The History Wigs in Irish Dance

"And they did tie back their hair which was their own from birth and festooned instead on their heads ponderous wigs having an appearance not unlike raccoons on which they placed silver diadems and crowns.”

Source: “ The True and Unexpurgated History of Feis – Part II -The Ten Commandments of Feis”


As a commentator on various terpsichorean aspects of Irish culture, one question I’m frequently asked by the uninoculated public is, “What’s with the wigs?”

I myself inadvertently blurted out the same question a couple three years back while staring incredulously at a petite, eight-year-old dancer during an awards ceremony at a local Feis. She was wearing the newest trend in Irish dance tresses, a rather voluminous wig that, with the exception of the color, would make Marge Simpson envious.

A Feis dad, possibly her father, overheard my somewhat callous remark, and responded, “It’s traditional.”

“Uh . . . what I meant was….” I began to apologetically blabber as he reassuringly added, “Wigs are part of the tradition of Irish Dance.”

Yet another piece of the puzzle solved in the myths and legends of “Traditional Irish Dance,” I bemused.

Now if one examines photographs of Irish Dancers through the ages it becomes readily apparent that, up until about a dozen years ago, girls danced festooned in whatever hair styles were currently fashionable outside the Irish dance arena. There are a few pictures of the occasional ringlets and a bow or two, but for the most part, hair was, well, hair.

No jigs with wigs…

Then one day, as the story goes, a young dancer showed up at a Feis with striking red hair and naturally luxurious curls bouncing and soaring above her as she cavorted across the stage, dancing brilliantly and enthralling the judges with her grace and beauty, her tresses accentuating every leap and move.

Feis moms stood transfixed with the knowledge that they were witnessing yet the next round of “tradition” emerging before their very eyes.

Like some modern-day female “Samsonite”, her hair was imagined to be the major component of her success, and she was quickly emulated.

Competitors began showing up at the Feis with more and more curls as parents competed in an absurd race to add yet one more ringlet to their daughter’s mane to heighten their dancer’s jumps and leaps.

It might have stopped there, but for the efforts of one inventive Feis Mom to devise the ultimate curling technique. The evidence of her success (her daughter) showed up at a Feis wearing scores of thin foam strips in her hair in some porcupine spiked fashion. The other Feis moms stared slack-jawed as each strip was removed exposing one perfect ringlet after another.

The age of the “soft spike curlers” was upon us.

Mother after mother scrambled to see who could entangle their daughter’s hair with the most foam barbs. Sixty, eighty, one hundred spikes and more were not uncommon. Each mom had her special “installation technique” complete with preferred wine selection for this laborious ritual preceding each Feis Day.

For a while, Feis after Feis rolled by, and no significant changes occurred in regards to hair. An apparent truce seemed to prevail, and this new curling practice became the norm. Sure, an occasional wig would make an appearance but, at the time, they were considered either to be shabby novelty items worn on Halloween, or a bit too haughty for Irish dance. Same difference.

And then everything changed one year at the Glen Echo Feis, a popular outdoor affair in the Washington D.C. area.

On the particular day in question, storm clouds had settled in and dancers scrambled from tent to tent, avoiding the rain while racing from one competition to another. Needless to say, it was a woeful time for hair curls. As the day wore on, moms watched in hopeless frustration as each dancer’s hair wilted like lettuce left out in the sun.

During one competition, shortly after a group of dancers lined up with their now drooping locks, an abrupt silence among the audience seemed to stop time itself and all eyes were transfixed on one petite competitor in the middle of the flock. She was fidgeting ever-so-slightly, aware of the stares riveted on her. Something was different about her, something not quite right. It was . . .

“A wig!” the stage monitor exclaimed, on closer examination.

“A wig!” several moms gasped or whispered to each other.

There, amidst dancers who had spent several hours meticulously crafting strand upon strand of curls only to watch them wither and die, stood a girl with a perfect, perky, pelt of curls, undisturbed by the humidity, the heat, and the rain.

It was more than the average Feis mom could endure.

That night, all over the region, emails abounded, online orders were placed and wig after wig purchased by mothers who can still to this day recall that exact moment when they muttered, “That does it, I’m getting a %@*%$@ wig!”

So now when someone asks me, “What’s with the wigs?”

I respond like I always do …

“It’s traditional.”