BALDNESS
Edited version published: Frankie #22 (Mar/Apr 2008)
[NB: The assignment this issue was to respond to the question: "If
I could rid the world of one thing, what would it be?")
Even though you’re a stranger, I’d like to invite you to scan
over my family’s photo albums. Over here is my grandfather—a
lovely old man with tortoise-shell glasses, and a cheeky smile. You will
notice he is bald. Over there are my maternal uncles, all crass jokes
and sunshine, most of whom wear glasses. You will notice they are also
bald.
And here is my father Danny in the 1980s, who sports almost obscenely
thick hair. My god, it is so thick, he practically looks like a lion;
a lion who’s just killed a gazelle, and is now on the prowl for
ladies and sex. His locks even arrange themselves in wind-kissed curls.
It is overwhelming, the handsomeness right here. But cut 20 years later,
and you guessed it: bald.
Perhaps it’s shallow of me to say this, but if I could get rid of
anything in the world, it would be my impending hair-loss. If your father’s
bald, your uncles are bald, and it’s on both sides of the family,
chances are you’re heading in the same direction. I want to avoid
that particular genetic destiny. Because without hair, I would be monumentally
hideous.
“Wow,” my grandmother said recently. “Your hair is so
thick! So dark, so handsome!” She nodded approvingly at the pavlova
of hair I’d styled fastidiously that day, to resemble a just-woken
James Dean. Then she said something I’m now convinced was some evil
Chinese incantation: “Your father’s hair was like that at
your age.”
Soon after that exchange, I turned 25. Almost on cue, I noticed hair coming
out in the shower. It wasn’t enough to cause massive alarm, but
enough to make me think: “Oh hello. This is the beginning, isn’t
it?” It was like spotting your first pubic hairs as a kid: you’d
always heard it was going to happen—now here it was, right before
your eyes. Ta-da.
Now everywhere I turn, I notice there is an epidemic of baldness amongst
young men. It is like a plague. Has it been there all along, and I’ve
only just noticed it—somewhat selfishly—now? With these guys,
you don’t have to flex your imagination too much to see where their
hairlines are going to end up.
It’s almost as though these people live with an imaginary dotted
line on their scalps: one labelled “NOW”, the other labelled
“AFTER”. It’s not Magic Eye: everyone can see it. You’ll
see these guys intermittently rub their hands over the thin areas, which
I’m guessing is a flinch reaction. Subconsciously, they’re
checking whether the hair’s still there. My heart goes out to them.
At my most recent haircut, my hairdresser began by saying, “Because
your hair is thinner at top, we’re just going to … ”
Something, something. I’m not sure what she said afterwards, because
upon hearing the word “thinner”, the blood drained from my
brain. Perhaps I momentarily lost consciousness. All I remember afterwards
is that I had a new, sharp haircut, but one that gave me a new, clearer
perspective on how shiny and white my scalp was looking nowadays. Oh scalpy:
I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot more of one another in the
near future!
Call me paranoid, but I’m already taking an oral prescription drug
that should halt whatever hair-loss I’ve experienced in its tracks.
Beyond that, it’s out of my hands. Sweet Jesus, what can I say?
Go away hair-loss, that’s what I say! Go back to where you’re
truly needed: the legs of women; the lower backs of men; the vaginas of
adult-film stars; the upper-lips of Mediterranean youth. Hair-loss, you’re
not needed here! Be off with you. Hair-loss be gone!
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