Bald

At 23 years old, I’m fully bald. The thought of this when I was 17 was enough to send me spiraling into a whirlwind of anxiety and sadness. I imagined a young man robbed of his youth, struggling through a shattered social life and nonexistent sex life, a lack of hair to blame. Thankfully, my imagination painted an absurdly melodramatic, bleak picture that has no semblance to the life I live today.

The first time someone commented on my receding hairline I was 15 and didn’t even comprehend what the person meant, brushing it aside, unscathed. I wouldn’t remain unscathed long. A few months shy of my seventeenth birthday, I noticed my hair was thinning substantially around the crown and was even slightly receding! Ahhhhh! But it made sense…I’d been wearing hats more and more often over the past year or two, unhappy with the way my curly brown hair looked, awkward and unkempt, sitting oddly high atop my head.

At that moment though, at 16 years old, thoroughly examining my scalp in the bathroom mirror, I understood why my hair essentially looked like shit. My hairline was receding. My hair was thinning. I was balding.

Hats and Rogaine

What followed was a typical young person’s balding response; a desperate attempt to save my hair at all costs, coupled with an extreme insecurity and necessity of hats. I started using Minoxidil (generic Rogaine) and painstakingly waited for it to work its magic, to reawaken the dying hair follicles that had abandoned me way too young. And it worked! After a few months, my hair showed small signs of positive regrowth. This was about the extent to which Rogaine worked to reverse hair loss.

Over the next two years, I would continue to use Rogaine, though it seemed to only be decelerating the inevitable- total baldness. Regardless of the small victory Rogaine had provided me, I was deeply insecure about my hair, opting to wear hats 24/7. The moment I left school, the hat would go on and stay on until I went to sleep. I rarely went out in public without a hat, too embarrassed by my thinning hair.

The insecurity and anxiety caused by balding was actually quite severe. It really messed with my head and distorted the way I viewed myself, resulting in a massive drop in confidence. It reached the point where I was not comfortable unless I was wearing a hat. Hats became necessary protective veils , cloaking my thinning hair from the judgmental world around me. Paradoxically, the ‘protective’ veils I adopted projected the deep insecurity I felt outward.

I was constantly stressing about my hair; how it looked, what others thought, if it was thinning further, how much time I had left, etc. My hair became an obsession. Significant shedding in the shower was liable to send me spiraling into a negative thought loop. A friend’s offhand comment could absolutely ruin my day. A glance in the mirror would leave me feeling deflated, my hair the focal point of the reflection. I was fragile and insecure, apprehensive of a future sans hair.

This attitude persisted through my first two years of college, sporting a green flat-brim Phish hat everywhere; in the dorms, in class, at parties, at the gym, in the dining hall. I was unrecognizable to many without a hat, and that is not an exaggeration. Some people legitimately would not recognize me if I wasn’t wearing a hat. As the years passed, so did my hair, falling out aggressively despite Rogaine’s valiant effort. I stopped using the Rogaine, sick of clandestinely applying the foam twice a day, afraid my friends would notice and jump at the opportunity to mock an old man. I felt robbed. 18 years old and my hair was falling out like I was 40. I’ll be too ugly to date, too old looking to fit in. So I continued wearing the hat, ‘protecting’ my youthful appearance.

The Butchering

Midway through sophomore year of college I was forced to confront the baldness. A close friend offered to cut my hair. Unbeknownst to me, he had smoked two joints prior to his kind offer and was incredibly high. The result?

At this point I had no option but to shave it all off, the patches and divots too significant to salvage what remained. I was suddenly and inadvertently bald. I was extremely self conscious and, as always, I wore a hat 24/7, the stakes higher than ever, for under the veil I was actually bald, not a hair on my head. Weeks went by and my hair slowly grew back, allowing me a breath of relief. My hair was back to its still slowly deteriorating state.

Acceptance

It would be another year before I was fed up with my thinning hair. At a certain point I was simply sick of it. I’d come to realize that hiding beneath a hat was damaging my confidence more than boosting my appearance. My futile attempt at saving my hair was more stressful than beneficial. And baldness truly was an inevitability; I was 20 years old and my hair loss was progressing rapidly. I took the plunge, shaved my head, and haven’t looked back.

At first it was strange. But I quickly acclimated to the change and began to love it. No more worrying about my hair. A simple clean shave twice a week and I was good to go. No more stressing about the current state or future state of my hair. No more duel personas, Ryan with hat, and Ryan without. The best part was the confidence boost though. I was comfortable being myself, no longer hiding beneath a hat. The mental burden that was lifted upon shaving my head was massive.

I grew to love my bald look, embracing it as one of, if not my most defining feature. Bald looks much better on me than a sparsely populated head of messy, curly hair. And it feels much better too. The image I had conjured in my mind of a hairless, lonely loser, was so drastically removed from the reality of being young and bald. Balding didn’t change my life in any significant way. I no longer use shampoo. I use a bit more sunscreen than before. Occasionally people mistake me for being older than I am.

Through my journey of balding I learned to let things happen as they will. Don’t attempt to prevent the inevitable. The mental anguish alone is not worth it. Some things are beyond our control and they should be left that way. Hair or no hair, I’ll be alright, and life will move on. (I ended up better than alright!)

Further, I realized that my fear of balding was magnitudes more detrimental to my life than balding itself. I was so petrified of the unknown, of being bald so young, that I let it dominate my mind, robbing me of the potential joy of many moments. I love the way I look now, especially the baldness, and if given back my full head of curly hair, I’d shave it all off. (I always disliked my hair.) Balding has become a blessing, providing a journey of self-acceptance, a great aesthetic, and many lessons along the way.

My Advice

If you’re just starting to bald and worried about losing more ground, I’d consider using Minoxidil/Rogaine. It’s cheap, easy and effective enough at halting/reversing hair loss at least to an extent, especially if the thinning is less aggressive. Side effects are minimal for most, at least from my prior experience and research.* More importantly, do not stress about the hair loss. If it has just begun, chances are you’re the only person looking close enough to notice anyway. Take comfort in the fact that it’s only hair.

If you’re balding substantially and it bothers you constantly, like it did me, consider shaving it. Bite the bullet and embrace the bald. The mental anguish that can accompany hair loss is far more destructive than the physical loss of hair. The amount of time I spent upset, self conscious, and insecure was absurd. Hair is hair. It’s not your entire identity. Going bald won’t make you instantly unattractive. I will concede that going bald is an adjustment at first but most would be surprised at how smooth the transition is and how well they can pull off the look.

Overall, just embrace it, own it, and you’ll be fine!