Reason Not to Get Married: Sheitels

So what if your sheitel is unnaturally thick and luscious? So what if you can see the back of it without two mirrors? So what if you can style it without getting a crick in your neck and tired arms? Raise your hand if you actually want to wear one of those things.

Anybody? No, not you, balding dude. This question was for the single women.

Reasons We Don’t Want to Wear a Sheitel:

• It’s boring.

• It has straight hair. Can you see my yawn? Why run a brush through straight locks when you can wrestle with kinks and waves and maybe, with luck, come up with something that looks just as nice?
• It has limited styling options. I mean, I can go for a pompadour. Or an updo. Or a half-pony. Or a side-pony. Or a regular pony. Or straight down. Or pinned on the sides. Or a lot of stuff. Granted, I generally don’t. But I can. Nah-nah to the sheitel which is stuck with limited options. You want that down, or mostly down? Anything else will cost you a new wig.

• It’s uncomfortable.
• No ad-hoc ponytails on hot and sticky days. The back of my neck is cringing in anticipation.
• Those combs and clips and things that keep your real and fake hair in place. Ouch.
• It’s like a fur hat, only hairier. Nice in the winter, when it’s not raining. At every other time: eugh.

• It’s hard to wear.
• You look like you’re wearing something on your head for the first few months. I wonder why.
• The front hairline. The ears. The pony bump in the back which you must have because if you cut your hair short the thing won’t attach. The odd way the hairs stick out when it’s not on right.

• Its hard to care for.
• Mistakes don’t grow out.
• Style changes cost a lot more.
• You’re at the mercy of the sheitel-macher who is going to make you look like a clone of everybody else no matter how silly the current fashion, and charge you through the nose for it.

• It’s bad for your hair.
• Wasn’t this supposed to be about your hair being your crowning glory? Not any more. Now someone else’s hair is, because yours is going the way of old soldiers – it’s fading. The replacement will never gray or thin with age, and this will look strange when you’re 90 and have the hair of a twenty-year-old.

Now nobody can accuse me of seeing greener grass. I can see it yellow everywhere when I want to. Or maybe different patches are greener on different sides. That’s life.

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Let the Hair Wars Begin

SoG wonders why single women think sheitels are less work than hair.

Don’t get me wrong, SoG: sheitels are delicate things. Nothing grows back, so you have to be careful when you wash and brush not to yank hairs, and that caution goes double for trimming and using heat tools when styling.

To be honest, we’re not really jealous. We like our hair better than any wig. Except when we like a wig better than our hair. There’s a reason why everyone in Hollywood owns one. It’s not that they’re less work – it’s just that they’re less work at some very critical moments when our natural hair completely fails us. Like in the morning, on road trips,  and on yomim tovim, to name a few.

When I wake up in the morning, my hair looks like this:

Your wife’s sheitel looks like this:

I need to shower, marinate my hair in conditioner, tease out the tangles, then spend a half-hour or so styling it with clips and things to get it looking like this:

And I have to do this every single day.

Your wife’s sheitel doesn’t need daily washing and styling. A twirl and a brushing and it looks like this:

After plane flights, long car trips, or a nap in the lazy chair, my hair looks like this:

Your wife’s hair, pinned to a head in a specially purchased box looks like this:

On the second day of a chag, my hair looks like this:

Your wife’s hair looks like this:

By the third day, your wife’s hair still looks like this:

But mine looks like this:

And I’m beginning to be jealous of this:

And seriously contemplating this:

If your wife doesn’t like her hair, she can just take it off and put in a box. I can only tie mine back and try to slick it into a socially acceptable shape with some water, a strategy that works fine until the water evaporates, leaving frizz behind.

When does the score even out? When it rains. We both end up looking like this:

But I just need a shower. Your wife needs help.

Care of a sheitel is nothing to sneeze at. It needs to be treated like – well, like a delicate, thousand-dollar hairpiece. It’s one of the scariest parts of getting married. And let’s face it – nobody really wants to wear one.

But you will have to be very persuasive to convince me that it doesn’t have one or two huge advantages over natural hair.

Go ahead, O MFs. Try.