Ok. I’ve seen the previews, like, a gazillion times already. And it is still not funny. Remember when dumb comedies were actually made by smart and talented people?
Like millions of other men, I suffer from male pattern baldness. I guess it started in my late 20′s, when I started hearing cracks like “hey, widow’s peak” from my friends. At first it was just a receding hairline. But these days the crown—which was once a lush, thick, unruly, mass of follicular glory—is now more reminiscent of Siberian tundra. Nothing grazes there. It is a place where things go to wither and die.
Hairloss stalks you slowly. You know it’s happening but it doesn’t really hit you until that moment you just happen to see yourself in a particular photo or you suddenly catch a glimpse of your reflection and realize, holy shit when did that happen? I’m bald! At that point I went through the same motions almost every other guy goes through. Panic, anger, sadness, anxiety, rage, melancholy, shame, despair, mourning, denial, vindictiveness, and finally, sighed resignation. Though the genetic gods had seen fit to bless me in so many other ways, in this way they had, in their infinite cruelty, decided to curse me.
Baldness. Nature’s way of kicking you to the sidelines and taking you out of the game.
I tried various shampoos and lotions, herbs and pills, and fingertip massage. Once I even went to Vancouver’s Chinatown in search of some mysterious red tablets. I can’t recall the exact nature of these pills, but they were likely something extracted from dessicated tiger testicles. It’s probably best I did not find them. Needless to say, nothing worked. But hey, at least my scalp felt great!
Though the loss of my lions mane did give me concern, I tried not to obsess too much about it. Fleeting thoughts of wigs, drugs, and even transplant surgery came and went. The fact is that aside from surgical replacement of the dead follicles, hairloss cannot be cured; it can only be slowed down or at best, mildly reversed.
Hairpieces are 99% obvious. The only people who think hairpieces are undetectable are the guys wearing them.
Drugs like Rogaine and Propecia might help a bit, and in some cases allow strangulated follicles to recover, but once you stop taking the pills or rubbing on the lotion all that magical hair vanishes. And there are always side-effects when you start messing around with drugs and hormones, not to mention the monthly side-effects to your wallet.
And surgery. Well, a decent surgeon is going to set you back several thousand dollars, and even then your results are not guaranteed to resemble the flowing mane of your youth. And if your surgery goes bad, well, that’s a whole ‘nother set of problems you now have to deal with, in addition to your balding. And the spots you didn’t have replaced might need touch ups (i.e. more $$$$) down the road.
The question ultimately becomes: how much is your hair worth to you?
In my case (and yours might differ), it was not worth a substantial financial investment or health risk to attempt to preserve or recover my hair. Sure, I miss it. Absolutely. But hey, did you ever notice that in science fiction movies, most of the advanced species are hairless? Us baldies are ahead on the evolutionary path.
And where once hirsute Chewbaccas and Sasquatch creatures roamed the beaches of the 60′s and 70′s, it seems body hair is persona-non-grata these days. “Manscaping” is now a lucrative business as guys go after their back, shoulder, and chest hair. Even scrotal shaving is popular thanks to the abundance of porno. The shaved head is actually cool now, and celebrities like Jason Statham and Vin Diesel are proving that the measure of a man is not reflected by the amount of hair on his head. But for CEOs, movie stars, and others who rely on style over substance, a full head of hair is still an asset.
As for women, I’m sure most prefer a full head of hair, but I’d wager that none prefer a comb over or some other attempt to disguise the loss. Keep it short, keep it neat and clean, and work on your confidence. Besides, women are more attracted to what’s in your wallet, not what’s on your head. 
It will take time for society to stop stigmatizing the balding man as “loser” or second fiddle to his more gloriously coiffed peers. But the first step is to stop letting ourselves feel that way.
The other night my wife and I took her mom to the Economy Shoe Shop on Argyle Street in Halifax for dinner. The place seems to have a decent reputation and lots of business folk and local “celebrities” can often be found eating and drinking there. I remembered hearing the owner, Victor Syperek, was neck deep into his creditors and thought it had gone out of business (or was well on it’s way) long ago. But it was still open, so there ya go.
They both ordered the Curry Chicken Linguini ($19) with Scallops. I decided on the 10oz Angus Strip Loin. Both of their plates arrived “cold” and had to be sent back for reheating. My steak ($25) looked like one of those charbroiled cheapo steaks you’d get at the Zellers Skillet or, even worse, a Ponderosa. Fatty and greasy, it was what I call a “gristle steak”.
