'inserts weak joke about male pattern balding here'

Earlier today another Substacker posted a short musing on the quiet death that is male pattern baldness. It’s a small, deep, private pain that most (but not all - and I suspect fewer and fewer) men have to bear with.

When I was a boy I had amazingly good hair. Thick, auburn, wavy, indestructible, glossy and bright in the sun - you name it - I looked like a thoroughbred from the forehead up. Every time I had my hair cut, it would be ‘Oh my, you’ll never go bald!’. My mum HATED cutting my hair, it was so thick that she sent me to the barber as soon as possible, and every time they would marvel at my thatch. My dad had short, grey, slightly receding hair that had once been a very dark red - unusual for a Spaniard. My mother had what could only be described as ‘English Mouse’. My hair was so thick it was a nuisance and sat on my head like a hat - I grew it long in my early 20s so I could tie it back - it was like wearing a crash helmet (think a younger Andrew Garfield - just the hair, not the face)

Then, one day - when I was 24. I caught sight of myself in the mirror with wet hair - and there it was, peeking through the wet hair. My scalp - the whole of the top of my head letting me know I was on borrowed time. In the end - less than 3 months and it was gone.

It’s impossible to explain to someone who hasn’t been there how crushing that can be in the short term - hair is a big part of anyone's identity and to see it just vanish - leaving you with an unmanageable, pointless strip across the back and between the ears - is a very tough thing to get used to. I had to just grit my teeth, buy some clippers and make a joke about all the money I was going to save by cutting it myself. I no longer needed to groom, buy shampoo or products, use a comb - or even think about it, Truthfully - I just blotted it out. It was done, over. I would never be THAT guy who finally worked out the right style for him and went gracefully silver with maturity. It was just one more cruel joke played on me by someone ‘up there’ who didn’t like me. On the plus side - I’m 6’3” so at least nobody looks down on me.

Over the years I’ve known men have implants, hair replacement therapy and even met someone with the dreaded 80’s ‘doll hair’ treatment (poor guy - I felt his pain) but I’ve never been tempted - I prefer not to think about it.

It’s very probably the main reason that I never have my photo taken. Still. Never, Ever.

One odd thing, though. About 20 years ago I was at a friend's house - he works in the music industry as a voice coach and has a lot of well-known clients. We’d all had a few drinks and were messing about and he threw a wig at me “You should try this on, Kylie was wearing it at the weekend” (true fact - it’s the one she wore as the fairy in Moulin Rouge). By some cruel coincidence, it was the same colour, length and thickness as my ‘old’ hair. I looked at myself in the mirror and it was like 20 years had slipped away, and there I was again. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so crushed.