Unwig

Painter. Sir, ’Squire Lumpkin, the little, round, fine gentleman, employ’d me to paint white wigs, upon all the pictures, at half-a-crown a head. […] Tony. Can you unwig ’em again?

[…] I remember well that one of his jests on this occasion was pinning the wig of His Grace the Lord Archbishop of Canterbury to the wig of that right reverend Father in God, the Lord Bishop of London, as these two holy men sat discussing the question of a pension on the Irish establishment, for one of the King’s cast-off mistresses; and when they rose and moved in opposite directions great was their dismay at finding that they unwigged each other.

I was unwigging myself, wiping off the white from my chubby boy’s face, easing myself out of bodice and fardingale.

1844, Charles Waterton, “The Wren, the Hedge-Sparrow, and the Robin” in Essays on Natural History, Chiefly Ornithology, Second Series, London: Longman, Brown, Green, & Longmans, p. 96, […] only the other day, in Dublin, a high dignitary of the law did exhibit such palpable partiality in a cause of “Victoria versus Repeal,” that he ought to have been unwigged there and then, and banished for ever from that arena of marked injustice to poor ould Ireland, and her patriot sons.

This view of forms and ceremonies never commended itself to Mr Gladstone. […] he knew “the sacred virtue of parchment and sealing-wax.” He saw that the same principle underlay the vestments of the Church, and the robes of the Judicial Bench, and the uniforms of Army and Navy […]. “How many men,” he asked me during the Parliament of 1880, “how many men would vote for unwigging the Speaker?”

The man is a good female impersonator, with a deceptive voice. He handles himself well and is a good dresser. No one in the line ever got more from removing the wig than does this man, who uses good judgment in selecting the proper moment to unwig.

“I’d like to take a look at you without all that stuff on, so I could see what difference it makes.” Grinning, I said, “Sorry, I can’t unwig in here.”