The plight of the bald man, or the balding man in my case is a sad one indeed. You find yourself, albeit unwillingly, part of an exclusive club. This damn club that you didn't want to join in the first place and your membership becomes more apparent every passing day. I'm sliding on this downward spiral until what? BALD. In my mind I'm screaming it in front of my goddamn face in the mirror...BALD!
I'll be on the subway and all six guys on the train have full heads of hair...'ah fuck everything' I think. What are the chances? Every single fucking guy has all his feathers perfectly gelled into place. Six American Psycho wannabees and I want to kill 'em all! Then at the next stop, miraculously, a sad little bald man mopes his way through the sliding doors and I breath a sigh of relief; there is someone else to go through hell with me.
I hate that four letter word. It's so offensive and dirty. I cringe at the mention of it. Unlike most any other word I never say 'bald' out loud. I only type it. In response to the question 'Are you losing your hair?' I always use a silly turn of phrase like 'Oh that? It's just my forehead growing. That's all'. To me, saying 'bald' is like a guy screaming out NIGGER! at the Apollo Theatre. It's plain offensive.
There are many ways to give the illusion of natural hair: Wigs, plugs, spray on hair, transplants, combovers (Have they no respect for the eyes of others?) and who knows what else. Why not surgically remove the hair on my ass and topographically apply it to my head? What a shithead they'd all think. The sad truth is that I would be a liar sitting here typing before you if I wrote that I haven't entertained the thought of all these options at least once. What with science nowadays who knows what they're capable of! Those crazy hair scientists are somewhere right now feverishly working away in their top secret underground hair labs, and guess what? They're this close to a cure for male pattern baldness. This fucking close I tell you! Jeremy Piven told me so.
Going bald really brings out the worst feelings; in the darker moments my mind turns to bitterness and vindiction. I'll be at a bar and some furry headed kid starts in with me, 'Look at you you fucking scum, can't even grow a faux hawk,' He'd say.
'Ahh you think you're a big man just 'cause you got all your hair? You wanna get knocked the fuck out? Let's go punk.' I'd say. We'd take it outside like real men and I'd pull a knife and slice off his scalp and don it on my head and wipe of the excess brain splatter and pretend like nothing happened and go back in for a Vodka 7. There we go--problem solved!
But really, me...I'm a sensitive guy. I feel a pang of empathy when I'm strolling down the boulevard of life and I see another bald(ing) man. We're part of a special club remember? We're both victims of circumstance. For the common man I have sympathy but I secretly wish baldness upon famous men. Brad Pitt wouldn't be Brad Pitt with a shiny ol' chrome dome. Ladies would Legends of the Fall be the romantic fairytale it is (or so I'm told I haven't seen it yet) without Brad's luscious locks waving in the breeze as he rides a horse to claim his woman? I can picture Stanley Tucci bouncing on his saddle and a bird lands a hot one right on his shiny head. Shit, if a bird dropped one on Brad Pitt's head it would just disappear into paradise. Would George Clooney be the suave gent he is in Oceans Eleven if he was bald? It would be like that fella in Powder trying to woo Julia Roberts. Don't think so. By the way I haven't seen Powder either. I simply must start referencing movies that I've seen in my blog! This is a professional endeavor here. Ya know I was just thinking in addition to 'bald' I hate the word 'blog' too. Especially losers who use the word 'blog' in their blog. I mean do you know anyone cool who writes a blog? Mostly just a bunch of internet predators (nudge nudge wink wink).
But I digress. I can't wait to see who goes bald out of the young pop stars like Justin Bieber or one of the Jonas Brothers. Let's see how many tween girls chase them through malls when that happens. How tragically ironic it would be if that Bieber kid could no longer recreate the very thing that catapulted him to international stardom. Ah well...nothing lasts forever boys, not even fame and hair! Since I'm going bald I'll try live vicariously through my dad and coax him into growing a white Bieber Bob. My dads hair is totally blanche so it'll be blinding! Can you spell Silver Fox? Never ending white lights. My dad will be the coolest retiree pop star. I hope I catch some of the pussy shrapnel.
I never equated baldness with old age; I've no problem growing old, I don't really fear it in the least. Well I fear it but it's not a crippling soul destroying fear. I've always felt older than my years anyhow. The problem is with physical attractiveness. I suppose the two go hand in hand but I certainly wouldn't dread growing old with all the wrinkles and erectile dysfunctions if I could do it with a thick thatch on top of my head.
But no matter how much I sit here whining and complaining I know that nothing compares to the pain of a woman losing her hair. Ah yes, the plight of the bald(ing) woman. My heart goes out to you gals. Although it's quite rare for a woman to lose her hair it just makes the sting that much sharper when you come across some hapless girl with a patchy scalp. I remember once being at an A & W in Georgetown, ON. This poor girl, barely out of her teens and her beautiful face was unfortunately adjacent to her hideous hair. Thin wispy strands fluttered as she walked back to collect my burger and fries. I still remember you balding burger girl! SEE I do care!
