The Thinning of the Hair
I had a lovely conversation with my mother this week. I can’t remember what on Earth we were blabbering on about, but as I knelt down to give one of the dogs a hug, she shrieked something unforgettable: Your hair is thinning!
I couldn’t tell who was more shocked: my mum at the sight of my head, or myself. Especially when I’ve been buzzing my head for years now. It’s not like I still have the wild mop I had as a teen!
Growing up, baldness was always my very own sword of Damocles. My old man is bald, every male on his side of the family is bald, and as my brothers hit their twenties it became apparent they wouldn’t have their cranial insulation for long, and I was soon to follow.
In 20191 I got the clippers out and took the plunge for some daft reasons: I was fed up of maintaining my hair, and going to the barber’s is a pain. A weekly one and done took less effort, was much cheaper, and hey it turns out I look good without hair. Hell, I even picked up a safety razor for when I want to get closer.
Now I get it, baldness is scary. Despite the amount of bald folk out there, there’s still a ton of prejudices against it. It also sucks to have a core part of your identity and the way people perceive you be snatched from you without control. It’s okay to feel vulnerable about your hair, and I know how useless it is for me to say I just buzzed it mate simple.
Despite my hair not getting longer than 4mm these days, there’s still a hint of worry about my hair thinning. While I have no interest in returning to my teen mop, there’s something disconcerting about the fact that eventually I won’t be able to do anything with it, even if I don’t really want to. Could settle for a monk haircut at least.2
At the end of the day I’m not an authority on hair loss, not having to faff about with it is good enough for me. The only downsides I can come up are that my ears are marginally colder in winter and sticking your head out a car window doesn’t feel as satisfying.
And with all that said and done, if the fates wish to take my goatee away they can pry it from my cold, dead hands chin.