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Lament of the Balding
Posted on July 15, 2010 by TJ
I am going bald.
There is no doubt about this; my hair is falling out at a rate that has finally leveled off after years of dramatic, rapid increase. To be honest, though, I kind of wish that my hair decayed exponentially into a quick oblivion, allowing me to definitively state that yes, I Am A Bald Man. Instead, I am entering the murky, divisible by zero waters of the dreaded Balding.
There are some who say that my fate is not yet sealed. Why not fight? Why not bring all the weapons of modern science to bear on the silently stalking demons of androgenic alopecia? Despite my desire to channel my inner Epictetus and accept my fate, I still struggle with the decision to simply allow my hair to continue its desertion of this mortal coil: I am weak. I hereby openly admit that, yes, I’ve experimented with Rogaine (active ingredient: minoxidil, works as a hypertrichotic agent promoting hair growth through unclear methods, available OTC) with positive results; i.e. the advance of Forehead ground to a halt and there were definitive sprouts seen on previously lost territory. Propecia (active ingredient: finasteride; inhibits the formation of dihydrotesterone in the victim’s scalp, available via prescription only) requires a financial and medical commitment I just couldn’t justify; moreover, its FDA-promised deleterious effect on a man’s sexual health seems frightening at best. The (relatively) minor side effects to Rogaine were basically being annoyed at having to apply it twice a day and a slight dryness to my scalp, but, despite the ease of use and positive results, I just couldn’t keep it up. At first, I thought it was because I a) didn’t want to be beholden to a product for the rest of my life and b) disliked the idea of forcing my body to ingest unnecessary substances only to salve my own vanity. (Why I can’t muster myself to level similar arguments against whiskey or Diet Coke remains a mystery.) As the long retreat continues and with increasingly desperate pleas from my wife to at least make a move towards some kind defense, I’ve had to examine more closely what, exactly, keeps me from fighting.
There is a certain grace that comes with Being Bald, a certain Stoic acceptance of fate best exemplified by those who walk boldly into the spotlight, domes shining. On the other side, of course, are those who resist nature, refusing to go quietly into that hairless night. Although I refuse to medically supplement my mane, I can at least understand those who do. A last stand, a chemically fortified stasis preserving nature’s bounty is not an unreasonable position. Those who go beyond the medicinal, however, who resort to camouflage and surgery, have reserved for them a special circle in Hell.
To subject oneself to chemical fortification is to merely prolong the inevitable, a deal made with a Pfizian devil resulting in a lifetime of dependence on supplements. Even then, the main goal of these treatments is simply stasis, with new growth being merely a hoped-for byproduct. I refuse to maintain a head eternally shaded in medicinal gray. Given the choice between a lifetime of servitude to Merck and figurative death, I choose death, the Starkian not worst of evils. The serenity people tend to attribute to Buddhist monks and the elderly is based on their acceptance of circumstance, and it is our modern misfortune to be overloaded with attempts at changing our fate. (OK, were headed down a depressingly preachy path here, wherein I bemoan plastic surgery and Heidi Montag and the insatiability of man and maybe even reality TV deals. Let’s skip all that and leave it as: maybe we could just be happy with what we got instead of pumping ourselves full of silicone/finasteride/et cetera.)
While Bald is a state that one can come to accept, Balding is a (seemingly endless) process that seems designed to test one’s mettle. It’s like being on the receiving end of well-funded insurgency, each hair the victim of an unseen V.C. I feel like I could accept being a Bald Man, it’s just the participial phase that’s killing me. I think it might have to do with our (humanity’s) difficulty with transition in general. Think about waiting rooms or airport jetways or the time between when you order food and are actually eating. These are not good times. What’s worse, being punched in the face or that brief infinitesimal moment where you know it’s coming but there’s nothing on God’s green earth you can do to stop it? (That’s the moment where you make this face.) There is something sad and marginalized about balding that is simply not present for those who have come to a terminus in their hair loss and thereby own the identity. We (the Balding) are neither here nor there, part of neither world.
There is also a practical problem that must be dealt with. Bald Man has but one reasonable choice for grooming: the close shave. In the netherworld of the Balding Man, however, we are force to choose from a wide array of styles, none of which are any good. The most reasonable, I think, is to emulate the Already Hairless and simply shave as close as one dare; but when do we make this switch? Do we not deserve a little more time amongst the well-coiffed? An outsider would say the line should be drawn when what’s left on your head no longer supports a style at all, but making the determination that that stage has been reached is far from easy. Every morning post-toothbrush time, the constant running voice through Balding Man’s head asks as he styles, “Is this futile? Are people laughing behind my back? Am I just rubbing hair product directly on my scalp at this point?” The true Bald Man has no such worries.
There is no grace for those of us wandering in a somewhat haired purgatory. We are Matt Lauer; we are Guido del Duca on the Second Terrace. (Second Dante reference!) Instead, we can only stand in jealous envy of the refreshing and honest Proud Bald Man. Look at the synonyms selected for inclusion in Microsoft’s robo-thesaurus for “bald”: plain, blunt, frank, direct, straightforward. Bill Gates & Co. might as well thrown in a picture of Michael Chiklis as any character he’s played since The Shield. We admire how Bald Man makes the best of what, to the haired, is a bad situation. He has met the enemy and they are his.
I am going bald; I shall not (and ultimately, can not) stop this. I just wish I was there already.
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Blog essay (not mine): "The Lament of the Balding"
