17 Dec


It has been approximately 74 days since I first began my transformation to become the International Woman of Mystery. As the days go by, I find myself settling into this new skin. This new identity. My identity.

However, as a woman of the world, I do not prefer to settle into anything; it’s not my M.O. It was time to step out of the box once more and complete another assignment. Today’s mission: acquiring the perfect disguise.

Why do I need a disguise, you ask? Well, honestly, I don’t know. But that’s hardly the point. The International Woman of Mystery must be prepared for anything.

With that in mind, I find myself at a local wig shop. I’ve done a little research and located a bona fide retailer. No Halloween wigs for this woman of the world. Only the best will do, if I really want to go incognito. Wigs are serious business.

Luckily, the shop owner agrees. As soon as I step into the quaint gallery, he greets me and wants to know what I’m looking for. I’m hesitant to confess my true mission (best to reveal these things on a need-to-know basis only), so I tell him I’m simply in the market for a new look.

Without missing a beat, he ushers me around the store. The selection is wondrous. Dozens of mannequins line the walls, wearing wigs in every imaginable color and coif. They stare back at me expressionless, yet whispering of possibility. Every style a story. A different scenario. A persona waiting to be adopted. I hardly know where to start.

As if reading my thoughts, the shop owner chimes in.

“You have your blondes, for when you’re feeling like a sweetheart,” he tells me. “Then you’ve got your redheads, which is a whole other story. Red is a power color. You go red when you want to feel bold. Sassy. The wig is really only the first piece. Then you create a whole attitude to go with it.”

He’s speaking my language.

“The best thing to do is start with one,” he advises. “Test the waters a little. Take it out for a night on the town and see how people react. Since you’ve already got real hair underneath, just act natural.”

I’m getting quite the education. The sheer potential of it all excites me. Now it’s time to try on a couple of looks. For a nominal try-on fee of five dollars, I’m allowed to select three wigs and be properly fitted. I scan the walls and began to imagine all the potential scenarios.

For those high intensity missions, chasing down enemy informants: an inconspicuous pixie cut in dishwater brown.

For infiltrating A-list events and schmoozing with the elite: a sharp platinum bob.

For seducing stoic guards at a high security foreign embassy? Long, luxurious and red. Naturally.

With me seated in front of the mirror, he shows me how to put on each piece, so that it looks just right. I stare back at myself amazed. I am a new woman. Three different women. In real life, my hair color is a predictable chocolate brown. I’ve never cut my hair past shoulder-length. But with a veil of long, red waves enveloping me, I feel a surge of confidence. I toss my new locks over my shoulder with practiced cool. The owner nods affirmatively.

“See?” He chimes in. “No need to commit to a cut or a color when you’ve got options.”

It turns out that wig upkeep is actually quite simple compared to all the trappings and trimmings that normal hair care entails. Long wigs can be pulled back in a low chignon or even a ponytail. Spritz down with water to re-set the hairs. Stick it on a shelf and you’re good to go.

My new acquaintance tells me that wigs are a popular staple for people on the go. Pilots and flight attendants rely on wigs to keep their hair looking sharp for red-eyes and long flights. High-powered business people secretly rock wigs because they simply haven’t got the time to craft a fancy ‘do every day. I’m in awe of the efficiency. If wigs are good enough for the jet-set elite, they are certainly good enough for The International Woman of Mystery.

With so many options, it’s hard to settle on just one piece, but I remind myself that this is only the beginning. In the end I opt for the blonde bob. It’s versatile. Sleek. I can already envision it going perfectly with my cat suit and sunglasses. I’ve added a new depth to my mysteriousness. Jenny G. is pleased.

I pay at the counter and thank my helpful host before slinking out of the store. Disguise in hand, I exit the store. Already daydreaming of future missions, the likes of which are still TBD. Do blondes really have more fun? Dear reader, stay tuned.

Jenny G.


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