Let me just make this clear: I’m bald.
It didn’t happen suddenly. I started losing my hair right after high school. If I had been paying attention, I probably would have noticed it in high school as well.
But, it wasn’t until I started working for the TV news that I did a standup (filmed myself to explain information for part of the story) and saw what was going on. I turned around in the standup and saw the back of my head through my hair.
My first reaction was horror, quickly followed by denial. My dad had thin hair in the back, but he was in his 40s and still had hair. I was going to be fine.
Ha. Funny story - if your Mom’s dad is bald, you can pretty much guarantee you’re going to be bald as well.
I was about 25 when I first started trying hair-saving strategies. Those special hair mousses were supposed to lift and revitalize thinning hair, providing volume and luscious locks for days. Yeah, no. My hair stayed thin and frail-looking. I tried hair growth pills and gels. Nothing worked. Honestly, it was likely because I didn’t use them consistently. Cue me in the bathroom looking in the mirror and complaining, “But I used it for a week! Why isn’t my hair down to my knees?”
Finally, I thought I was brilliant and began cutting my hair so it was super short on the sides and back. That meant it would look thicker on top! The picture below tells me I was wildly misleading myself.
Finally, along with my husband Trent’s help, I began to accept the fact that I was one day going to have to shave my head. And that day was rapidly approaching. Luckily, I decided to go even shorter on the sides and grow my hair out on top and just pile it all on there to make one final, desperate stand.
I found out my hair curled in humid climates on my honeymoon, and I tried to get it to remember that. I don’t think it worked out very well.
Finally, the day came. It was a random Wednesday in October 2020. I had showered, hair falling out in my hands as I gingerly tried to shampoo and condition what was left. Then, I dried my hair and found more on the towel. When I ran my hand through my hair and it came away with several dark strands, I realized I’d had enough. I looked up in the mirror and made the decision.
I grabbed the trimmer that I used for precision on the sides of my head and didn’t give myself an out. I buzzed straight down the middle of my head and promptly screamed. Trent called out from the bedroom to ask if I was okay, and I promptly lied with, “Fine!”
I continued buzzing, and as I did, I realized just how little hair I had left. It came out in three rather small clumps. Then, I took my electric razor and shaved the rest down. Finally, I grabbed Trent’s 3-blade shaver and went against the grain, making it as smooth as possible.
I stood back to admire my work. I was… surprised. Pleasantly surprised. I had assumed I was going to have scars and scrapes, odd lumps, and other deformities from when I was a kid. But there was… nothing. My head was smooth and fairly round and… it looked good.
Trent also thought so too, as he stepped into the bathroom and his eyes widened with a big grin on his face. Of course, for dramatic effect, I had to send the following picture to my family.
So, for a few months, I went around being bald, but I missed my hair. Not because I wasn’t comfortable being bald, but because I wasn’t going to be able to do the things I wanted to do with my hair. I wanted to do a man bun, and a ponytail, and a half-ponytail or whatever they’re called. I wanted long hair on the top and short hair on the sides. And I wanted to color my hair.
So, I began to look into wigs, and by golly did I find some.
First, I bought two men’s wigs, because clearly as a man I can only buy hair made for men, and presumably by men. Eyeroll.
The two I got were… meh. One was better once I took them to a professional stylist, though. The curly one was supposed to drape dramatically in front of my face, but instead looked like I was trying to wear an afro. It’s still sitting on the floorboard in the backseat of my car. The second one looks pretty good if I wear a winter hat with it. But both of them were disappointing because they weren’t what I was looking for.
So I started shopping for women’s wigs, and have found three really great ones: Thor, Turner, and Rachel. Thor, because I feel like Thor when I pull my hair back like he did in a couple of the movies, Turner after Will Turner in the Pirates movies, and Rachel is what I feel like is a modern-looking take on Rachel from Friends.
So far, I’m happy with these three options. The men’s wigs I’m finding advertised to me show that they’re really high quality and natural-looking, but then they’re only $20. When it comes to hair, paying more usually means higher quality and more realistic.
Naturally, when I’m wearing a wig, some people can tell. And if they know I’m bald, they’ll ask why I’m wearing it. The answer is simple: I like hair, I just can’t grow it myself anymore.
At least, not on my head. I’ll spare you the details of my ear hair-plucking regimen, and my fight with these two stupid hairs that are growing out of a mole on my shoulder.
So, for the people who are looking with pity on bald people who own and wear wigs, not everyone is trying to hide the fact they’re bald. Some of us just like hair. We just can’t grow it ourselves.