Do You Wear Wigs Interview
If you’re a Black woman, chances are you’ve been asked, “Do you wear wigs?” more times than you can count. I know I have—at work, at family barbecues, even by strangers at the grocery store. And my answer? Hell yeah, I do. But it’s not just about looking good (though that’s a bonus). Wearing wigs for me, and for so many of us, is about comfort, freedom, and owning our beauty on our own terms.
Let me take you back to when I first started wearing wigs. I was 22, fresh out of college, and working my first real job. My natural hair is thick, curly, and beautiful, but it takes hours to style. Every morning, I’d wake up 2 hours early just to detangle, blow-dry, and flat-iron it—only for it to frizz up by lunchtime. I was exhausted, and honestly, I felt like I was spending all my energy trying to “fit in” with what the world thought was “professional” hair.
One day, my bestie, Keisha, showed up at my apartment with a box. “Girl, you need this,” she said, grinning. Inside was a soft, curly wig that matched my natural texture perfectly. I was nervous at first—I thought people would stare, or judge me for “not being real.” But when I put it on? Wig, girl—my whole vibe changed. I felt confident, put-together, and like I could breathe for the first time in months.
That’s the thing about wigs—they’re not a “cop-out.” They’re a choice. For Black women, our hair has always been tied to our identity. We’ve been told our natural curls are “unruly” or “unprofessional,” so wigs let us take back that power. We can switch up our look without damaging our natural hair with heat or chemicals. We can go from a short bob to long, flowing curls in 5 minutes, and that’s not a bad thing—it’s self-expression.
I’ve tried all kinds of wigs over the years. A few months ago, I picked up a half wig, and it’s become my go-to for busy days. It’s light, breathable, and I just leave a little bit of my natural hair out in the front to blend it in—no glue, no hassle. It looks so natural, most people don’t even notice I’m wearing it. And when I’m really in a rush? I grab my wear and go wigs—slap it on, adjust the straps, and I’m out the door. It’s perfect for those mornings when I hit snooze one too many times.
I remember one time, a coworker pulled me aside and said, “Why do you wear wigs? Your real hair is so pretty.” I smiled and told her, “Honey, my real hair is pretty—and so is this wig. Wearing a wig doesn’t mean I’m hiding who I am. It means I get to choose how I show up for the world.” She nodded, and I could tell she got it. So many people don’t understand that wigs aren’t about being “fake”—they’re about being free.
For us Black women, hair is our crown and glory, like my grandma always says. But that crown can look different every day if we want it to. Some days, I rock my natural hair with pride. Other days, I throw on a wig and feel like a new person. And that’s the beauty of it—there’s no “right” way to have hair. We get to decide what makes us feel beautiful, comfortable, and confident.
I still get asked, “Do you wear wigs?” all the time. Now, I don’t hesitate to say yes. I even show people my favorite ones—my curly half wig, my sleek wear and go wig, the bright red one I wear for parties. I tell them that wigs are just another way we Black women love ourselves. We don’t need to explain our choices to anyone.
At the end of the day, wearing a wig is personal. It’s not about what anyone else thinks. It’s about waking up and feeling good in your own skin—or in your own wig. So to all my Black sisters out there: if you wear wigs, own it. If you don’t, own that too. Your beauty is yours to define, and nobody gets to tell you how to wear your crown. Period.
And to anyone who’s ever asked, “Do you wear wigs?”—the answer might be yes, but what matters is why. It’s not about being “less than” or “hiding.” It’s about choice, it’s about comfort, and it’s about loving ourselves exactly how we are. Wig or no wig, we’re beautiful—and that’s the tea.
Let me take you back to when I first started wearing wigs. I was 22, fresh out of college, and working my first real job. My natural hair is thick, curly, and beautiful, but it takes hours to style. Every morning, I’d wake up 2 hours early just to detangle, blow-dry, and flat-iron it—only for it to frizz up by lunchtime. I was exhausted, and honestly, I felt like I was spending all my energy trying to “fit in” with what the world thought was “professional” hair.
One day, my bestie, Keisha, showed up at my apartment with a box. “Girl, you need this,” she said, grinning. Inside was a soft, curly wig that matched my natural texture perfectly. I was nervous at first—I thought people would stare, or judge me for “not being real.” But when I put it on? Wig, girl—my whole vibe changed. I felt confident, put-together, and like I could breathe for the first time in months.
That’s the thing about wigs—they’re not a “cop-out.” They’re a choice. For Black women, our hair has always been tied to our identity. We’ve been told our natural curls are “unruly” or “unprofessional,” so wigs let us take back that power. We can switch up our look without damaging our natural hair with heat or chemicals. We can go from a short bob to long, flowing curls in 5 minutes, and that’s not a bad thing—it’s self-expression.
I’ve tried all kinds of wigs over the years. A few months ago, I picked up a half wig, and it’s become my go-to for busy days. It’s light, breathable, and I just leave a little bit of my natural hair out in the front to blend it in—no glue, no hassle. It looks so natural, most people don’t even notice I’m wearing it. And when I’m really in a rush? I grab my wear and go wigs—slap it on, adjust the straps, and I’m out the door. It’s perfect for those mornings when I hit snooze one too many times.
I remember one time, a coworker pulled me aside and said, “Why do you wear wigs? Your real hair is so pretty.” I smiled and told her, “Honey, my real hair is pretty—and so is this wig. Wearing a wig doesn’t mean I’m hiding who I am. It means I get to choose how I show up for the world.” She nodded, and I could tell she got it. So many people don’t understand that wigs aren’t about being “fake”—they’re about being free.
For us Black women, hair is our crown and glory, like my grandma always says. But that crown can look different every day if we want it to. Some days, I rock my natural hair with pride. Other days, I throw on a wig and feel like a new person. And that’s the beauty of it—there’s no “right” way to have hair. We get to decide what makes us feel beautiful, comfortable, and confident.
I still get asked, “Do you wear wigs?” all the time. Now, I don’t hesitate to say yes. I even show people my favorite ones—my curly half wig, my sleek wear and go wig, the bright red one I wear for parties. I tell them that wigs are just another way we Black women love ourselves. We don’t need to explain our choices to anyone.
At the end of the day, wearing a wig is personal. It’s not about what anyone else thinks. It’s about waking up and feeling good in your own skin—or in your own wig. So to all my Black sisters out there: if you wear wigs, own it. If you don’t, own that too. Your beauty is yours to define, and nobody gets to tell you how to wear your crown. Period.
And to anyone who’s ever asked, “Do you wear wigs?”—the answer might be yes, but what matters is why. It’s not about being “less than” or “hiding.” It’s about choice, it’s about comfort, and it’s about loving ourselves exactly how we are. Wig or no wig, we’re beautiful—and that’s the tea.
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