Marla GG
07-15-2005, 08:57 PM
Well, last week was a disappointing one for us as far as wigs were concerned. We are trying to replace Angel’s current wig, which is looking a little old and tired, and we decided to take a chance on ordering a closeout from BeautyTrends that looked like a similar style—a medium length “pageboy.” It didn’t work at all. The bangs were all wrong, there wasn’t enough hair around the face, and the whole effect was unflattering. Angel declared, “I look like an aging hippie!” So we put it up for sale on Ebay and went back to the drawing board. Then we ordered a nice monofilament wig with more fullness and a little layering. When that one arrived and Angel tried it on, the verdict was, “This is the same hair I had when I was sixteen!” It did unfortunately look very laddish, in a 1979 kind of way.
So this morning, I made up my mind. I decided I was going to bite the bullet and visit a few local wig shops to see their inventory and ask if they would be open to serving Angel and me. I was a little unsure what the reaction would be, since we don’t exactly live in a crossdressing mecca, and none of the wig shops around here specifically advertise that they cater to TGirls. I looked closely at all of the ads in the phone book, trying to get a feel for what sort of clientele each shop might serve. All of the ads mentioned cancer patients, but some seemed to specialize in that, while others also focused on fashion wigs. I picked one, got in the car, and set off. On the way I felt a little nervous, but more excited than anything. “What’s the worst that can happen?” I asked myself. Well, in the worst case scenario, they would tell me to take my kinky lifestyle and get out of their shop. But I didn’t think that was really going to happen.
I arrived at the shop and saw that it was an ordinary glass-plated storefront. There were no blinds or curtains and I could see a few customers inside browsing and talking to the salespeople. The help desk was at the back, and I strolled up to it, smiled, and made eye contact with the lady standing there. She asked if I needed some help. “Yes,” I said, “I’d like to look at your selection. I’ve been on your website, but I thought you might have more available in the store.” She nodded. I smiled some more and tried to sound confident as I continued, “Well, the wig I want to buy is not for me, actually. It’s for my husband. I would like to bring him in with me sometime, but I need to know if you welcome male customers trying on women’s wigs?” I watched her closely. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, then shrugged and said, “Mmm hmmm, sure.” I don’t know what possessed me to do what I did next, because it wasn’t strictly necessary, but I looked her in the eye and said, “He’s a crossdresser.” I’m not sure why, but somehow I felt that it would be liberating—even empowering—to say that to her. This was something I had never told another soul in real life, and it felt good to say it with my head held high, with complete confidence, and without guilt, much as I would have said “He’s an engineer,” or “He’s a Sagittarius.” The lady just nodded and said, “Okay.”
“So, do you have private fitting rooms?” I asked. She nodded and motioned toward a curtained-off area behind her, which looked like a mini-salon. “Should we make an appointment?” I asked. She said that would be a good idea, and we set a time: 1pm next Saturday, the 23rd of July. I then said that I would like to look around at the wigs they had on display.
A second saleslady, who had overheard all of that, motioned for me to come with her and asked me what style and color I wanted. I said I wanted a natural-looking, medium length wig, preferably monofilament, in light auburn or light red-brown. "That's my husband’s natural haircolor," I explained. She showed me several styles that I thought were cute and would suit Angel. I asked her whether they would cut and style Angel's wig, and she assured me that they would.
The best part came at the end of my visit there. I was about to leave, and I asked the saleslady, “So….do you think I should bring him in guy mode? Because the wigs don’t look as nice without makeup.” She said, “Oh, it’s the same with our women customers. When they come in to buy a glamour wig, and they aren’t dressed up and wearing makeup, they don’t like the wigs as much.” I looked at her quizzically, still waiting for an answer. “Well,” she said, “I think you should bring him in ready to look beautiful!”
So there it is girls. I promise that this is the absolute truth and I am not exaggerating anything. We have an appointment next Saturday for Angel to try on wigs EN FEMME! :eek:
When Angel got home, I told my story and she couldn’t believe it. She was in mild shock, I think….a strange mixture of euphoria and apprehension that her inaugural daylight outing will be to a wig shop where she will fussed over en femme by total strangers. Don’t worry darling, trust Marla. I’ll be with you. :love:
I felt that for my efforts I deserved a nice takeaway Chinese dinner, all the red wine I could drink, and a one hour backrub at least. Angel agreed, of course. When we finished our dinner, I broke open my fortune cookie, and can you guess what it said?
