Latisha Wigs & Black Femme Friendships
The Sisterhood of The Traveling Wig or whatever
Just a quick little storytime about how a good wig led me to Black Femme Friendship. Hope you read, share, and comment—thx for reading <3
Have you ever seen the 2005 movie The Sisterhood of The Traveling Pants? It’s a movie where America Ferrera (Barbie’s best friend), Amber Tamblyn (Podcaster and hilarious actress), Blake Lively (Fictional dyke and national terrorist), and Alexis Bledel (Famous woman of color) all strengthen their friendship through a pair of jeans over one summer.
I actually haven’t seen it, mostly because the idea of a pair of jeans fitting four very different-sized girls was not something that I bought into even when I was a teenager—but I did like the idea of the connection. A tangible object that they shared that not only told the story of their friendship but served as a reminder of personal growth and experiences.
It got me thinking about my relationship with friendships and the unexpected thing that would open the door to the type of connections that my heart desired—The Latisha Wig.
It was the summer of 2023, and my For You Page was turned into an appreciation feed on the wig that took Black girls all around the world by fucking storm.
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I was no stranger to wigs. Pre Miss Tish, we were well-acquainted. I already had a small rotation of go-to units (look at me dropping the right words—eowww) I leaned on whenever I needed a break from dealing with my natural hair.
But here is the thing—none of my twist-outs were twisting the hell out and wash days kept fucking turning into wash weekends.
So, wigs became my thing. Nothing too wild, just a few trusted pieces that got the job done and then some.
Some of my old favorites, were The Heartbreaker:
The half-kinky wig from Sensationnel in 1B. It blended seamlessly with my natural hair and matched my leave-out texture perfectly. It meant I could wear it in the summer and sweat without worrying some other Black babe would have to pull me aside and let me know I looked a plum fool. I wore it on a trip to Nashville in the dead of summer and managed to keep my hair looking immaculate despite dripping sweat into my BBQ.
Then there was The Amani:
My first foray into lace fronts and also color. We started our relationship in 1B, graduated to 1b/30, then to full on 130.
I love volume in my hair by any means fucking necessary and this wig gave me volume, color, and texture—it was perfect. My only issue with this one was my god is it hot. I felt like every time I took it off and set it on my makeshift wig stand (also known as a pants hanger) my body temperature would drop by at least 20 degrees
Occasionally The Rainmaker wig would get some play…..but I mostly rotated the other two.
Then came Latisha. The Amazon stork dropped her off on my doorstep—well, technically, the first one got stolen (shoutout to whoever’s now enjoying her but I do hope that you got lice or something), but her identical twin arrived not long after, still wrapped in that classic plastic packaging with the neat little bow.
I shook her out, trimmed the lace with my craft scissors, tapped a bit of L.A. Girl Pro Concealer in Toffee (duh) around the edges, cut in some Topanga-era flip-over bangs, and that was that.
Love at first fucking slip-on. She just worked in a way no other wig had. No overthinking, no heavy styling—she just fit.
I mean…
I’m already a total hottie but the Latisha wig took it to another level. I had officially joined the ranks of Black girls who were rightfully obsessed with this perfect lump of synthetic fibers. She wasn’t just a wig, she was THEE wig.
I wore her long, short, with bangs, without bangs—you name it. Every single time I slid her on and clipped her into place, she never let me down.
There wasn’t a single thing I didn’t love about her. And if you know me in real life, you know my go-to style is that half-up, half-down look—and let me tell you, MY GOD did Latisha help me deliver EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.
But what really set Latisha apart for me wasn’t just how effortlessly she fit my vibe—it was how the community of Black women on social media shared her without a shred of gatekeeping. There was no “this wig is mine and mine alone”, and no ignoring comments about dropping the link or requests for the “how-to” videos.
It was accessible to all of us, affordable for most, and unlike other lace fronts, it was easy to install and maintain.
I watched TikTok after TikTok of Black women showing how to cut, style, and transform Latisha to create mad looks from one wig. There were tips on how to wash and re-style her, bringing her back to life after weeks, and even links to local stores where we could find her when we cleared her out online.
