My hair still defines me. What’s left of it, that is. I’m not bald, mind you. At least, not in the Mr. Clean/Daddy Warbucks sense. I’m balding. It’s a process. One that for me began quite early. I’m still in denial as to when I started “going back,” but let’s just say it was sometime between becoming old enough to vote and old enough to buy beer. In those days I referred to the ordeal as “losing some hair.” I was sure that the hair I lost, like a misplaced set of keys, would reappear sooner or later.
Back in the early stages I had elaborate instructions for my stylists: “Block it in the back, layer it, then blow in a little mousse, part it on the side and finish ’er off with some gel” was my longstanding order. Today, as the stylist at Great Clips straps the oversize bib around my neck, I say simply “No. 2” as if I’m ordering off a deli menu. No. 2, of course, refers to the size of the clipper guard used to cut my hair. The abandonment of scissors from the personal-grooming process was more or less the death knell of my youth. I started out with No. 4 a few years ago and have been slowly working my way down. I was recently thinking of making the move to No. 1–going for the Andre Aggasi look, but it depresses me to know that once I make that jump the only other hairstyle option available to me will be to flat-out shave my head. White guys don’t look good with shaved heads. It’s an indisputable fact. Two words: Michael Stipe. I rest my case.
Lately, I’ve taken to asking the stylist to “buzz my brows.” As in, “No. 2… and buzz my brows.” It gives me a sense of comfort to know that the $11 I shell out every month for the five minutes (tops) it takes to “keep me out of trouble for a while” (the stylist’s signature haircut-ending line) is spent on more than just a simple clip job. So I added in the thing about the brows. Although if the truth be told, I was beginning to resemble Bert from “Sesame Street.”
I tried one of those so-called hair-loss-prevention solutions once. I dipped the eyedropper into the fluid and applied it to my scalp. It was like trying to stop a forest fire with a thimble of water. All that’s left for me now is activism.
It’s amazing that in these politically correct times, there has yet to be a well-documented case of “baldism” or “anti-sparse-follicleism” or some other important sounding “ism” for what really amounts to, in my opinion, a rash of hair-loss insensitivity. Let me be the first to stand atop that soapbox. It’s no longer safe to make an innocuous comment about a co-worker’s appearance without fear of legal repercussions, yet somehow openly commenting on a balding man’s recession is not only fair game–it’s something of a cultural norm.
I was in a wedding recently for a boyhood friend, and someone in the wedding party commented, “Todd’s head is kind of like the inside of an old redwood–we can measure the years that have passed by the number of new inches around the hairline.” A good one, I admit. But how isthat remark any different than if the bride had made a similar observation about her maid of honor’s behind? In that context, it seems downright mean-spirited. Justsomething to ponder the next time you consider using one of the following “terms of endearment”: Chrome Dome, the Recessionator, Dr. Depilated, or the Mayor of Propeciaville.
There is an upside to prematurely blowing one’s feathers. I used to work out religiously. Pump tons of iron, run marathons, play all kinds of sports. These days I’ve taken to letting myself go. I even started smoking. I gotta tell ya, from where I stand (that is, from where I sit) looking good is overrated. I mean, it’s a lot of work. And for some of us, there’s just no longer any point. To paraphrase Larry David, the original producer of “Seinfeld” after he had just won an Emmy award: “Thanks, but I’ll still always be bald.”
I guess you could say that when it comes to aging, acceptance is my new coping strategy. Acceptance and a redefinition of personal heroes. Bruce Springsteen has been replaced by Bruce Willis. Robert De Niro? Yes, I’m talking to you. Take a hike. Robert Duvall is the new method man in my heart. You too, Captain Kirk. Captain Picard gives the orders around here now. Brilliant men all. For they wear their baldness with swagger and style. I wonder what clipper number they use.