THE SKY’S THE LIMIT THIS MONTH.
So this morning, I made up my mind. I decided I was going to bite the bullet and visit a few local wig shops to see their inventory and ask if they would be open to serving Angel and me. I was a little unsure what the reaction would be, since we don’t exactly live in a crossdressing mecca, and none of the wig shops around here specifically advertise that they cater to TGirls. I looked closely at all of the ads in the phone book, trying to get a feel for what sort of clientele each shop might serve. All of the ads mentioned cancer patients, but some seemed to specialize in that, while others also focused on fashion wigs. I picked one, got in the car, and set off. On the way I felt a little nervous, but more excited than anything. “What’s the worst that can happen?” I asked myself. Well, in the worst case scenario, they would tell me to take my kinky lifestyle and get out of their shop. But I didn’t think that was really going to happen.
I arrived at the shop and saw that it was an ordinary glass-plated storefront. There were no blinds or curtains and I could see a few customers inside browsing and talking to the salespeople. The help desk was at the back, and I strolled up to it, smiled, and made eye contact with the lady standing there. She asked if I needed some help. “Yes,” I said, “I’d like to look at your selection. I’ve been on your website, but I thought you might have more available in the store.” She nodded. I smiled some more and tried to sound confident as I continued, “Well, the wig I want to buy is not for me, actually. It’s for my husband. I would like to bring him in with me sometime, but I need to know if you welcome male customers trying on women’s wigs?” I watched her closely. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, then shrugged and said, “Mmm hmmm, sure.” I don’t know what possessed me to do what I did next, because it wasn’t strictly necessary, but I looked her in the eye and said, “He’s a crossdresser.” I’m not sure why, but somehow I felt that it would be liberating—even empowering—to say that to her. This was something I had never told another soul in real life, and it felt good to say it with my head held high, with complete confidence, and without guilt, much as I would have said “He’s an engineer,” or “He’s a Sagittarius.” The lady just nodded and said, “Okay.”
“So, do you have private fitting rooms?” I asked. She nodded and motioned toward a curtained-off area behind her, which looked like a mini-salon. “Should we make an appointment?” I asked. She said that would be a good idea, and we set a time: 1pm next Saturday, the 23rd of July. I then said that I would like to look around at the wigs they had on display.
A second saleslady, who had overheard all of that, motioned for me to come with her and asked me what style and color I wanted. I said I wanted a natural-looking, medium length wig, preferably monofilament, in light auburn or light red-brown. "That's my husband’s natural haircolor," I explained. She showed me several styles that I thought were cute and would suit Angel. I asked her whether they would cut and style Angel's wig, and she assured me that they would.
The best part came at the end of my visit there. I was about to leave, and I asked the saleslady, “So….do you think I should bring him in guy mode? Because the wigs don’t look as nice without makeup.” She said, “Oh, it’s the same with our women customers. When they come in to buy a glamour wig, and they aren’t dressed up and wearing makeup, they don’t like the wigs as much.” I looked at her quizzically, still waiting for an answer. “Well,” she said, “I think you should bring him in ready to look beautiful!”
So there it is girls. I promise that this is the absolute truth and I am not exaggerating anything. We have an appointment next Saturday for Angel to try on wigs EN FEMME! :eek:
When Angel got home, I told my story and she couldn’t believe it. She was in mild shock, I think….a strange mixture of euphoria and apprehension that her inaugural daylight outing will be to a wig shop where she will fussed over en femme by total strangers. Don’t worry darling, trust Marla. I’ll be with you. :love:
I felt that for my efforts I deserved a nice takeaway Chinese dinner, all the red wine I could drink, and a one hour backrub at least. Angel agreed, of course. When we finished our dinner, I broke open my fortune cookie, and can you guess what it said?
THE SKY’S THE LIMIT THIS MONTH.