4 hours ago
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‘I think it’s the word – ‘wig’!” says Melanie Burrell, scrunching up her nose. “I prefer ‘hairpiece’.” It’s part of the reason why, when she opened her wig business in Glasgow in 2010, she called it Parrucche – the Italian word for “wigs” being a little more discreet, especially when it came to signage.
But the stigma once associated with wig wearing is quickly diminishing. Outside of Black and queer communities, where using hairpieces has long been commonplace, wigs were once associated with attempts to conceal hair-loss, or for fancy dress. But in recent years, their appeal has broadened. According to data insights company Statista, the global wigs and hair extensions market is predicted to reach $13.28bn this year. For men, toupees, now more commonly known as “hair systems”, are part of this resurgence.
Wigs have been rebranded as glamorous, fashion-forward and fun, with celebrities leading the way. Fans have long suspected that Sabrina Carpenter’s consistently bouncy blond locks may, in fact, be a wig. “Will not confirm nor deny. I don’t even know what a wig is,” the singer told Time magazine, before adding: “but I also don’t know what not a wig is.” More recently, and more obviously, she donned dramatic short black wigs for a shoot with Perfect magazine.
Other A-listers have been less evasive: last year, Cardi B caused confusion by showing up to court wearing a series of wigs. “Yesterday you had black hair, short hair. Today it’s blond and long. Which one is your real hair? Or are they both real?” asked the apparently baffled attorney. “They’re wigs,” the rapper replied with an eye roll and a laugh.
Often, celebrity hair appears to be too good to be true. Could the actor Odessa A’zion’s enviable corkscrew curls really just be the work of a talented stylist? “The gag is,” A’zion told Deadline, “the LA premiere [of Marty Supreme] was a wig, and [for] the New York premiere, it took me five hours to do my hair, and everyone thinks it’s a wig.”
But wearing a wig as a civilian can still feel like a daunting prospect. What if everyone can tell? And does that even matter any more? For one week, I immerse myself in the world of wigs to find out.
Day 1
I decide to ease myself in with a wiglet or “topper”: a hairpiece that sits on top of, and clips into, your existing hair. A lot of wiglets incorporate a fringe, or “bangs”, but since I already have a fringe I opt for an 18-inch straight synthetic hair topper by Peonymebeauty (£29.91) in “chocolate brown”. This, it turns out, is slightly darker than my natural hair colour – one of the perils of buying online.
The description promises that “no one will find your secret of beautiful straight hair”, so I attach it to the crown of my head and wait to see if my partner – or indeed anyone else – clocks that I am effectively wearing a toupee. No one does.
It looks, to me, slightly preposterous. Thick and swishy, it bounces around my jawline and feels heavy on my head. It’s giving Monica Lewinsky, or late 90s Courteney Cox. On the plus side, it doesn’t feel like it’s going anywhere and it takes a fraction of the time, and skill, required for a bouncy blow dry – a similarly voluminous look.
Day 2
Inspired by unwitting wigfluencer Carpenter’s regular style, I opt for a wig called Starlet Style (£295) from Wigs UK, an online retailer whose sales have increased 10% every year for the last few years. It’s the kind of retro high glamour that’s the polar opposite of my natural look. I quickly discover the downside to the proliferation of online wig content: the pros make donning a hairpiece look easy but, by comparison, it takes me ages to get the blond barnet to sit correctly.
Burrell shows me how to get my own hair to lie flat under a mesh wig liner – sort of like putting a pair of tights on your head – and explains how most wigs have adjusters at the back and wired tabs at the sides, which means they fit comfortably without the need for adhesives.
The Starlet’s curls are relentless and I head out for dinner feeling quite Dolly Parton. (Parton, of course, has long been an advocate of wigs, and is often quoted as saying: “People always ask me how long it takes to do my hair. I don’t know – I’m never there.”) My regular makeup – which I had applied first, perhaps a rookie mistake? – doesn’t quite match my newly platinum locks and I can’t help but feel self-conscious.
But on the plus side, as the heavens open, I realise the rain is no match for this mop. My own hair would have been rendered flat with flicky ends, but the Starlet Style – made from heat-styleable synthetic fibres – remains unchanged.
“There was a time when human hair was the be-all and end-all, but synthetic hair has become hugely popular now because of how well they’re made,” explains Vicki Barnard, the manager at the wig supplier Valentine Wigs. “It looks better than most people’s natural hair.” By the end of my meal, my mum claims she has completely forgotten I am wearing a wig, and I’ve almost stopped checking what it looks like in every reflective surface.
Day 3
“Wigs and toppers are definitely going to be the new normal, in my opinion – I have about 20 wigs now,” says Lisa Marie Smith, a bridal hairstylist, makeup artist and wig enthusiast whose online hair transformations have earned her 34,400 Instagram followers. “I love the way they can restore your confidence in seconds. I was sick of trying to fight with my hair. I wanted big, beautiful, long hair and wigs can do that instantly. People are absolutely gobsmacked when I tell them I’m wearing one.”
Smith has also seen an increase in the number of brides trying a wig or topper at their hair trial. “They are such a great alternative for those with thin spots on top, as hair extensions can’t create fullness at their scalp, and also there is no worry of any clips or bonds showing on their wedding day.”
Having dabbled with bleach and extensions in the past, I like the idea of achieving a dramatic new look without damaging my existing locks. Nick Allen, the director at Wigs UK, suggests I try the sleek “mono part wig” from the Ellen Wille Hairpower collection in metallic blond (£299). It’s silver, bordering on grey, but rather than ageing it feels super-chic – reminiscent of the former British Vogue deputy editor Sarah Harris’s eye-catching mane. The downside? I look a bit funny without my signature fringe. I grab a baseball cap, which helps, and leave the house feeling like a celebrity attempting to go incognito.
