I just bought my first wig. I found one on Amazon the other day, on sale, with a great consumer rating. I’m not expecting angels to sing when I get it in, nor do I expect it to work miracles. It’s only one small piece of the puzzle, one I’m learning to put together to transform myself from an ugly duckling to a swan.
Years ago, when I first started to crossdress, I actually grew out my hair. I loved it, and I didn’t have to worry about my hair. I could curl it sometimes, but most of the time I left it down. I cut it all off about ten years ago, hoping to start to fit in at work and maybe move up the corporate ladder. That worked out great, may I add.
I’ve considered growing it back out, but a nearly forty-year-old man with long hair is looked down upon. In business, he’s not taken seriously. It’s sad, but it’s the truth. There are certain social expectations in regards to gender, appearance, and the like. We can rail against it, but there are norms to consider, and though many are trying to change them, I’m happy to play along, at least to a point.
I don’t feel the need for the world to accommodate itself on my behalf. That, I realize, is partly a function of my personality. I’m best if left to myself, and I am not the type that seeks to change society. All I ask is that I’m given all the respect due to me. That’s it. I know there are those who are incapable of giving that kind of respect, and that’s a shame, but I can only be true to who I am. I’m not a warrior. I’m not a fighter. I’m simply me, an artist trying to realize the truest representation of who I am.
Which brings me back to the beginning, and the wig that’s due to arrive early next week. I hope it doesn’t look too cheap, but it probably will, and that’s okay. I’m not expecting it to last a lifetime, just long enough to get used to the idea of wearing a wig. I’ll have to save up to buy myself a quality wig in the near future, and when I do, I’ll have to find a brick and mortar shop, one that is TG-friendly, to fit one correctly.
Along with that, I need to relearn to do my make-up, build up a wardrobe, and learn to be at ease in my skin. Right now, all I see is a near middle-aged man staring back at me when I try to transform into me. There’s a skill in becoming who I’m supposed to be, an art in transmuting what I am into what I’m supposed to be, and it’s one that I’m working to gain. I hope to have that piece of the puzzle in on Monday. While I profess that I’m not expecting miracles, and I have to admit that I’m praying for one. I really want to be beautiful again, like I once felt I was over ten years ago.