Claudia Ccahua Huaman, with one of the wigs she has made in Ollantaytambo, and a traditional woven shawl and blanket

When Kiara Kulisic developed alopecia, she was inspired to create ethical wigs in a region where a lack of jobs and a macho culture prevent many women from earning a living

by . Photographs by Leslie Osterling

The face of Juanabel Pillco Solís, who lives in the village of Huayronccoyocpampa in the Peruvian Andes, lights up with pride as she slides a “topper” – or half-wig – on her head.

“This took me almost a month to make,” she says. “It’s such an impressive achievement when I compare this to what I made when I first started out.”

A little over a year ago, she says, she had never seen a wig. Now, Pillco, 30, is one of seven women crafting hairpieces in a workshop in Ollantaytambo, near the Inca capital of Cusco, earning a decent wage in a region with few opportunities for women.

Juanabel Pillco Solís in the workshop. ‘To learn something that I love doing … it’s like therapy. You forget all your problems,’ she says

Pillco works for Chiqa, a company founded last year by Kiara Kulisic, a former tech salesperson from Lima, who began losing her hair after she developed the autoimmune disorder alopecia.

“From the moment I discovered toppers I haven’t stopped using them,” she says. “They’ve changed my life, and helped me to feel self-love and to feel like myself again.”

Kulisic says she was horrified when she discovered the litany of human rights abuses connected to the unregulated wig industry in Asia, with reports of women being forced or tricked into selling their hair.

“It broke my heart,” she says. “How can something that brings so much happiness to a person make someone else so miserable?”

Kulisic was also reading “scary statistics” around the abuse of women in Peru. According to the UN, seven out of 10 women will experience violence by a family member. “This touched me deeply,” she says.

I wanted to help people who don’t have hair. What better way than to give something I made with my own hands?Maritza Baca Espinoza

Many Andean women face not only sexism but“severe oppression” for speaking the indigenous language Quechua.

“There’s a classist separation between white and brown people, poverty, and a macho culture. All this stops them from getting the same opportunities as other women in my country.”

Kiara Kulisic, left; Maritza Baca Espinoza and her baby in the foreground, with other wig-making women and their children

But the region also has a tradition of weaving, and through a welfare organisation in the highlands, Kulisic approached women who might be interested in her project.

“I was a little mistrusting of her, and the idea, at first,” says Maritza Baca Espinoza. Curiosity got the better of her, however, and she appreciated being able to bring her 10-month-old baby to work.

“It was something different that we had never seen. It seemed difficult but we were up for the challenge,” she says. “I wanted to see what would come out of this project.”

Baca and Pillco had both lost friends to cancer and had seen the impact on them of losing hair during treatment.

Maritza Baca Espinoza with her 10-month-old baby, who she is able to bring to work with her

“I wanted to help people who don’t have hair but who need it,” says Baca. “What better way than to give something I made with my own hands for them to use?”

She gets a monthly wage of 1,030 soles (about £225) – above average for the area.

Peruvian hair is known for being long and thick – perfect for wigs

Kulisic, who took a wig-making course in the US, has brought in a consultant Gretchen Evans, who makes customised hairpieces for the film industry, to help with training. While the women perfect their skills, she has been taking orders from friends, and their friends, with plans for a website in August.

It takes about a month to make a topper. Each hair is separated according to texture, washed and treated. Moulds are customised to the individual’s head and hairs sewn on individually.

Hair is sourced locally. Kulisic pays about 500-700 soles for a ponytail – depending on length and thickness, above the going rate in Cusco. She used to cut hair herself, but now employs a local man.

Not everyone is happy with the project. Kulisic says two women left because their husbands objected to them working. One of them came crying to say she loved the job but could not break apart her family. “I feel like he threatened her physically,” she adds. “She had bruises on her arm.”

Baca and Pillco recognise such attitudes.

“I’ve seen the situation where men say you can’t leave the home for long periods of time,” says Baca. “There is also violence towards women.”

I want children and others who suffer from cancer to put on [these wigs] and feel proud of themselvesKiara Kulisic

Pillco agrees. “In my case it is not like this,” she says. “Both men and women have to work, because the wife is not a slave of the house.”

Her job is important to her. “To learn something that I love doing, something that requires patience … it’s like doing therapy. You forget all your problems when you concentrate on something that has value and that can help the lives of other people.

“I want those who need toppers to wear them and get use out of them. I want children and others who suffer from cancer to feel proud of themselves, happy and not alone.”

Kulisic is already planning to expand her business to other communities “where women most need it”.

From left, Kiara Kulisic, Maritza Baca Espinoza, Luzmarina Silva Ccahua, Claudia Ccahua Huaman, Isabel Mendoza Pallani, Francisca Salas Quispe, Juanabel Pillco Solís and Flor de María Coronel Quispe

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