When a ‘stupid little wig’ prompted strong reaction

We had been up and down streets.

Celebrating the Queen’s 70 years in power.

Merrily, waving hands, cheering, shouting and watching and checking. Speaking of checking out, the two ladies with me were busy commenting on clothes and appearances of other women.

“The queen’s green is the best,” reflected one.

I nodded. Queen Elizabeth’s green suit with a matching green hat and white gloves was superb.

“Fred, you love green, don’t you?”

I concurred.

“How about you?”

“I am a mauve girl.”

Followed by a giggle.

The English language has amazing descriptions of colours. Mauve is a pale purple, lilac a pale mauve, while violet, the one with a “sparkle”, strolls in a similar “tribe” of shades...

You can put these four colours together and party. Just like scarlet, red, maroon and pink. Or black, grey, aluminium and ash. Yellow, brown, orange and chocolate.

Colours are a fascinating representation of nature.

And while we were at it, we bumped into a couple I knew, both black. The female was mesmerising in a loose mauve dress. Yes, despite all the critique of the British empire and colonialism, many of us blacks were on the streets, keen to cheer a woman who has been on the throne since February 1952. In 2020, the Sunday Times Rich List put Queen Elizabeth as the 372nd wealthiest individual with an estimated value of 350 million pounds.

The black couple had matching mauve hats.

“Mauve is beautiful,” I said. Ladies love recognition of what they are wearing. We guys too. But for ladies it is the sugar, spice and tea of psychology.

As we chatted and walked and stopped and checked the scene and chattered again, I noticed something odd. One of my friends was continuously, unashamedly, giggling.

A few minutes later we lost the mauve-wearing couple in the large festive crowd.

We were now standing by an ice cream parlour. The two were licking chocolate cones. I was having a mango juice. A smoothie.

“Why were you laughing so much, Judith?”

Judith (not her real name) was black like night. Long black hair, which she has proudly plaited since childhood. Proudly.

Judith: “ I can never understand my dear sisters. This hair thing. What exactly is wrong with our...friend ...up there?”

Was giggling Judith referring to the mauve-wearing couple?

“Yes. Did you look at her properly? Her body is terrific. No ounce of fat on her. Her skin is...how may I put it? Smooth like yoghurt. Blacks we are so blessed with our colours, seriously! She has such a beautiful body!”

The other woman, quickly interjected: “I could kill for her curves. Such a class. And I have not even begun speaking about her boyfriend! Good gracious me!”

Pause.

“No they are a married, luv. Not boyfriend! Husband and wife my dear!”

Judith was now peppered and energised: “See that beauty! That brilliant work of God! And her hair? What is wrong with her hair? Short but crisp. Smooth. Tell me people? Am I naïve? Such a beauty and that little stupid wig she has on her head. This is what I don’t understand about our sisters. I know a sister with a massive beauty saloon. The wigs they sell are out of this planet. The wigs are becoming more and more ridiculous. Some are like dried, rotting tree branches. So ugly. Some resemble sisal umbrellas. Some are so badly designed they make the wearer seem like death. In agony. You can tell they are bloody uncomfortable. I was shocked the other day I went to a party and a white woman asked me point blank where I had bought my wig as it looked so amazing. I almost slapped her. I said this was not a wig. This is my natural hair. Not all of us wear wigs. But then I understood the poor woman. We are too much! A whole industry created JUST FOR US BLACKS with dead people’s hair ...mostly from Asia. Sad and serious. Sad and serious! I was laughing because she really ...how should I put it. Oh my God. Forgive me for my language. SHE DOES NOT NEED A STUPID WIG! Her short hair is paradise! But Good heavens! Did you see her...her wig? I was looking at the little thing coming up the side of her face. A little ribbon thing. A small brown ribbon patch THAT DIDN’T FIT THE REST OF HER GARMENTS... that SILLY brown patch. What did she need THAT SILLY brown wig for? It is as if we black women just wear wigs for the sake of it. Like we hate ourselves. We don’t love our bodies our natural hair anymore! It’s a global African crisis!”

Judith huffed, puffed, coughed and sneezed and heaved like someone struggling to climb a steep mountain.