I didn’t ask for this life. I didn’t ask to be born with this face. It’s not like I looked God in the eye and said, “Make me look like a Young Liza Minnelli.” I have a great face for wigs and that’s the facts. I just do.
This is my life. These are my wigs. They look particularly good on my head and my head alone.
My symmetrical face compliments every single cut, color and style. My defined jaw line and adorable dimples have the ability to bring drab synthetic strands to life. My almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones, and cute button nose have been described as a “director’s dream”. Over the years it has become evident to me that my face and the shape of my head is a vessel for artists and artists live their truth through my head.
It all started when a boy confused me for his mommy at the grocery store. I had just been gifted my first wig—reminiscent of Liza Minnelli in Cabaret—and I was taking it for a walk. He eagerly tugged on my pant leg and peered up at my confused face. Realizing his mistake, he ran away crying down aisle five. In that moment, I realized how convincing I was to him. In that moment, I realized how adaptable and versatile I was. IN THAT MOMENT, I realized that I am a human chameleon. All thanks to my beautiful-yet-somehow-quirky-enough-for-wigs face.
Having the perfect fake-hair-bearing countenance is both a blessing and a curse. The blessing? I can literally play any Disney princess ever. In Hollywood lingo, that is SOME range! I can convincingly portray the intelligent and curious French girl, Belle. With golden brown hair pulled back to a low ponytail topped with a royal blue bow, you’d think I was actually the wandering beautiful villager seeking adventure. Ariel, you ask? Easy. With waves of fire engine red hair, lightly pinned back with a green starfish, you’d drop your jaw and be bewildered at the sight of the actual little mermaid that longs for a moment with the humans. I could even be a young, sexy Ursula the Sea Witch, if anyone ever wanted to go in that direction.
Being a palette for greatness, however, does come with a curse. I am invisible when I don’t wear a wig. I do not have any distinguishable features. I could easily rob a bank and get away with it because no one would be able to pin point any unusual features. I think I’d even be a great FBI cop, since I could go undercover with the mob and not have to go into witness protection after. I am unidentifiable and that is my strength.
Until that day comes when I decide to fight crime or commit it, I’ll keep doing my usual roster of kids’ birthday parties, community theater, and rocking the shit out of Halloween. Because that’s who I am: a haver of a great face. For wigs.