Posted on | April 20, 2012 | 14 Comments
Shaving your balding head is like breaking up with someone before he or she can break up with you. Or like marching into your boss’s office and saying: “You can’t fire me. I quit.”
After all, nothing screams “gradual decline” like thinning or retreating hair. It’s a constant voice of anxiety whining, “It’s only going to get worse!” But with a shaved head, it can’t get any worse. There’s no voice of anxiety. You’ve already gone ahead and chosen the nuclear option.
We men already are facing way too many gradual declines without adding baldness to the mix. Compared with the women in our lives, we’re fading in nearly every category: educational achievement, income growth and general necessity. For years we’ve no longer been needed (at least not in person) even to make a baby.
I guess if you’re some narcissist, it could be that big of a deal. My hair was ever a disaster, even when full. It was nearly a relief when enough cowardly follicles abandoned ship to just say “Begone with the rest this useless #OccupyCranium lot.”
Having an asinine hairdo is like having asinine political leaders who can’t pass a budget, much less balance one. Sure, through a triumph of the will, you can pretend reality is non-existent. You can fake it, as though no one can see through your wretched toupée, your cooked numbers on unemployment and inflation. You can pretend that the bankruptcy of your failed social welfare state isn’t poking out through the endless smoke and mirrors, or that status as the world’s reserve currency is a license to inflate the currency at will.
To paraphrase Einstein: insanity is combing the same thing over and over, expecting adequacy. Or you can just man up, face reality, and let your skull fun free. Courage. Find it.
Aside: Paul Ryan, I hate you in the most loving way possible.