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As the iconography of graceless, absurd old age goes, the wig is right up there. Comic, grotesque, generally considered `bad' by definition. The kind of hapless, sorry, ineffectual vanity with which wigs are associated isn't widely encouraged. But Richard Mawbey of Wig Specialities is patiently addressing the issue. He makes bespoke wigs for all kinds of people. Convincing, understated, painstakingly crafted in his eccentric shop in central London, at least £1,400 a pop (plus VAT), Mawbey's wigs are almost beautiful. `Until something like chemotherapy or forms of alopecia hits, I think everyone makes a joke of wigs,' says Mawbey, who may or may not be wearing one of his own creations - it's impossible to tell. `And I don't understand why. I've never understood why.'

Wig Specialities dedicates around 65 per cent of its time to designing and making hairpieces for film, theatre and television. Mawbey's walls are covered in posters and signed film frames, memorabilia from the work he's done. But he also has a considerable private client list. `I've always been fascinated with an illusion, by how fantastic it can be to make people look really different. With a wig, I love the idea that within minutes someone can look older, younger, richer, poorer,' says Mawbey. `But also I know a lot about the cosmetic business and the reasons why people would feel bereft without hair.'

Mawbey's introduction to the wig-making scene was a baptism by fire. He trained as a hairdresser in Brighton, graduated to a salon in London, where he met Danny La Rue, and had a wig epiphany. `I travelled with him as a personal assistant and a hairdresser for 10 years all over the world,' says Mawbey. `Apart from learning about the clothes, the hair, the make-up, there were all these wigs... I mean, the man wore 20 in each performance.'

It takes Mawbey four weeks to make a wig, although he can do it in a fortnight. He begins with a consultation and a series of fittings. `I need to know a bit about the psyche,' he explains. `Suddenly you discover that someone always thought they were blonde, when actually they're not. So you might go for a matching colour, and you realise, "Hello, she thinks she's blonde. She'll hate that."'

A convincing wig, Mawbey thinks, requires a proper design, and doesn't necessarily involve a lot of hair. `If you want it to look natural, it's better if there's less hair. And you should have a good hairline. People never think about what happens at the front of one's head, but the hairline starts with a few hairs and gathers momentum as you go back. So if you have a solid wig, very solid at the front, even if you're wearing a fringe, it's going to look false if there's too much sprouting from the front.'

Wigs can make someone look considerably younger, Mawbey says, but he clearly gets most satisfaction from helping customers undergoing chemotherapy. `When you're going through a horrible time, if you can look in the mirror and think, "Well, I look the same" - that's worth an awful lot,' he says. `But if you look and see this mountain of hair you never had before, or no hair at all, that's very disturbing. So it's restoring a sense of normality. Yes, that's worth an awful lot.'

[Article from The Observer Magazine 5.12.02]

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