life, have as much fun as you can with it. I mean, why not? If you can’t make yourself happy, no one will be able to do it for you (nor should they be assigned that task).
Rule #10: WIG OUT! (But in a positive, non-trippin’, non-paranoid sort of way)
~Today is a Gift - Live Thankfully~
~Today is a Gift - Live Thankfully~
