I have a wig shelf.
Yes, my girls have their own dedicated space to showcase their beauty.
I dreamed of putting up a wig shelf for about a year before taking action. A proud owner of three wigs, I knew it was time to create a home for them, who I affectionately named (in the order I adopted them): Hot Sauce Ruby, GiGi, and Bambi.
I was living in a shared space on the other side of town when I first started brainstorming the idea. As much as I wanted to do it, I stalled. My body knew that the shelf was meant to be hung in my new home, my feminine sanctuary. With the help of my best friend, I brought my wig shelf from conception to execution after moving to my new place at the tail end of winter.
I went to great lengths to learn how to hang a shelf on my wall for my wig shrine. Having never owned a power drill or identified a stud in the wall, I had a lot to learn. After an exhausting trip to Home Depot walking football field lengths up and down the store, a FaceTime call with my dad in the middle of the screws aisle, and several more oopsie trips to the hardware store for tools I didn’t know I needed, I did finally collect all of the parts necessary to construct my shelf from scratch.
I even picked out lumber from Home Depot and had it cut to size.
Because why would I do it any other way?
Wrapped in feather boas, my wigs sit high up the wall in my boudoir. They watch over me as I sleep, protecting me from scary things, mean spirits, and boredom.
I placed them on styrofoam heads and painted their faces. I donned them with jeweled crowns, cat ears, and Iris Apfel glasses.
I brush their hair.
They are colorful, sassy, and they bring out a playful side of me. They are my feminine shrine, bringing good energy to my room. By giving them a resting place, I can honor and appreciate the joy they bring to my life. Every time I see them, I am reminded of how important it is to have playtime, adorn myself, and embody the feminine life.
As a highly sensitive woman, I am deeply affected by my personal space in my home. The colors, arrangement of my collectibles and accessories, lighting, smelly things, and background tunes are a constant source of my attention. I am always fine tuning the mood of my feminine sanctuary. Crafting a positive energy in my personal space is a natural ability. When guests come over, they marvel at the sensory-pleasing affect of my home. I am not trained in the arts, but I do have a talent for composing colors and textures in a way that bring joy.
I couldn’t live any other way if I tried.
The Real Origin Story
A few months ago, I wrote about “the wig that started it all,” but truthfully, my fascination for wigs started years earlier from a sensitive subject.
In my late 20s, I begin to worry that I was going to lose my hair one day due to a genetic trait that runs in my family. Wanting to be proactive and mentally prepare myself for this possibility, I begin fantasizing about wearing cotton candy-esque, completely over-the-top wigs later in life and being a badass bitch. I didn’t want to wear realistic-looking wigs, dammit. I was gonna have fun with it and secretly wanted to look like Baddie Winkle.
Living in Tampa, Florida at the time, I began expressing openly how much I was looking forward to wearing wigs as a retired woman on an every day basis. But I was too afraid to walk into my first wig shop to try one on just for the hell of it. I also didn’t see the point of committing to a life of wigs, just yet.
My mentor, who doesn’t let anything slip past her, took my fantasies seriously. She insisted that we go to a real wig shop to try some on. I remember how excited she was about it. I, on the other hand, was hesitant. I didn’t have a feminine, pleasure-seeking life yet and was hyper-focused on being utilitarian.
Boring me.
But my mentor insisted, and so I went along for the ride.
Rows and rows of wigs lined the walls of that shop. I was amazed. I picked out a sky blue wig and gave it a test run. I am elated that my mentor captured that moment below.
You might not be able to detect it, but there is the slightest sign of an upward turn at the corners of my mouth. An almost grin.
While I didn’t buy the wig that day, the seed was planted.
My mentor firmly believed that I didn’t need to wait to live my best wig life. And that’s the whole point. Why wait to enjoy something so small that brings so much joy?
Much appreciation to my friend Amber for gifting me with the many accessories that complement my wigs and helping me hang my shelf, and much appreciation to my mentor who got me to the wig store that started it all.