Part 32: Wigs

Have you ever donned a ‘crazee’ wig in an attempt to convince other people that you’re humorous? I really hope you’re able to give the answer ‘no’ to that question. If not, then we need to immediately assess our relationship by considering whether this is the correct forum for you to be seeking counsel. Wig wearers: I’d like to frankly suggest that you do not have the necessary strength of character to thrive alone. It’s a tough world and it looks like you might need protecting from it. Perhaps you would be better off signing up to e-harmony and pairing off with a gentleman who likes cats and lives with his mum.

I consciously realised my hatred of wigs quite recently, when I attended a party where another guest had come dressed in a unitard, goofy false teeth and an Afro wig. This person attempted to conduct a jovial conversation with me over wine, presumably hoping that I’d think of him as a ‘character’. He was totally unaware that by deciding to come to a party dressed as a wanker he had forfeited his right to converse with stylish people. Thus he was duly dismissed as I crawled out of my own skin in repulsion.

I just cannot understand what kind of brain dysfunction needs to occur in order for someone to wear a wig in public with the certain belief that other people will think of them as wacky and eccentric. It is rather disturbing to me that this happens at all and very disturbing that it happens often enough for me to witness it in person.

Wigs are not amusing. They are massive and hairy and a little bit disgusting. They are only acceptable when used as functional items and, even then, only in two circumstances: if you’re a female attempting to cover involuntary baldness or if you’re a drag queen. Wearing a wig in almost any other situation is paramount to covering your naked body in a massive sandwich board painted with the words ‘I’m a moron’ and walking up and down your local high street greeting strangers with a gormless, inane grin. Yes, people might laugh, but they’ll also be thinking that you are an unparalleled knob-cheese and cringing as they cross the street to avoid you. That’s just how the world works I’m afraid.

I offer this advice readers, because I’ve recently had some disturbing wig-based experiences which I feel ready to share with you.

In the past fortnight two of my previous sexual partners have posted pictures of themselves on Facebook wearing ‘crazee’ wigs.

As you can imagine, this has been a pretty alarming blow to the ego for me, suggesting as it does that I do not possess impeccable taste in lovers and that, in fact, I might as well not have bothered seeking out hot, fit, well-dressed, reasonably educated men and just fucked the chuckle brothers instead.

I have suspected deep down inside for quite a while that being single is the thing. Indeed, I’ve even posted my best arguments to that effect on here, for your consideration. This wig business though – it’s properly confirmed my suspicions. How can intimacy ever be a good idea?

Even if you get to know someone well enough to share bodily fluids, a few dates and a bed, they might still decide, if you’re ever invited to attend a fancy dress party together, to go dressed in a clown’s wig, flares and neon 1980’s sunglasses. Of course, this would necessitate you dumping them forthwith and vigorously scrubbing any part of your skin they had touched with coal tar soap and a nail-brush. But no matter how clean you got, or how far away from the offending lover, the damage would’ve been done.

There’s a line in Irvine Welsh’s ‘Porno’ when a character is outraged at being given a compliment by foolish and moronic acquaintance. ‘I firmly believe’ he says, ‘that a good character reference from a witless moron is far more damaging to one’s standing than condemnation from the hippest ranks of the cognoscenti.’ I offer you this line not only because it’s a truism that is useful to remember in general terms, but also because it sums up how I feel about men. It is far better to be rejected by (or indeed, to reject) the hottest, most eligible bachelor in the city than to have sex with someone who later puts on a wig and lols at their own reflection.

It is definitely preferable to remain single forever than to affect your social and sexual well-being by accidentally hooking up with a wig-wearer. Trust me. I’m not sure how long it’ll take to get over the damage those Facebook pics have done, but I’ll certainly be stepping out with more caution, date-wise, in the future. And I shall be refusing to engage in sexual relations again until I know a guy well enough to find and burn any offensive items he might be hiding at the back of his wardrobe.

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