The Black girlies were all about sharing what worked—making sure we all had the chance to look and feel good. That’s just what we do—what Black women do. We share and hype each other up, not just because we want to but because we have to.
One wig connected a community of Black women all across the world.
Hundreds of comments on TikToks where Black women were giving compliments to each other that only we understand, and the best part came when they came to life in the real world.
I’m not a stranger to making friends online. Similar to the BFFs on Pen15, I was in middle school at the tail end of the 90s when AIM and chatrooms were at their height of popularity. So it’s not odd to me at all that these women were connecting with each other in the comments.
While I’m more of a TikTok lurker than an active participant, I did find myself tapping the heart button while scrolling through videos and comments.
Smash cut to about a year later. Life decided to life a little too hard—and that included major friendship shifts. I had a handful of friends left in my life that I loved and cherished—but the number of Black women in my life had dwindled significantly.
I felt that absence in a hella big way.
I am not a shy person. I’m a yapper in a big way and feel hella blessed to be someone who isn’t afraid to just talk to people. But there is something nerve-wracking when you’re seeking something of substance. Making friends when you’re an adult is harder because it comes with a whole new set of rules. You’re dealing with fully formed people who are who they are and have lives and schedules to work around. It requires far more effort than those friendships you create in college or your early 20s and they demand the consistency, patience, and understanding that you get with age.
When I was out and about in the world, I’d get hushed compliments and questions from Black women about Latisha, because even though we all know it’s her never has a Black woman asked about her in anything above a church whisper. I wanted to take those quiet short exchanges and turn them into full conversations over coffee about any and everything. Hoping that they’d bloom into new friendships.
Like any relationship, I knew I had to be real with myself. I was ready to say no to anything that didn’t vibe with what I was craving. I truly didn’t (and still don’t) have it in me to force anything. But for the vibes that felt real, easy…truly reciprocal? I was willing to pour into those.
I did my part and the universe rewarded me. I went to an event on a Friday morning in January and ended up in a conversation with a fly Black babe that all started with the question that now makes my heart smile—”I have to ask…is that Latisha?”
Through my nerves, I squealed “YES!” and not only did we keep chatting but two other hella fly Black women joined in! We exchanged numbers and that next week we were all laughing over drinks while looking gorgeous.
And just like that, something changed. It wasn’t a big dramatic moment—just good vibes, lots of earth sign energy, and connections that didn’t feel like work. My nerves were very present and accounted for (I broke out in a sweat at least twice) but I managed to stay in the moment and let it unfold. Now I’m not only giddy in our group chat as we plan our next kickbacks but I’m more confident in my search for more friendships that fulfill me in ways that I want and need.
I didn’t grow up with a crew of Black girls I’ve known since like third grade. Although I wish I did, I have no “this is my day one” stories from childhood. My Black girlhood was me essentially trying to figure life out solo.
But just because I didn’t have it then doesn’t mean I can’t have it now.
That night at dinner, I didn’t feel like I had to shrink. I didn’t have to overexplain to be understood, I didn’t worry that I was being too loud or too much, I was just there…being me and enjoying them.
All that came from a $45 wig.
Latisha made me look good, yes, but she also served as this unexpected connecter into the type of friendships I’d spent years praying for.
I don’t know, they say money can’t buy you happiness and I pretty much agree, but maybe when you spend it on a synthetic wig that has magical powers…it can get you pretty damn close.
If You Liked This Edition of Hi Shelli!
Here’s another you might really fuck with…
Breaking Up Is Hard To Do
A friendship break-up can be harder than that of the romantic sort, and it also plays out in Insecure in Molly and Issa’s friendship fracture. They hurt quite a bit and when you don’t know what happened it sucks even more.
Etc.
Heads up—non-Black folks have discovered Latisha and I feel a way about it.
The aforementioned new friends dropped this in our chat and it’s sooo good
Thank you so much for reading Hi Shelli!
As always, all reviews are in front of the paywall and if you like what you read I hope you consider becoming a paid subscriber <3
‘kthxbi!
