Dear Diary:
A few days after moving to Brooklyn, I receive a rather shocking bobbed haircut chopped several inches above my chin. I decide the only hope for this new cut is to cover it up, so I set off to an observant Jewish neighborhood riddled with wig shops.
I don’t remember the exact terms of the Jewish law surrounding wigs. I just notice that every Orthodox woman of a certain age has that perfectly coiffed “wiggy†look: stiff, heavy and perfect.
I arrive at a small, busy wig shop off 13th Avenue. The store is studded with blank white heads wigged in all the latest Eastern European styles. Delighted, I run my fingers through a silky russet one. “I love this,†I gush.
The store owner eyes me suspiciously, “You look very young,†she says. “Is this your first wig?â€
“Oh yeah, um, I guess I’m a … wig virgin?†I say, dumbly.
“It’s her first wig!†the store owner shrieks to the rest of the store.
Soon, clusters of women circle around me. “Mazel tov!†“Baruch hashem!†“You must be so excited!†“Who is the lucky man?â€
I then remember that Orthodox Jewish women don’t begin donning wigs until after they get hitched.
Embarrassed, I confess that I am not engaged, then run out of the store before any of the women have the chance to tell me they can change that.
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