For the amount they charge for it, I was expecting something on par with the Keg or even Montanas. I swear at least half this steak ended up on the sidelines of my plate once I carved off the fat and ligaments. The potato was unspectacular; a simple baked spud with some sour cream and chives. The veggies were good, but this meal was hardly worth $10 let alone $25.
Our service was decent, but they should have at least offered to eat our beer tab (2 draft) for serving the cold meals. And I should have tossed the crappy steak on the floor for the dogs and asked for a real cut of meat for such a ridiculous price. I guess they figure that as a “hot shit” establishment, quality is not required. Total cost for this lousy dining experience: $82.
Ya suckered me once, Syperek. Never again, Victor. Never again.
I was saddened to learn of the recent passing of Richard Twomey, a History professor at Saint Marys University in Halifax. He taught my American History class when I was a “student” there in the early 90′s. I say “student” because at the time I was just bouncing around from class to class with no real plan or purpose. I was no more a student than a rocket scientist.
To be honest, I did not enjoy his class, but that was more a reflection of my attitude than his. I was simply too young, too immature, and too stupid to take my studies seriously. To this day I can barely remember the names of the various professors and instructors I had during those few years of university learning, but I’ve always remembered him. There is an honest reason for that, which I’ll get to in a minute. But there is also the “incident”…
In Professor Twomey’s class I would usually sit in the back and daydream, read books, or snicker with a friend who was also killing time and wasting money. I do recall that Professor Twomey was passionate about his subject, and he often lectured with a beaming smile, enjoying the times he was able to engage students in discussion. On this particular day I was sitting there reading the university paper, The Journal, and there was a cartoon on one of the pages. It was Spider-man’s head, surrounded by squiggly lines, with a caption that read: “Mary Jane must be near—my Spidey nuts are tingling.”
This struck me as being hilarious, and it kicked off a fit of giggles. I attempted to stifle them but in the effort I let out a snort that instantly turned heads in my direction and stopped Twomey in mid-sentence. There was silence for an eternal moment and then he resumed. But I could just not shake the hilarity of Spidey’s tingling testicles and though I was quiet, a huge shit-eating grin remained on my face. After a few moments, Twomey had had enough.
“I’m sorry,” he said, visibly irritated. “I can’t help but notice you are really enjoying yourself back there. Are we amusing you?” He said some other things, too, that time has made vague, but to my perception were slightly condescending and designed to humiliate me in front of everyone else.
Now you have to understand that by nature I am a very quiet and private person. I do not enjoy being the focus of attention, and feeling the stares of 30 plus students caused my face to redden and burn and a sweat to break out. I’m not a confrontational person, but for some reason, on this day, at this particular time, I drew my line in the sand.
“Would you rather I sit back here and grimace?” I asked, using my best smartass inflection.
I don’t recall what was said next. But I do remember being asked to leave, which I did. In my mind I was completely innocent. After all, it was my time and my money and aside from a brief snort (hey, maybe I needed to clear my sinuses), I was sitting there quietly. So what if I was smiling? Afterwards, I went to his office to complain about being called out and humiliated in front of the class. If there was a problem, I said, I would rather you deal with it one-to-one rather than embarass me. It was actually a cordial visit and a civil discussion. I saw his point of view, he saw mine. There was no further unpleasantness in his class.
But what I mostly remember Professor Twomey for, and for which I am most grateful, is introducing me to Thomas Paine. At the time I barely paid attention to the lectures on Paine’s intellectual activism, but some of it sank in. And years later, when my own curiosities were awakening and the seeds of humanism and atheism were taking root, I recalled some of his lectures on Paine and dug out some of the old books and reading material. I knew he had been very keen on Paine, but now I was finally allowing myself to learn why.
I can’t say that Professor Twomey changed my life or dispensed the nugget of wisdom that forever altered my perception of the world. But in addition to giving me one of the most prominent memories of my brief time at SMU, he also managed to squeeze something through the cracks despite my academic apathy. Though I wasn’t prepared to look upon it when he gave it to me, it sat there in the back of my mind and waited. What’s the old saying, “When the student is ready the teacher appears”? Well, sometimes the teacher appears before the student is ready.
Thank you Professor Twomey. Sorry that it took so long for me to finally try and be a worthy student. Rest in peace and my condolences to your friends and family.
“When men yield up the privilege of thinking, the last shadow of liberty quits the horizon.” – Thomas Paine