Day 4
“A lot of wigs don’t come with fringes because it’s better to have one cut in to suit your own face shape,” explains Burrell. I buy an almost mermaid-like wavy red wig from Wokestar (£19.84) – a whopping 26 inches of heat-styleable synthetic hair – and duly hack away at the fringe area.
The end result is far more obviously a wig than most of the higher-end hairpieces I’ve tried, but it hardly matters: look how bright it is! How buoyant! A neighbour spots me across the street and shouts that she likes my new hair. “It’s a wig!” I yell, through passing traffic. “Even better!” she responds, kindly.
But it’s not long before I can feel the hair begin to knot and tangle – a risk with cheaper synthetics, especially when the hair is long, which can mean the wig has a shorter lifespan. But top-of-the-range versions can be prohibitively expensive.
“Go for good-quality wigs,” advises Kim Kimble, a celebrity hairstylist whose clients have included Beyoncé, Shakira and Lizzo. She is the head of the hair department of HBO’s Euphoria – with wigs featuring prominently in the most recent series – and owns a salon in LA. “You can get some decent wigs for $500, but most people want custom wigs, so you’re going to pay between $1,500 and $10,000. But a good wig will last you for ever.”
Synthetic wigs tend to be made from plastic fibres such as acrylic, which are not biodegradable but require relatively little styling. Some wigs blend synthetic and human hair, which helps create the kind of movement you’d get with natural hair, while retaining some “memory” of the shape and style – Burrell tells me these wigs start at about £600. “Then you’ve got human hair, which needs all the maintenance and it can lose colour over time but you can do whatever you want to it,” she says. “These can cost around £1,000 upwards.” It is also worth considering your supplier, as not all human hair is ethically sourced.
Day 5
Now we’re getting into the nitty-gritty: it’s not the hair that really matters, Barnard tells me, but the cap construction. “The most basic is a fully wefted cap, which is machine-made,” she explains. “One step up from this is a cap with a monofilament parting area, which creates the appearance of a natural scalp while keeping the parting in a fixed position. Above that is a monofilament top, where the entire crown area is made from a fine mesh material. This allows the hair to be parted in different directions, creating a more natural and versatile look. And at the premium end is a fully hand-tied cap, where each hair is individually hand-tied into the cap. This creates the appearance of natural hair growth and allows the hair to move more naturally, resulting in the most realistic overall look.” That said, many clients find the machine-made caps perfectly comfortable, or even prefer the more basic options.
Next I try out Belle Madame’s Chiara wig (£183.54) from Valentine Wigs – a wavy, ash blond, and the first time I’ve gone shorter than my own mid-length locks. The cap is part monofilament with a lace front, which creates a more realistic hairline, but in practice seems to mean having to toss the front sections of hair out of my face. I’ve never had hair that I’ve needed to constantly run my fingers through, à la Cher Horowitz in Clueless, so this feels like a novelty. But it’s a warm day and, between the wig, the wig liner and my actual hair, I soon start to feel unbearably hot. My voluminous new look also means I struggle to perch my sunglasses on my head as I usually would. If my fellow bus passengers suspect a ruse, they are too polite to say anything. I find myself looking at anyone whose hair looks a little bit too perfect – could it be?
Day 6
Feeling brave, I attempt to go shorter still, with another Ellen Wille number from Wigs UK: a synthetic blond pixie cut with a monofilament top called the Bo Mono (£183.46). Hoping to channel Vicky McClure’s punky crop in This Is England, I end up feeling more like Elizabeth Debicki’s Princess Di in The Crown and abandon the wig shortly before leaving the house. Once you’ve gone out in a wig, I’ve learned, you’re committed.
But although wigs might not always be the easy option, they’re certainly not confined to those with a team of stylists on hand; and, of course, the motive for wearing wigs can vary. “We get people with cancer, alopecia, trans people,” says Barnard. “There’s older clients, people from the fashion industry – everyone! The popularity is really through the roof.” Could this surge also be due to the rise in use of weight-loss drugs, with hair loss having been linked to the use of GLP-1 medications? “I’ve definitely seen that,” says Barnard. “When I was a wig fitter, people told me they’d lost a dramatic amount of weight and with that their hair had gone.”
Most of the specialists I speak to wear wigs themselves, but often just for the fun of it: “When the team at Parrucche go out, we regularly wear hairpieces, especially if we’re all going out together,” says Burrell. She started her business after her mother lost her hair following chemotherapy and found the experience of wig shopping difficult. Now, she hopes it will feel like more of a treat, “more of a pamper, even when wigs are through NHS prescription, like going to a salon for any other hair appointment”.
Day 7
I’m off to a festival – and where better to emulate my longtime hair idol Didi Conn as candyfloss-tressed “beauty school dropout” Frenchy Facciano in Grease? I end up opting for a slightly longer, paler, sleeker look: a 24-inch heat-styleable synthetic wig from Esmee Wigs (£21.79) in ombre pink – the darker roots doing little to make the look appear natural. I trim the fringe, pair with cowboy boots and instantly feel festival-ready. The next day, I post a picture online that prompts a raft of comments: “Your HAIR!”; “pink! Adore!”, plus a smattering of love hearts and clapping hands emojis. Should I make the pink permanent, I begin to think. But then, why would I, now that I can switch back and forth whenever I fancy?
But I’m also aware that most things are more enjoyable if they don’t feel like a necessity. The style possibilities of wigs are almost limitless, yet after a week of wearing them, I’m also left with a renewed appreciation for my own barnet, knowing I probably wouldn’t choose to wear one for an entire day. I do, however, decide to go full Moira Rose and invest in several wig stands – perhaps nothing says “no longer taboo” like turning a once-clandestine hair accessory into mantlepiece decor.