I like to think that no matter how bad my life gets, no matter how many times I scrape the bottom only to find there's more bottom underneath I know I don't have it half as bad as this girl. The irony is she's probably happier than me with a husband and kids. 'Who cares if I'm bald?' she says to herself, 'I've got my family.' And here I am wasting my time feeling sorry for her.
Or...maybe she's dead in a ditch somewhere, drove off the road into a lampost, killed herself--and I could have saved her, cut some random girls scalp off, given the burger girl a local anasthetic and carefully stitched the scalp onto her poor head. I'd water it everyday and then the hair would start to take root and we'd fall in love and get married and paint our picket fence white and have 2.5 kids.
One night I was out with a friend at an Indian restaurant on Bloor St (though after many a night its been turned into Blur St). My buddy was facing the outside window which is my seat of choice so I can watch the wildlife of Toronto pass by; I was stuck looking into the empty restaurant with its boring decor. After reacquanting ourselves my attention turned to the short unsteady busboy ambling towards us. There was something vaugely off about him. That was the subconscious conclusion I came to. Then I figured it out: He was an East Indian man with Down Syndrome! He started piling up the dishes from a nearby table. 'Have I ever seen an Indian guy with Down Syndrome?' I thought, 'Not that I can recall' came the answer. Here is this mongoloid with a goofy look on his face with hall of fame rockstar hair. Why, oh why must fate torture me so? What is he going to do with that beautiful thatch except give himself retarded haircuts in the dark? Now I on the other hand could use that hair. I would be on my knees pleasing Jesus every goddamn night if I had hair like that. I would kill ordinary men and famous men! I don't care anymore! That busboys jet black mane just flowed so suave and natural; way out of touch for his general demeanor. You could tell, this guy couldn't handle what he was packing. I shake my fist and curse at the angry hair Gods!
I wonder how someone with such an obvious genetic mutation can mature with such healthy follicles. It's the same thing with the homeless. The endless Toronto winters, the endless hits of the pipe followed by the endless swigs of the bottle, shouldn't that affect hair loss? Their bodies look withered but the hair is healthy looking, growing wild like a stubborn weed. I walk by a few bums almost daily on the way to the LCBO and they're grimy, foul creatures but guess what? Great fucking hair. Me bitter? Naw.
I'm sleeping, dreaming about having a full head of hair. I'm in a bar and I feel so secure, so alive like I can do anything. I can have any girl. The world is mine for the taking! Then the cold slap of waking life hits me in the face and it's back to the grind. I suppose I can do what a lot of bald guys do nowadays and grow facial hair. That seems to be the move, huh? But I question the raionale behind it: 'I'm bald so to distract everyones attention I'll grow ornamental hair on my face. That will divert their eyes from my head. I'll fool them all!'
I guess there's some validity to this for I'm currently sporting a goatee. Man I get bored and there aren't many hairstyles to choose from when the hair starts falling out. I've had the same bland style for the last decade. Should I frost the tips or something? Help me out here.
Maybe in the coming years when I'm totally bald I should grow the S & B (Sides & Back) long and put it in a ponytail a la Mick Fleetwood. Isn't that a look? Well I have to hand it to him he somehow pulls it off where most guys with the bald ponytail probably have a rape kit in the rear left quadrant of their trunk.
Or...I could sport the 'Skydome'. That's where you grow the hair on the Sides & Back (a.k.a The Horshoe) so that it looks like the Skydome--when open of course. I think that's a preferable alternative to shaving everything off like a cancer patient. Just keep it nicely cropped on the sides. What is with that anyways? Why does only the hair on the top of your head fall out and not the sides and back? Ahh just one of the many questions I'll have for your God when I get to the pearly gates.
The hair Gods don't just rob you of it all, they leave no evidence behind--the once lush scene of the crime reduced to a smooth rounded marble surface. No scars or bloody gloves. As you can tell I'm coming along nicely in my quest of coming to terms with hair loss. Over the years I've been forced to become a lot more comfortable or risk madness though I'm occasionally stabbed with pangs of insecurity. Going bald is part of the human condition, so many people go through it and even I can't escape it. The thought use to mortify me a lot more. When I was in university I would tell myself 'Well Nezbit you got about a year or so left with a decent amount of hair so enjoy it'. I've said the same damn thing with the same damn voice in my head every year since. Is this the end of HAIR?
Plus I use a special shampoo that seems to slow the whole process down. It cleans the DHT out of your scalp. The DHT--if you were wondering--chokes the follicles until they can hold on no longer and they are jettisoned from the head to land on a pillowy grave. We humans, worry worry worry about our dire little problems and then either accept them as inevitable or go insane. I've chosen both.