This is TNT by Tallie

No one tells you that your life’s work might begin in silence. No spotlights. No hashtags. Just

your hands, a pair of scissors, and a wig that won’t sit right no matter how many times you try.

I didn’t grow up planning to work in wigs. I wasn’t chasing a niche. It started because I couldn’t

stop caring. About the details. About how hair falls. About how a woman looks at herself in the

mirror when something feels off, and when, suddenly, it doesn’t.

What began at my kitchen table quickly became something deeper. Friends brought me their

pieces, hoping I could fix what didn’t feel like them. I said yes. Every time. Not because I knew

exactly what to do, but because I needed to know.

So I learned. Slowly. Through trial, error, and a thousand tiny wins. I met vendors from around

the world. I studied texture. I observed how hair behaves under pressure, in heat, in L.A. traffic, at weddings.

And I listened.

To the mother who lost her hair to chemo and didn’t want to disturb her kids.

To the newlywed struggling to find a sheitel that didn’t make her feel like a stranger.

To the teenager hiding under a beanie because nothing felt right.

Every story taught me something. Not just about hair, but about identity, resilience, and the

small, private ways women carry themselves through change.

Eventually, I opened a space. It didn’t feel like a business at first. More like a landing place for

women mid-transformation. A studio where real conversations happen. Where vulnerability is

part of the process. It’s not about looking perfect. It’s about feeling seen.

The wigs I create now, aren’t just hairpieces. They’re quiet companions for the women who

wear them. Easy to remove at night. Designed to move with you. Made to look like you on your best day, even when the day isn’t easy.

Not everyone understands the emotional weight a wig can carry. But I do.

When a woman puts on a piece that fits—really fits—it changes something. It does not change

just on the surface. I see it in her shoulders, in the way she exhales. It’s the moment she feels

like herself again. That’s what I’ve spent years chasing. Those exact moments.

And now that I’ve seen it time after time, I’m ready to talk about it. To open up the conversation we rarely have out loud.

Starting this issue, I’ll be writing regularly for The L.A. Jewish Home. It’ll be a place to share

what else I’ve learned, answer your questions, and hopefully, make this journey a little easier for someone

We’re calling it “Ask the Wig Maker.”Email me at editor@thelajewishhome.com. Whether your sheitel is tired, tangled, or just doesn’t feel like you, we’ll figure it out together.

And if you’ve got a sheitel horror story? Good. Send it in. We’ve all got one. I’ll tell you what

went wrong and how I would fix it. Think of it as beauty triage, with a little humor and a lot of

honesty.

This isn’t a brand. It’s a journey. And if you’re somewhere on that path, you’re not alone.

Want to see more of my work or book an appointment?

Visit our site sheitels.com to explore my latest styles, learn about wig care, and schedule a visit. I’d love to help you feel confident and beautiful.

See you on 3rd Street.

With love and great hair!

—Tallie