As we talked about the warmth that invariably accumulated under the cap of my wig, I admitted that I knew rationally I should have no issue. Somehow I did anyway. As she asked me about what it felt like to have my head considerably covered, I remembered a conversation a few years prior.
Then, as now, it was time for the largest convention which visits our city annually. Attendees bring their fursuits, and locals go out to check out their creativity. I sat in a bar near the convention center, sipping a drink and waiting for friends who were planning to show up later. When two fursuiters arrived and sat beside me, we started chatting. I wondered as to how they could handle the heat while in their suits. One shared tales of what it was like, how freeing it was, to wear a costume. The head of the costume sat beside him as he enjoyed his own drink.
"I know what it's like to wear a costume," I replied. "I do it every day." His posture and short reply conveyed that he thought I was kidding. But I was teetering at that point on the edge of finally just being myself, and the story he'd shared inspired me to elaborate on mine. I had no idea how things would go, and I told him I wondered if I would ever be able to give up my costume.
She asked me if I felt trapped by needing to wear a wig. I paused, considering what that *need* might be. It was not a costume I put on for the benefit of others. No, I wore a wig because it was a part of me, something that completes who I am. To go without simply isn't a viable option.