Tracy Turnblad is a hair hopper.

This girl spends way too much time on her oversized bouffant, way too much money on hairspray and way too much time thinking about dancing on "The Corny Collins Show."

She doesn't care that she's a few pounds overweight or that her family is barely middle class. And she has yet to realize her beloved show is shutting out eager black dancers.

It's all about being a hair hopper.

A "hair hopper" is a Baltimore term for any person who spends an exaggerated length of time on an oversized hairdo.

"In Baltimore, hair is politics," John Waters, creator of the original "Hairspray" film, said in the stage notes.

But these aren't just any hairstyles — they are the most fantastic looks from the 1960s, which are featured in the national production of "Hairspray."

And Tracy isn't just another girl from Baltimore in 1962, she's the main star of the high-energy musical that opened Tuesday at Wharton Center and runs through Oct. 23.

Throughout the performance there are more than 60 outrageous wigs used, said actress Caissie Levy, who plays Tracy's best friend Penny Pingleton.

True, the hair itself deserves a starring role, but it clearly isn't the most important issue in the production based on the film starring actress-turned-talk-show-host Ricki Lake.

Most of the characters face barriers — the predominant ones being race, weight and social class.

In the early '60s, there were strict social classes that divided the American population, said J. Brian Wagaman, a Popular Culture Association area chair who specializes on studies of that decade.

"We had a giant emergence of this middle class (in the '50s)," Wagaman said.

Situations, however, were just beginning to change by 1962 to break the classes down. "White America was changing, but black America wasn't," he said.

Wagaman said this was when more modern civil rights groups, such as the Black Panthers, were forming and leaders, such as Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X, were just beginning to rise.

"They were important local figures," he said. "There was a big era of frustration."

He said the landmark U.S. Supreme Court case Brown v. Board of Education changed segregation laws in 1954. The high court decided "separate educational facilities are inherently unequal" and allowed students to be admitted to schools regardless race.

Blacks, however, felt these laws weren't becoming a reality, Wagaman said.

"We changed the law, but nothing's really changed," he said about the feelings of blacks in the early '60s.

In the real 1960s Baltimore — a city that straddles the North and the racially uneasy South — more than half of the population was black. "White flight" to suburban cities here and in other metropolitan areas during this time period led to an inadvertent segregation within schools, neighborhoods and other public sectors.

As Tracy — who is white — quickly learns, there's a division between the white and black kids in Baltimore.

In detention, Tracy befriends Seaweed J. Stubbs, who is black, and a number of the other black kids at school. He teaches her some new dance moves, which eventually helps her win a spot on the local dance show "The Corny Collins Show."

On the "American Bandstand"-style show, there is only one day per month for the black kids to dance on "Negro Day."

Throughout the musical, Tracy doesn't understand why white people and black people can't dance together.

Levy said Tracy's character thinks "this is silly. Why can't we all dance together on TV?"

Velma Von Tussle, producer of "The Corny Collins Show," isn't shy about her prejudices to the host, Corny Collins.

"They're kids, Corny. That's why we have to steer them in the white direction. I mean, you know what I mean," she says.

And it's no secret that Tracy doesn't fit the mold of the more petite girls on the show. When she attends auditions for "The Corny Collins Show," Velma immediately tries to send her away because of her weight.

Joseph Hancock, an assistant professor at Drexel University and Popular Culture Association area chair for fashion, appearance and consumer identity, saw the movie "Hairspray" and said he likes Tracy's acceptance of herself and her weight.

"She does not mind being a heavier girl," he said. "She's not afraid to take fashion and trends and make if for her."

Hancock also said many young girls go through the same situations Tracy encounters. The public also must recognize some overweight people are victims of bullying that need help, he said.

Luckily, Tracy catches the attention of Corny himself at a school dance and he makes her a new dancer. Tracy's growing popularity on the show leads to a spokesgirl gig with "Hefty Hideaway," a store for plus-size women.

But it's not all roses for Tracy. Amber Von Tussle, the rich and popular star of "The Corny Collins Show" — and Velma's daughter — tries to stop Tracy at every chance. She can't stop making fun of Tracy's weight, even knocking her unconscious with a dodge ball while saying "Hey, thunder thighs, dodge this!" and "Eat dodge ball, Trampy Ton-o-lard!"

"It's a sad fact that people that are overweight have a harder time, especially in the entertainment world," Levy said. "It was an issue then, and it's still an issue now.

"The whole weight struggle in the entertainment and our day-to-day is very prevalent."

Combining all these issues, the movie's original story line and upbeat score gives audiences a look into what life was like for Tracy-like girls and her peers in the early '60s.

Levy said audiences should expect to laugh hard at some of the more risqué moments during the musical.

"Everything is wrapped in a shiny exterior," she said. "It's not just a fluffy show.

"Everyone in the show is struggling for something."

Jacqueline WayneGuite can be reached at waynegui@msu.edu.