Let's break it down...
Today's topic: Wigging Out
Okay, I'll just say it. I have a wig. There. Done. (Whew.) And not only do I have a wig, but she has a name--Suzy. Why the name, you say? I dunno. Maybe because I feel a little like a different person when I'm wearing Suzy--a little like I'm part of the witness protection program. Not even my friends recognize me in Suzy, and to be honest, I don't really wear her all that often. But before you start thinking that my life is mysterious and exciting or something, I need to explain one more thing...
I have a condition, and for simplicity's sake, I'll just refer to it as female pattern baldness. I started noticing that my hair was thinning in my late twenties. Up until then I had really great hair. Like Goldylocks and Rapunzel great. But as many things in this life, the Good Lord giveth, and He taketh away. My "great" hair started to leave me, and what I was left with was very thin.
Now I can think of quite possibly a hundred-and-one other body parts that I'd like to be thin--my thighs, for example. Or my stomach. How about my upper arms! (Why, oh why not my upper arms?!) But my hair? No woman wants thin hair. Ever.
It got so bad and I was so distraught about my thinning hair, that about five years ago I went to a hair-transplant place I saw advertised on TV and told the doctor that I wanted the surgery. Go ahead--sew hair into my scalp. I've been through natural childbirth more than a half-dozen times. I've had a gallstone the size of your average kiwi removed from my body. I know pain! As a matter of fact, I'd endure just about any dose of discomfort (notice I say discomfort rather than pain because I certainly have no adverse convictions against great pain medication at this stage in my life) to have a full head of hair again.
Well, the kind doctor informed me that due to the extent of my hair loss, I simply wasn't a good candidate for hair transplant. Chances were that if they took hair from the back of my scalp and transplanted it on top, it'd just fall out again. BUT (they said, with a great sense of hope in their eyes), the minute hair cloning is approved and passed by the FDA (or some such regulatory committee--all whom I'm sure have full heads of hair), I can come on in and have the best strand of my hair cloned, and they will sew those puppies right into my head and I'll have a full head of hair again.
"Will you call me?" I asked.
They laughed. "Oh goodness. We can't call everyone when this happens." (Apparently I'm not the only one with sucky non-transplant-worthy hair.) "But when it does, it'll be all over the news. Trust us--you'll know!"
I cried the entire way home (and for the record have yet to see a news report on hair cloning. C'mon scientists, government regulators, and media, in general! For the love of all-things-thin, will someone puh-leeze make this happen and then inform me when/if they hear about it. There's at least one middle-aged woman in Texas who needs this procedure. But in the meantime...
...I had to come up with an alternative to Suzy. She's great for church, I suppose, or some fancy-schmancy occasion (not that I have many of those). But the fact of the matter is that I get migraine headaches all-too easily, and Suzy is a migraine magnet. Can you say vice-grip-secured-with-metal-objects to my precious remaining hair follicles). Yup--ouch. Mostly, the wig just isn't worth the possible headache it will give me. Oh, and did I mention that I live in Texas (Houston, to be exact). Now, it's true that there are plenty'a Texan folk who like their big hair. But me--I'd rather not wear a "fur cap" in Houston's hellicious summer heat that happens to last 9 months of the year.
So what's a thin-haired girl to do?
I've found that if I color my hair very blond, it has a camouflage effect, and the scalp isn't as noticeable through my color-treated hair. Also, because the real problem area is the top of my head, I pull the back locks into an up-do with a clip. I suppose it's the female version of the comb-over. It's the best I can do with what the Good Lord has left me with.
If I want to connect with my inner Farrah, I have Suzy (and a dose of Excedrine Migraine) to help me out. And, truth be told, it can be a lot of fun (check out my red-dress pic). But I, as a person--a woman--am not defined by my hair, or locks or coiffure or mane or tresses or lack there-of. Sure, I've had my weak and insecure moments, but what purpose does that serve other than to send me into a chocolate-induced coma. No thank you. My "thin" happens to be my hair, which at the moment happens to be in a bleach-blond up-do. And for the most part, it beats wigging out!
