It’s a funny old thing losing your hair, I’m sure the more you worry about it, the quicker it happens, which just sends you into an inescapable spiral until you’re as smooth as a snooker ball.
I’m only 32, but already the widow’s peak is so deep at this point she’s just lost her third husband, the bald spot at the back could still be explained away as a very well defined crown and I’ve always had hair so thin it isn’t allowed to participate in the Paris fashion show…but there is no denying it is coming…or going I guess I should say!
Although I don’t relish the idea of looking like a 14th century monk, it’s more the idea that going bald is a sign of aging that is just way too obvious to ignore. Even after marriage and becoming a father, I still feel like a 24 year old, and losing your hair is a very sobering slap in face. “Hello, Adam? This is mortality calling, I know you’ve been screening my calls, but it really is time that we sat down to chat!” That being said, the deep and very real fear of death does sometimes step aside to let vanity take some of the spotlight…how terrible will I look without hair? Surely not that much worse! How many baldie jokes will I be subjected to on a daily basis? Will I have to become a hat-loving kinda guy?
I realised a long time ago there were three types of baldies represented on television and in the movies, the horrible slob who acts as either comic relief or a person you know you’re supposed to hate/be disgusted by. The buff hero who has muscles enough to compensate for his follicle shortcomings. Lastly there is the bearded and bespectacled geniuses, who might save the day but either get blown up in the process or fall in love with a geeky scientist with braces. I’m lazy, but maybe not to a slobbish level, and I think it is a little late in the game for me to buff up and become a friendly version of Jason Statham. So beardy nerd it is (just minus the genius detail)!
I’ve approached my transformation in a very pragmatic way, a three-step programme that will hopefully make the process a little less jarring for people. First up I’m growing the beard, it’s been a month so far and my face is nice and fluffy, the hair not quite long enough to comb or fiddle menacingly with just yet, but I should be there soon. Step two will be the glasses, which is a little odd as all my decent genetics apparently went to my eyes, as I still have 20/20 vision. I still haven’t settled on what kind of glasses I will go for, but probably something chunky and plastic, like Timmy Mallet going to a funeral (wow, that is a reference very few will get!). Once I have the beard and glasses nailed, it will be farewell hair, but even that will happen in increments, each haircut slightly shorter than the last, until I am nicely shorn. For the final hair cut, I will put the miserly pile of trimmings onto a small raft, set it on fire and cast it out to sea, the gently flickering light of my youth swallowed by the waves and distinguished forever, as I weep on the shore, pounding the earth whilst cursing the gods (and my genetic makeup)!