Horseshoe Hair: My Life as Bald Man

Everyone I know eventually gets around to telling me they like my bald head.  They say it's symmetrical and that I should be happy I don't have a conehead.  Apparently, when they tell me this, they want me to know that there is only one type of male baldness that is bad, and that is the baldness that comes with having a conehead.

I disagree.

I've looked into those hair club advertisements.  Basically, what they boil down to is this:  I went in for a consultation and they gave me a rundown on what my options are.  I can go for surgery.  It's expensive.  There are two types of surgery:  One surgery is called a graft.  They slice out healthy portions of my scalp from the back of my head.  You know, guys, its that part of the head with the horseshoe pattern of hair that starts on one side of the head above one ear and wraps around the head to the other side, yea, that part of the head.  Then they move that healthy strip to the top of my bald head and staple it in place.

Ouch!

Horseshoe pattern baldness is so ugly.  That is what I have.  It looks like a hairy horseshoe stapled to the back of my head.

Next, there's this robotic procedure where they numb the top of the head and then a robot harvests individual hair follicles.  Then, the robot transplants the follicles to the top of the head.  This costs about $20,000.

Then, after going through the harrowing surgical descriptions at the hair club, they talk about what they can "actually" do for me.  Basically, they offer to make me a wig.  They sew the wig together on a netting and then glue it to my head.  The monthly touch-ups cost anywhere from $100 to $500 every month...  but they assure me I can have a beautiful head of hair.

Mommy, help me!

I'm not doing it.

I think, for my 50th birthday, I'll get either the robot deal or a new car.

Hmm...

No stapling!

And then there are my thoughts about people who actually have a full head of hair.  This is what it's like for me to sit in the faculty lounge when my colleagues, usually women, who are talking about their hair.  Here are a couple of the usual suspects, talking about how much they hate their FULL HEAD of hair:

"Oh Sally, I can't stand this unruly mess.  I must spend 6 hours a month in the salon getting it fixed."

"Barb, I know what you mean.  Look at this mess on the top of my head!  No matter what I put in or on it, I still look like I put my finger in a light socket."

Sometimes, when I know I can get away with it and I know that the person talking about their hair will laugh with me, I slink into a seat next to them and place my head next to theirs.  I usually say something like, "do you think they could do something for my bouffant?  I was thinking of teasing it out, you know, like my great aunt Alice used to?  Is it still possible to get a triple-process peroxide wash?  Aunt Alice used to marvel at herself in the mirror, all peroxided up, eying her bouffant in her boudoir mirror as she teased and sprayed it with Aqua Net Hairspray. What do you think, Barb?

When I do this, the Barb's usually laugh.  Then they touch their hair, sigh, sip their beverage and flash me a knowing look that communicates, "aww, baldy, you're right, we should be happy with what we have, at least we don't have horseshoe hair."

Then, I get up from my seat and I say to the both of them, "you should be happy you have hair!"

More laughs

More sighs

More touching of their own full head of hair

More beverage sipping

More knowing looks

One of my favorite past-times is to people watch at the local mall.  I miss doing this because it's nearly impossible to go to the mall and not think constantly about the COVID-19 aerosols floating about the place.  I'm remembering what it was like prior to the pandemic, when I could go there on any given day and people watch.  I'd go there solely to look at hair.

I'm obsessed with hair.

I need you to know, dear reader, that if I had that much hair I would worship it.  I would do everything I could to take out an insurance policy on it.  I would devote myself to loving every strand of it.

At the mall, my thoughts become animated when I observe someone with what I think is a f%kced-up hairdo.  For the life of me, I just don't get it when I see someone with a totally fugly 'do.  Like, I'm looking at them, and I'm saying to myself, "did this person actually roll out of bed one morning and say to themselves, yes, I want the hair on the top of my head to look like it fought a mighty battle with a badger and the badger won?"

Or

"I got up this morning to make my smoothie and I accidentally placed my hair in the blender while simultaneously pressing the "chop" button.  Hello world, look at me!"

Or

Is that the same hairdo Jane Fonda had in the 1971 Academy Award winning film, Klute?

Or

Woah, 1987 called and it wants its spiral wrap back.

These jaunts to the mall always end with my patting my head and saying, "when I get my hair back I am not going to denigrate it by doing THAT to it."

Klute hair is a thing these days.

The David Cassidy feathered shag is also a thing...

On Long Island.

When I moved to Long Island, New York, in 2004, I marveled at my return to the 1970s.

There are several women who live on my street, all of whom have the David Cassidy feathered shag hairdo.  Yeah, look that one up in your Google search.

When I go for my jog in the morning, I am visually and mentally accosted by David Cassidy singing one of his signature tunes in my head...

I woke up in love this mornin'

I woke up in love this mornin'

went to sleep with you (AND YOUR DAVID CASSIDY FEATHERED SHAG HAIRDO) on my mind...

My morning visual and auditory hallucinations have driven me into a shrub or two (and a tree or two, come to think of it).

I yearn for the day when a robot can safely deliver my follicles to the place where they are needed the most - the top of my head.

It's time to moisturize my bald pate.

Gotta go.