The Stations of the Cross Dresser - The Wig Salon

Cross dressing involves doing many everyday things in slightly changed ways. Pulling on a pair of heels seated and with leg flexed at the knee rather than jamming the foot into a pair of loafers while standing. Fumbling in a purse for keys rather than diving a hand into a trouser pocket. Backing into a car seat and turning legs in together rather than extending one leg and folding the rest of the male body in behind.

Cross dressing involves doing many things that are (largely) exclusively in the realm of the feminine. Adjusting bra straps and closing hook & eye clasps. Centering zips on the back of skirts. Touching up lipstick after a glass of wine.

And then, there are places for cross dressing. Places that are the exclusive domain of women. Places designed to repel male boarders. Places whose very color palettes, accoutrements, and conversational sound track compels most men either to flee or to uncomfortable occupy a chair and lapse into a comatose and catatonic state.

Such a place I visited last week, breathless with anticipation, that flouncy fulcrum of femininity, the Wig Salon.

Regular readers of Voyages en Rose will remember that I picked this milestone as Shrine # 10 of the 14 Stations of the Cross Dresser. For newish visitors, you might like to take a moment to read some background information here, here, or even all the way over here. Alternatively, simply search here on site for Stations of the Cross Dresser for the whole story.

A woman’s hair is indisputably and beautifully different than a mans hair. Short, long and in between, something in the way it is cared for, styled, worn and touched sets it apart, and sets me mad with desire to possess it. It has an X factor. I have a Y chromosome. Something must be done, and can be done with the help of the correct wig.

My wig shopping to date has been well intentioned but poorly executed. Cheap showgirl numbers pulled from chipped head forms in bargain basement beauty supply stores. Indifferent cashiers stuffing them into plastic bags and likely not to tender an opinion along the lines of “now that just won’t do for the shape of your face…”. I knew I could do better, and so my sorceress of transformation Ramona and I set out for Sunny’s Hair & Wigs. (Atlanta shop, pictured above)

We were met warmly upon arrival by Dafina (pictured below with your correspondent), a second generation hair enthusiast. The families first salon in Minneapolis has thrown shoots out to warmer places including Atlanta, Las Vegas, and Mesa AZ. A vast range of product from custom designed natural hair masterpieces to mass produced synthetics and everything in between. The Sunny’s people very much operate at the fashion forward edge of hair style. The aesthetic is very young, very fresh and very creative. If you do not live in or near these cities, they do sell online, but would admit themselves that you cannot beat taking the time to audition a whole line up of wigs live, en femme and in your favorite local salon.

Dafina took the time to walk us through the shop, speak briefly about the virtues and price ranges of the lines, and then provided space for us to explore, talk and just generally get comfortable with the pretty pink space. She had great questions about how often I dress that helped her start to recommend qualities and price ranges that would make sense for me. We three ended up clattering armloads of contestants to the setting booths discretely tucked away in the back of the shop.

Something beautiful happens to a wig when it is lifted from the lifeless head form and fastened to a living, breathing, made-up and hopeful face. It grows light and takes wing. It wants to move and is dieing to be seen. And when you are in a salon chair, legs crossed just so, on full mirrored display, and syncopating the O so natural pas de deux that they stylist and the stylee assume, well, let me simply say that this is a happy time.

I found I have critical faculties I did not know were there. It was as though the Hair Matrix was revealed to me. Winners emerged clearly and quickly. I really felt as though I was working with a professional, someone who knows their product, who has passion about hair, and style and beauty. It made me very happy as well that this cross dresser was simply and openly welcomed. I felt like a valued customer, not a curiosity. I believe I will be remembered and welcomed again on my next visit. I think these are characteristics that you can determine with a phone call or 2 before choosing a salon for your next (or first) Wig splurge.

And so, what did I buy? A beautifully banged, brown bob with auburn highlights wig. It frames my face nicely. It feels light on my head. It falls back into place after being wind tossed. It did not break the bank. It is mine and I love it. So much so that I am sure I will provide her with company soon. I so want to do this again. And again.

I have read a good many stories from CD’s and TG’s on a variety of online forums. I could really feel the excitement of the authors in their posts, and anticipated feeling all of that myself, when the time came. The event did not disappoint. This is intimately feminine stuff. If you have dabbled around wigs, if you have borrowed, if you have not gone full force femme on a mission to get wigged up, I highly recommend it. This is a truly worthy Station of the Cross Dresser.

Petra gets Polished by a Pro

A very busy Friday. And a totally drab Friday. Late in afternoon took a close, close, shave, and put on some clean drab. Today was a big day. I had settled on visiting Paris Decatur later that night. I knew that anything before 10:00 would be ghastly, unfashionably early. And here I was getting makeup at 5:30. In mens clothing.

Now, I have no problem staying en femme for that long a time, however, there is the matter of calls of nature. For me, when I go out, I figure the outer limit of when I need to come home is just how long I can hold my water. Here are a couple of the whys:

1. I am really just never certain which bathroom to use, and
2. There are a lot of layers and a lot of real effort required to get it all locked in place. I sometimes crack a sweat in the effort. This is to be avoided in public. And certainly to be avoided when a little drunk.

So, khakis and button-down shirts and off to a beautiful home in the Morningside neighborhood. "R" smiled and made me feel at home. We had 1 hour to work with before her real engagement for the evening arrived, and so, upstairs to the lair we go.

It’s a totally self contained princess palace. "R" offers a B&B service so that clients can really occupy their feminine space. Big walk in closet off the bedroom with a real salon chair, mirrors galore, wigs beyond counting and 3 walls of wardrobe, shoes and boots. Quite impressive.

She studied me in the real light. Turned me away from view of the mirrors and then started into the transformation. Dry powder concealer. Real theatrical makeup over the beard lines. Dry foundation dusting over the rest of my face and neck. And then the epic battle on my eyes.

Drama, she had mentioned the night before, and drama she started to impose on my face. I was asking questions and without a view of the action, could only guess. Cool and thick eyeliner. Mascara that felt like it was grabbing and tugging my lashes on the way through. Glimmering, silvery eye shadow highlights worked from the outer limits of my brow line down into dark warm and lush browns on my lids.

"R" stopped working time to time. And just looked. Her face gave away nothing. Clearly she is serious about this work. She said she was going for smokey. Sounded just like what I was after. And I believe she got it. Back to work on cheeks, finished on lips, and turned the chair mirror-wise for me. Spectacular. I just wanted to look. And look. Words are usually easy for me, but they just failed at that moment. And this with me still in drab and my own hair.

 

Ah, yes, hair … I really hadn’t thought about it. R asked about what I was planning to wear that evening. I mentioned pretty much what I had on the night before. My wig was at home, it was still light out, and my face was totally glowing. Perhaps a little femme hair would help out for the drive home. ... She pulled a black bob cut number out and drew it down over my own stuff.  

One more step closer to paradise. I did not realize until that moment that like most things in life, money makes a difference, and that is clearly the case in the wig department. This mop was more a expensive and much more lustrous wig then mine. And damn but it made a huge difference. I totally crushed on g-girls with this hair back in the day. I could not believe I had that look myself.

This artist with whom I was loving more by the moment humored me with 2 other choices, but there was really never any contest. This look was totally Petra. I promised to bring it back in terrific shape over the weekend, and that worked well. 

"R" took a couple of photos, I gave her a big old hug, thanked her profusely, and fully knew that Petra was going to come out and go places she had only dreamed of before that night.