Wig

My niece is going to be eighteen years old in June. On the eighth, to be precise. She's having her birthday party on the Saturday before, which is the third. The third of June happens to be my birthday. I have no intention of stealing my niece's thunder. At any rate, when one gets to my age, hiding in a darkened room is much preferable to a party.

Anyway, I'll cut to the chase... Kathy, my niece, has demanded her party be a fancy dress party and the theme is "What or who did you want to be when you grew up?"

I wanted to be a female impersonator.

I have very fond memories of watching The Good Old Days with my Mum. I have no idea what time it was on, now, but I do remember feeling very privileged to stay up so late. My favourite performer was Danny La Rue. These were the days long before Boy George appeared on the scene and I was aghast to learn Danny was in fact a man. I seem to remember him taking his wig off at some point, not sure when, but that's when Mum told me he wasn't a lady at all.

The ideas of dressing up and pretending always appealed to me and, golly gosh, a guy like that could do both things at once. I'd never heard anyone say it was wrong for a man to wear female attire and it certainly didn't feel wrong to me. The only thing that was ever wrong about this was when I asked Mum if Audry next door was a man. You see, Audry was in the kitchen with Mum and I at the time. I ended the sentence with, "...you know, like Danny La Rue."

I had no idea anyone could have such fun in their chosen line of employment. Dressing up had always been a game. I didn't know you could make a career out of it.

My sisters had often dressed me up as Mary, from a very young age. I wore my sister Christine's patent leather shoes, Lorraine's baby-doll nighty, Mum's bed jacket and Mary's (that's where I got my name from) wig. Mary was a lady who lived in the flats down the road who'd had cancer. She also had a daughter called Christine, though this Christine had nothing to do with my sister Christine. I don't know why. Anyway, they'd dress me up as Mary and I'd walk down the stairs in my heels and lady-wear (without falling - no small feat when you're only four years old) appear at the kitchen door and announce that Mary had arrived. This usually happened when my Mother had friends in for a coffee and a natter. I really got a thrill when they turned to see this four year old boy in full drag, oh, and clutching a red toy dog under my arm. They would whoop or sometimes applaud, never giving looks of disapproval. Fabulous.

Oh, going back to that dog... It was actually a recepticle for my eldest sister, Lorraine, to keep her nighty in. Very camp, very fabulous. When he was tucked under my arm, he was Toto. I couldn't understand how Lorraine didn't have a name for him, poor thing... I wasn't Dorothy, sadly, though I longed to be. I was good at pretending, but even at that mere age, I was a perfectionist. I was only Mary because I was wearing Mary's wig. I could not be Dorothy without brown plaits, a gingham dress and ruby slippers. I knew my stuff.

Sometimes, when I felt particularly dramatic (which was often) I would hide, in drag, in the larder and burst out once all the women were assembled. My favourite audience was my Mum's sister, Barl; Aunty Holcroft (how many women have ever been called Aunty, suffixed with their surname?) and Nita, the insurance lady, who was also Mum's good pal. Nita's the only one who's still alive.

Dressing as a lady when you're a boy is a fabulous thing to do, I thought. I would love to do this when I'm a man.

Then, about two years later... I put on a show for Dad, again, in full drag, even make up. Ten seconds into my song, he told me to take all that rubbish off. I got really upset. I don't think I ever dressed up as Mary again.

I never told another soul what I wanted to do when I grew up.

That was, until I saw Madonna on Top Of The Pops. It must have been 1985 - I think. I was about thirteen years old, I remember. She wasn't live on the show, they were playing the video to Like A Virgin. She was writhing around in what appeared to be a wedding dress. This, and this alone revived my interest in drag. Not only did I want to dress up as a woman, but I wanted to dress up as Madonna. Not easy when you're a shy teenager with no confidence, so it never happened.

But now I have my chance.

I don't know what age I was when I didn't care any longer about the opinions of others. I don't think that this has actually happened, really, I mean, I do worry about what others think of me, but dressing up as a lady now would not bother me because, to be frank, I don't think anyone gets upset over seeing a man in a dress these days. Or do they? I suppose, some people do, but no-one springs to mind, certainly no-one whom I would worry about upsetting.

Ignore that last paragraph. I think I was in rambling mode.

Anyway, now I have my chance. As soon as Kathy asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, two images flashed into my mind: Danny La Rue in Edwardian costume and Madonna in a wedding dress.

So, for the party, I'm not actually going to dress up as an Edwardian lady or a bride, no, but as Madonna in the Hung Up video (sort of). Why this? It's because of the Con Loli woman. Her version of Hung Up is even better than Our Glorious Leader's. See it here. By the way, if there are any Spanish speakers here, do you know what she's actually singing? Is it true to the original lyric? And what the hell does con loli mean?

The photograph at the top of the page is actually me trying on the wig I'm to wear to the party. It arrived today. I bought it only yesterday on ebay. Ian took the photo without my knowledge. There are more posey ones, but I like this photograph. It's dark and mysterious, like me. Yeah, right.

Oh, gosh, wearing the wig is fabulous. I'm now hairy Minge. I haven't had hair to play with for the best part of a decade. I'm so excited.

I can't wait for the pink leotard and leg-warmers to arrive. I already have the shoes. I'm going into the city tomorrow to buy the tights. I think I'll get gold ones.