I'm also a client.

There is no longer any way to hide it, to deny it, or to pretend it isn't happening.

It's happening. It's happening right now, and you know it. You've been ignoring it for too long, not saying anything, tiptoeing around the issue. This is inexcusable. We can't afford that any longer. It's time to face the facts:

I am going bald.

And I believe I speak for everyone here when I say: fuck.

If you'll allow me to get introspective and all self-image focused and all... well... "bloggy" for a second (you are, after all, at my blog, and should have been expecting it) this realization has put me through the emotional ringer. I've been in a funk for the better part of the week (not the good kind, where the bass riff is all groovy). Stephanie noticed before I did, and asked me earlier this week if anything was wrong. "Yes," I didn't say, "That's why I've been all moody and binge-eating like I just found out that starting on Wednesday there won't be any more food ever." Instead I said "Of course not, I'm fine!" and then I started in on my fifth or sixth helping of dinner and sort of stared at the floor for an hour. "Just fine!"

Oh, and I also have vitiligo. Which means that eventually, I may turn into, basically, a naked mole rat. Pigmentless, hairless, I shall have no choice but to burrow deep, deep underground where I shall not be mocked by the harsh light of the sun or the sound of woman screaming "Dear God, what is that thing?"

Many men, of course, go bald. This is true. Great men, from Patrick Stewart to Mikhail Gorbachev to Bruce Willis lose their hair and still find ways to explore strange new worlds, bring down communism, or pretend to have hair (respectively). There's probably a market for an Everybody Poops-type book for men called A Lot of Men Go Bald And It Doesn't Mean You're Ugly It Just Means You're Special In A Hairless Way actually, you know what? Scratch the book idea.

So, yes. I'm troubled by the fact that I'm losing my hair. I'm also troubled by the fact that I'm SO DAMN TROUBLED by the fact that I'm losing my hair. I would not have thought that I was so vain. It's unfortunate that my self-image--a non-vain person with hair--would suddenly be so wrong (on two counts!). I wish that I were not distressed about this, but it turns out that I am. Which really bothers me.

I can, of course, justify it by saying that I'm not concerned about my appearance, I'm just concerned about getting older. In much the same way that my brother (that hairy bastard) said "Oh... I'm sorry" several years ago when I told him I was getting glasses. "Why?" I asked, honestly bewildered. "I just remember what it was like when I started feeling that I was getting old," he responded with a sigh. I didn't feel it then. I definitely feel it now. There was at least a good chance that I would go bald in my life. I just didn't think it would happen at 25 years of age. Look at him. Look at him there with his long flowing locks.
Unfortunately, I don't think there are a lot of good options, here. As Dave Barry once wrote,

Should balding white men shave their heads, the way many African-American men, such as Michael Jordan, do?

A. No. It's not fair, but the simple truth is that balding African-American men look cool when they shave their heads, whereas balding white men look like giant thumbs.

Was true then, is true now. I don't really want to rock the Picard, I would never ever ever do a comb-over or that spider's nest thing that some old guys do, and I'm really interested in not looking like I'm pretending it's not happening. In fact, I promised myself that if I were ever going bald, I would cut my hair really short, which seems to be the only reasonable answer. Well that day is upon us. I must keep my promise to myself, methinks. My clippers and I have an appointment tonight.

I know that there are hair-regrowth remedies that have met with some measure of success. Last week, on the recommendation of a fellow balding 20-something, I picked up some Rogaine Foam, which I rather think has increased the speed of my hair loss.

I don't like that this is happening, I don't like my emotional reaction to it, and, yes, I don't like thinking about getting older.

This sucks, you know?

Only thing left to do is to compensate by growing a Civil War Mustache. That'll woo the ladies.

Sigh.