This is the story of how a Christmas compliment turned into a full-blown realization that I may have been doing hair the hard way.
Thanks to aging and menopause, I’ve been quietly losing my hair and eyebrows for years. Quietly… because complaining about it doesn’t make them grow back. (Okay, I confess—there has been complaining.)
I did solve the eyebrow situation a while ago with microblading, which felt like a small victory in the ongoing game of What Is My Body Doing Now? My hair, however, has refused to cooperate. I’ve tried the creams. I’ve tried the vitamins. My doctor even suggested shots, but I decided that was a bridge I wasn’t quite ready to cross in the name of fuller bangs.
Fast forward to Christmas. I noticed a friend with absolutely gorgeous hair—thick, shiny, perfectly styled. Naturally, I complimented her, assuming she’d found a new stylist or finally cracked the code to holiday hair.
Instead, she leaned in and said, very quietly, “Don’t you know?”
I did not know.
She explained that she’d been dealing with menopausal hair loss and had started wearing a wig. Not occasionally. Not “on bad hair days.” Every day. For the past eight months. Then—casually, as if this was completely normal—she mentioned that another friend who was coming to the party had also started wearing a wig.
I was stunned. Mostly because I had been standing next to these women for months, nodding along in conversations, completely unaware that I was surrounded by excellent hair secrets.
Neither of them leaves the house without a wig. It takes them two minutes to get ready. Two. Minutes. At first, they stuck with styles and colors similar to their own hair. Then they got brave. Long hair. Short hair. Blonde. Brown. Whatever fits the mood that day. Meanwhile, I’m over here negotiating with my blow dryer like it’s a hostage situation.
And the hair? Always perfect. Thick. Natural. Effortless. These were not costume wigs or obvious “hair pieces.” They were phenomenal. I would have never guessed—and apparently, that was the point.
As they shared their wig adventures—what they’d learned, what to avoid, where to shop—I felt myself getting oddly excited. Not overwhelmed. Not intimidated. Giddy.
That’s when it hit me.
I could have great hair too.
Any color.
Any length.
Any day.
By the time I got home, I was already deep into research mode. They generously shared their favorite resources, tips, and tricks—and then came the grand finale of the conversation.
I got to try one on.
In an instant, I went from reddish-brown to blonde-silver. Full, thick hair. No thinning. No fuss. I barely recognized myself—in the best possible way. I was immediately hooked.
So here I am, suddenly very aware that the next time you see me I might have long, beautiful hair—and the day after that, I might not. Turns out, the best part of this whole discovery isn’t the hair at all. It’s realizing I get to choose. Sometimes that looks like my natural hair. Sometimes it looks like borrowed blonde confidence. Either way, I’m done treating fun as something I need permission for.
Turns out, sometimes the best beauty discovery isn’t about hiding anything at all—it’s about giving yourself permission to play.
Have you ever discovered something that made you say, “Why did no one tell me this sooner?”
With love & a little glitter,
Valerie ✨
Feathers and Phases 