But that can wait.
For I turn now to the other component of what is increasingly
known as ‘the upsidey-downy face look’.
I speak, of course, of the shiny splendour of the bald
bonce
As a kid, I vividly remember climbing up onto our sofa,
habitually pestering my poor, weary father after his long day at work.
My favourite game would be to repeatedly lift up and
replace his comb-over and repeat ‘haaaaaair…no hair! Haaaaaair…no hair!’ every
time I did it.
I never tired of this.
And I have no doubt, to this day, that there was one consoling
thought running through my father’s head as he endured this daily humiliation.
One thought with which he would look upon me with a smile of bemused affection and ruffle my mop of blonde hair.
And that thought was:
"Genetics, you little fecker. Genetics."
And sure enough, genetics came knocking on my door one
day. Like a debt collector looking to claim my hairline.
The first time I became truly aware of my fate was during
a trip home from London
With faux modesty, I patted my belly and smugly admitted,
“yeah I may have lost a few pounds.”
“No,” corrected the friend, pointing to my hairline. “I
meant thin on top.”
And so it began.
But the genetic grim reaper would not claim his prize
quickly, no. The death of my hairline would instead be a slow and protracted
one.
Follicles would disappear gradually, like contestants evicted
from the kind of reality TV show you wish would just end already. Bald Brother perhaps.
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Joking aside, it is a very tough thing for any bloke to
come to terms with. I'll put it this way: you start putting on weight, you can
exercise and eat better. You lose your hair, and no diet in the world will save
you.
Before you know it, it's curtains for your curtains.
See you in a while, hairstyle. Farewell, hair gel. Toodle-oo, shampoo. Sweet
dreams, Brylcreem.
This huge change can lead to vast degrees of self-denial.
There are essentially three strands (pun intended) to the follicular debate.
There are those who have hair (Harry Styles, ZZ-Top),
those who don’t (Yul Brynner, Mr Bigglesworth), and those who still try to
pretend that they do (Donald Trump, Nicolas Cage).
To me, it's those who fall within the third category that
lack most dignity. Which is why I would never even entertain the concept
of hair plugs or transplants or any of the other money-wasting ways to satisfy
my vanity.
My own hair thinned dramatically on top whilst,
perversely, the hair on the back and sides continued to flourish like protected
woodland. So, to avoid looking like a mad scientist, or Keith Flint in the video
for Firestarter, I need to keep my hair to a blade 2 maximum length.
That's SIX lousy millimetres people.
Sometimes I’ll see guys with exceptionally shite, neo-mullet
haircuts, you know the kind:
And in those moments, how do I feel? Like a double
amputee staring longingly at someone with a pair of arms. And noticing that this
person can do nothing more creative than pick their nose.
So the lesson is, don’t take your hair for granted. There
are so many things I want to say to my hair. Tell it I love it. Treat it
better. Take it out for dinner more often. But now it’s too late.
I console myself with the fact that I’m not alone. There
are plenty of bald brethren out there flying the flag and flying it proudly.
And so I'll end on a note of hope, reminding the world of just a few of the
hairless heroes out there, in no particular order:
1.
My Dad
2.
Samuel L Jackson
3.
Dara O’Briain
4.
Yoda
5.
Jason Statham
6.
Most of the cast of Breaking Bad
7.
Most of the cast of Fast and Furious 6
8.
Bruce Willis
9.
Homer Simpson
10.
Kojak
All that's left for me to say is, clear a spot for me: I’m
happy to join the rankings.
