Like two-thirds of men approaching middle age, I’m losing my hair.
This comes as no surprise. My mother’s father was bald. My dad is bald. And when I was 7 a gypsy I’d cut in line at Arby’s placed a curse on me vowing that one day I would lose my luscious hair, and everyone I’d ever loved.
Suffice it to say, I may have had this coming.
I’ve never treated my hair kindly. Like most misguided young men with large chrome ball necklaces and JNCOs, I bleached my hair during the XtReMe 90s. I cut off circulation to it by wearing shirt sleeves as makeshift headbands from 2001-current. And for 20 years I’ve saturated it in so much product that I can still fish out fossilized remnants of LA Looks if I turn upside down and gyrate hard enough.