Like so many women I know, I sometimes wear wigs instead of my natural hair because they can be more convenient and affordable. My story takes place when I was just getting into the whole idea of wigs, so I didn’t yet know the many ways to make sure it always stays on. I would buy them and rely on the little clips inside to keep them on my head. This was all fine and good when I was just out and about around town, but when it came time to get a little intimate with the guy I was dating, things quickly became problematic.

The evening started out perfectly. We’d gone on a fantastic date. We shared a yummy soul food dinner and caught a movie that was better than we thought it’d be. We’d been dating for two months and things were just starting to really get serious. I assumed he knew it wasn’t all my hair, but I wasn’t sure if he knew I was wearing a wig. I liked him so much that he still made me nervous, so I wasn’t about to bring it up and possibly make the moment awkward.

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The few times he’d tried to touch my hair I’d casually dodged him without being too obvious. We went to the bar for drinks after the movie and I had one more than I usually do. Once I felt a little tipsy, I stopped thinking about my hair altogether and got lost in our moment. We went back to his place (my first time there!) and things quickly got hot and heavy.

He was gorgeous, smart, funny and so far, great in bed. We were kissing passionately and the foreplay was amazing. Then just when we began to have what would have been some of the most amazing sex I’d ever had, instead the unthinkable happened. In the heat of the moment, he reached up to squeeze and pull my long strands of “hair” and he yanked so hard my wig slipped right off. He looked stunned and terrified at first as he stared at this big wad of 1B hair in his hands, but then he started to laugh. I was so mortified, I jumped out of bed, ripped the wig from his hands and ran and hid in his bathroom.

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He came and sat by the door – laughing hysterically at this point – and started trying to coax me out of the bathroom. He was being nice about it, but all I could think about was how to open the door, gather my clothes and purse, and get the heck out of there in under sixty seconds. After about a ten-minute long “Baby, you should have told me” conversation, he finally convinced me to come out. He wanted to continue, but that was the end of the vibes for me that night. I went home and he called the next day. Even though he wound up being pretty cool about it, it still embarrassed me enough to contemplate getting braids the next day.

Have you ever had a hair malfunction on a date?

Do you have a cautionary dating tale to share? (Remember it will be completely anonymous!) Tell us about it and your story could be featured anonymously on Send your “it happened to me” tales to relationships.essence(at) or click here. Thank you in advance for sharing, ladies!


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