A 20-something’s journey into manhood.
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I was 19-years-old the first time I realized I was going bald.
It was in the fall of 2008. A good friend of mine first pointed it out.
“Mike, I can see through your hair. You must be going bald,” he said.
I laughed it off. I was a teenager with a full head of hair. How could I be going bald? That was for men in their forties. At the time I wore it up and back in a full on pompadour. It’s how I earned the nickname “Elvis.” I reveled in my thick, wavy brown locks. It defined me.
When I got home that afternoon I rushed to the bathroom. I spent the next half hour with a hand mirror and a comb, poking and prodding my hair, pulling it in every direction. I just couldn’t see it. In hindsight, it was thinning, but at the time, I had no idea that hair could get thinner.
I knew I would probably go bald eventually, all the men on my mother’s side were. It was a running joke in my family. But, I reasoned, I had a good 20 or 30 years before I had to worry. I thought I had decades of pomade and shampoo ahead of me. I was wrong.
Within the next two years I began to notice a lot more sunlight making its way through what was once a forest of hair. As a way of coping, I began trying out different hairstyles; the Caesar cut, the side-part; I even tried a fauxhawk at the behest of one stylist. They were bandages on a gaping wound.
By 22 I was an insecure wreck. Every light breeze had me whipping out a comb, every rain shower made me run for cover. I couldn’t accept what was happening. I figured if I hid it well enough, no one would notice. My girlfriend at the time didn’t care, but that wasn’t enough. It wasn’t about what she was okay with; it was about what I was okay with.
And I wasn’t okay.
It wasn’t until I was about 24 that fate intervened. Insecurity about my hair mandated I get it cut every three or four weeks at least. One night, in a hurry, I walked into a small hair salon next to where I worked for a quick cut before my shift. Distracted and intimidated by the attractive stylist, I neglected to tell her exactly how I needed it cut, and she took a bit too much off the front. As soon as I realized the mistake, it was too late.
I spent the next day toiling about what to do. There was no fixing it, the damage had been done. After hours and hours of stressing and some encouragement from my roommate, I made the decision to cut it off. I took a deep breath, pulled out the electric clippers and buzzed my entire head.
I kept the buzzed look for a few weeks but after talking with another good friend of mine who had gone bald around the same age, I decided to take a razor and a can of shaving cream and get it over with. And yes, there were more than a couple nicks and cuts, but after the bleeding stopped I realized something that I had never realized before.
I wasn’t any less of a man without some hair on my head. It doesn’t work like that. Being attractive, being confident, being, in essence, a man has always been about more than follicles. Accepting the hand I had been dealt did more for my self-esteem than any hair product or expensive stylist ever could.
It was like bearing my soul to the world, owning all of my flaws, and letting go of them; like cutting away at all of my self-doubt and insecurity. With every clump of hair that fell into the sink I became more confident. It didn’t matter if it looked good or not, I had conquered my demon. I had won.
It was the first time I had been truly okay with the man I was becoming. To this day I have never felt as empowered, as completely in control of my masculinity, as I did in that moment. I wasn’t afraid of the future anymore.
And it turned out I looked good bald.
Lots of men do, it’s like God’s way of making up for what he has taken away. When I embraced my smooth dome, the women around me did too. It became my signature, my calling card. I was the bald man in the room, immediately distinguishable from all the other guys. It’s true, some women just can’t get past it, but they’re a minority.
Being bald actually improved my dating life. Baldness, as studies have discovered, is a sign of masculinity and aggression, two traits which evolution have deemed positive qualities for men, especially when it comes to sexual attraction. Bald men are also perceived as better leaders, more mature and more physically powerful. And the best I part is it grows back.
If I didn’t like it, all I’d have to do is stop shaving. But why bother? After a couple weeks I started to prefer my new look. Showers are shorter. It takes virtually no time at all to get ready and out the door in the morning. Nothing feels as nice as a summer breeze against the skin, or rain drops running down the scalp. And you can’t fathom how many women are excited to touch a bald head.
My current girlfriend likes to remind me how she only ever went for guys with long hair. That is until we met. Because you see, gentlemen, bald is beautiful, and it’s hard for anyone to resist a man who is comfortable in his own skin.
I was 19-years-old the first time I realized I was going bald. I was 24 the first time I realized I was glad.
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When I was 19 I was in college and was envious of some of the juniors and seniors who were beginning to go bald. Several graduating senior men were already Norwood 6 bald and they were only 22 or 23 years old. As far back as I can remember I have always wanted to go bald, just like one of my grandfathers and my favorite uncle. All through my 20s, 30s and 40s I was deeply disappointed that I didn’t bald beyond Norwood 2 (slight receding at temples). Then in my early 50s my hair suddenly began to recede and… Read more »
I’ve always had thin hair, at 17 I noticed that it was getting thinner on top and realized I was balding. I’m 25 now and have never had a problem with going bald, I always wear baseball caps so when most people first meet me they have no idea (still have some hair on the sides) but I have no problems taking my hat off and it doesn’t take long before people see me without it. The only issue I have is whether or not to get the razor out and take it all off, I always get a buzzcut… Read more »
I’ve always had blonde, curly hair. So blonde, people used to say my hair was “white” rather than blonde. The sort of large curls that women spend hours in barrel curlers to achieve. My hair was always very thick, as well. Not just thick as in dense, but each hair is coarse. I once had a barber remark that my hair is similar to horse hair (I’m still not sure if that was an attempted compliment or not). It’s just my natural hair and everybody I ever met had some comment about it. Comments ranged from amazement at the platinum… Read more »
Nice piece.
I am 66, am bald for all but a fringe around my head from ear to ear, and out of a lifetime of habit still carry a pocket comb. It makes no sense: I know.
Same here. 19 years old when a friend’s brother asked me if I was going bald. Of course, me, the guy who grew up with hair so thick it sometimes was impossible to get a comb through it, laughed it off and said no way. I was in denial about it, then I eventually accepted it but thought I had more time before it became noticeable. And then, one day I saw the pictures posted on Facebook from a fundraiser I had gone to a few days earlier and I saw what the back of my head really looked like.… Read more »