Ah, male pattern baldness. The old man bring-down that makes it impossible to hide your decrepitude. Yes I know some guys go bald when they’re in their teens, and I feel bad for them. I am trying very hard to throw out my own self-pity and vanity over the sad state of coverage on the top of my scalp, but despite my efforts to rise above it, I keep looking in the mirror and sighing.
But why should I be so forlorn at the great hairline retreat? Fear of how I’ll look as a balding dude is the first part of it. All of my mental self-images are built around a guy with a full head of hair, so seeing the plain truth will be quite a shock. How am I currently compensating? barbershop avoidance. If I don’t go to the barber, I don’t have to find some way to say ‘make me look as good as you can with the little you have to work with on top’. My three options are to swallow my pride and go to the barber, pull out the clippers, admit total defeat and shave my head, or just let it grow. Tonight, I’m firmly in the ‘let it grow’ camp. I’ll be a long hair, balding, creepy hippie. I call this hair style “The Denial”. It’s not a comb over, it’s a comb back. Still lame, I know.
This is the most obvious indicator of my shift into a new social category. I was at the Knights Hockey game last night, and I realized that I belong more in the group of older guys with grey hair (or bald dudes) than the smug looking 20 something dudes. The good news is that both groups turned and watched two hot girls walk by, so we are all brothers of a sort.