An Irishwoman's Diary

THINK Shirley Temple – no that’s unfair to the lovely memory of a famous little girl with her trademark ringlets, because the wigs worn by Irish dancers are like nothing Hollywood could imagine.

I bought one last week for my little girl and her eyes lit up in pure excitement and delight even as mine narrowed with evil thoughts about how the spirit and style of Irish dancing could have gone so awry.

“What about that lovely Jean Butler from Riverdance?” I said. “Long swingy hair, a bit of a kink in it. Gorgeous.” She shrugged because she doesn’t know who Jean Butler is. “Look at Prodijig? [The Irish dancing winners of this year’s Got to Dance competition on Sky]? Not a single one of them with a massive ball of polyester ringlets bouncing up and down like hyperactive springs.”

That got her attention, but only for a moment. She loves Prodijig. I told her that when I was her age, girls used to have great big fat ringlets, made not with curlers or tongs, but bits of fabric, rags really, tied round and round by artful mothers. We had to sleep on them. It hurt a bit. My daughter concentrated on practising her high kicks in the kitchen, ignoring the history lesson.

We’d got this far without a wig – she started Irish dancing aged five – but now at 11 she’s had to wig up. I can complain bitterly as much as I want about how unnecessary they are, how ugly, how downright bizarre but it doesn’t matter. Wigs are part of Irish dancing for a reason that I simply can’t fathom.

Some Irish dancing schools insist that as soon as the girls start entering feiseanna they must complete their look with one of these monstrosities. Go to any feis – and there’s one on somewhere nearly every weekend – and you’ll see tiny girls, as young as seven, their lovely hair hidden under a massive helmet of fake shiny ringlets, their faces pink with heat. The wigs are so big it’s hard to believe their little necks will take the strain until you understand that the wigs aren’t heavy, just hot and very difficult to keep in place without a whole card-full of hair clips.

The teacher who runs the Irish dancing school where my daughter goes isn’t blingy. Up to now he’s given them the option of “hair in a doughnut” – a bun on the top of the head. The bun looks grand. But now that the “Worlds” is looming in April and she’s competing in the big league, a wig has become an essential part of her kit.

At a feis in Tallaght before Christmas I fell into conversation with a woman who was looking on as six teenagers practised the Fairy Reel. “Don’t they look lovely,” she said sort of wistfully. “They look all the same.” And they did. Six bobble heads in their matching wigs and matching dresses. Backs straight. Step perfect. You’d be hard-pressed to tell one from the other. After a while, it was sort of hypnotic.

The wig I bought cost €50 – a bargain apparently. The teacher bought in bulk – they’re usually around €65 – and if you want one of the bouffant, longer ones you’re talking €150. The label says “synthetic” as if there could be any doubt. It reminds me of the hair on the Crolly doll I got from Santa when I was eight.

At least I’ll be able to flog it on when (and if) she hangs up her dancing shoes. At most feiseanna – and as an Irish dancing mammy I’ve been to more than a few – there’s a brisk business in secondhand gear, but even at that, Irish dancing is astonishingly expensive. Ballet has a reputation for being posh and elitist – but the rig out for Irish dancing costs so much more. Most schools have their own competition dress, a sort of uniform – expect to pay around €500 for that. If your daughter competes in the solo section, she’ll need an extra, usually individually-designed dress and well, the sky’s the limit.

“Her dress cost €800,” confided one woman to me at a recent feis. “I told my husband it was €200 and he had a fit. He hasn’t a clue.” I’d never met her before but we had been trapped in a stuffy GAA hall in Balbriggan for seven hours – at a certain point even strangers will tell each other anything.

Styles change too. Most solo dresses are laden with stick-on crystals and neon colours are in. The most striking solo dress I saw last time was a shiny black and gold number trimmed with fake leopard fur. Not exactly a native species to Ireland. The boys – and there’s never that many of them – get away lightly: black pants, black or white shirts – the only thing that’s colourful or open to competitive shopping is the waistcoat. Couldn’t the girls dance as well in a simple dress? After all, it’s the dancing skill that counts – isn’t it? The note we got from my daughter’s teacher about the “Worlds” listed the requirements for each age category. “Under-16s must wear fake tan”. She can’t wait.

An Comhdháil World Irish Dance Championships, Seven days of Solo and Team Competitions. 40 World Titiles to be decided. April 1st-7th. CityWest Convention Centre, Saggart.