The wigs in my wardrobe stand poised, like ballerinas backstage, curled on their mannequin heads.
Since New York’s shutdown began in mid-March, I have not needed that armor, and the multiple roles they represent: the straight dark one is “serious journalist;” the wavy long one, “Upper East Side rebbetzin.” In normal times, these varied shades of human hair served as an announcement to the world: I am Orthodox, I am married, and I have stepped outside my house.
Read Full Article »