Okay, I’ll come right out and confess it: balding men is a topic I’ve been dreading. Not because I have deep, painful issues relating to men devoid of hair but because I don’t. I don’t have a bald men fetish, nor do I think hairlessness on one’s scalp makes one undesirable. You’re never going to hear my claim that Bruce Willis really does it for me or that Patrick Stewart (who, I just learned, started losing his hair at the age of 19) doesn’t. I’m essentially indifferent.
What’s interesting to me is how obsessed men are with whatever stage of baldness they’re at. Their level of neurosis certainly rivals female weight concerns, if not outweighing them — so to speak — entirely. I know men who literally won’t be seen without their head firmly encased in a hat of some kind — one who’s rumored to even wear such a head covering in bed — or go to the world’s leading hair specialists so they can get transplants that won’t look like transplants. I remember guys I know getting deliveries of Rogaine to their dorm rooms and know writers who devote pages, if not entire creative projects, to their concern over their hairlessness. Of course I understand that it has a lot more to do with coming to terms with one’s own mortality (which is really getting to be a theme with me on this blog) than with outrageous vanity. At least, that’s what I tell myself. But my primarily feeling on the matter is that men need to calm down and realize that women don’t really care about the hair thing at all. The only ones who do, I’ve noticed, find bald men unspeakably sexy.
Ask me my opinion about bald women, however, and we may well get somewhere interesting. See, at one point I had two bald grandmothers (they both died bald, too). Yes, grandmothers. Their husbands were perfectly hairy atop their scalps — then again, the ladies outlived the guys by a good many years. Anyway, this bald granny fact has instilled in me a rather pronounced fear of following in their hair steps years earlier than planned because of my dedication to hair coloring, straightening, drying, and the like. I even went to a hair specialist once to explain my fears, during which I explained that I’m an outrageous shedder and clearly headed for the bald house. I was told that losing up to 100 hairs a day is normal so I should start counting the number I lose and if it’s far above 100, then I should come back to him. I think I got to about hair number three before abandoning that project altogether.
But hey, if I do go bald, at least I’ll be in good company. Sinead O’Connor did it. Natalie Portman shaved it all off for that Wachowski movie. Hey, even Demi Moore went that way so she could look especially bad ass while doing a one-handed push-up in that Navy movie.
And if it happens, who knows, maybe I could then meet a guy with a bald women fetish (Elaine’s dad: you may not want to click on that particular link, though rest assured that it was actually the cleanest bald women fetish link I could find).
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