I am a bald man with what George Costanza called “the historic remains of a once great society of hair.”I was 28 years old when I last paid for a haircut. I went into a Great Clips near the corner of Broadway and Belmont in Chicago, and I asked the stylist quite bluntly to “make me look less bald.” Our eyes met in the mirror and she said, “Honey, ain’t nothin’ I can do to make you look less bald.”
That was it. That was what I needed. I told her to shave it all off down to the scalp. I bought my own set of clippers on the way home and haven’t looked back. I am a bald man with what George Costanza called “the historic remains of a once great society of hair.”
OK—if I’m telling the truth, I’ve looked back. I’ll recount to my wife tales of my past glory days, and noticing the quizzical look in her eye, I’ll add the caveat, “I had hair back then.” But really, it was nothing special. It was never voluminous, always betraying me and frankly, sort of a pan-European non-color that wasn’t quite brown, wasn’t quite blonde—more like the color of a dirty floor.
Both of my grandfathers, whom I can objectively say were truly great men (war heroes and leaders in their respective fields), were bald. Nothing ever held them back, but bald was something I always associated with being grandfatherly. They say the bald gene skips a generation. True or not, deep down, I knew I was screwed. As much as I wanted a head of hair like James Dean, nature saw me more as James Gandolfini.
As much as I wanted a head of hair like James Dean, nature saw me more as James Gandolfini.I started losing my hair toward the end of college. I’d wake up and my pillow would be covered in my own hair. I did what guys generally do in that situation: I panicked. I tried Propecia—couldn’t afford it. I tried Rogaine, and here’s where things got interesting.
So obsessed was I with not losing my hair that I ignored the fact that I’m allergic to minoxidil, Rogaine’s active ingredient. I doused myself in that stinky foam daily while suffering a full body rash that made every part of me itch terribly. Even my eyeballs itched. For two months, I told myself that the feeling would pass while cranking my scalp toward the mirror to check for new growth. And there was nada.