I started going bald at an early age. It’s a horrible thing for a young man to go through. I tried to hide my receding hair by wearing a hat a lot of the time. I even once wore a bandanna (it was 1991 so it was kosher). Then I saw a photograph of myself at a party. I was wearing a see-through Sea World sun visor, tight red flared pants and a Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned to show my manly chest-thatch. I was horribly embarrassed but not because of my clothes. No sir, those clothes were stylish. Debonair, if you will. It was the baldness I could see peeking out of the top of the visor. It wasn't made any better by the fact my hair was quite long and I had started to resemble Krusty the Klown. I decided to get rid of it and have never regretted the decision. I still have a large collection of hats.
Still, the stigma of being a bald man can be a soul crushing one. Some people like to point out my genetic weakness. Likewise I enjoy pointing out that they are a socially inept retard. It appears it’s acceptable to make fun of a bald man. Call us slap-head or cue-ball. Give our head a rub. We love that.
I once went on a first date with a girl who I met on the internet. Halfway through the date she said “I like you, Andy, but I just prefer my men to have a full head of hair.”
I was okay with this honest statement. Funnily enough she wasn't okay with me saying “That’s fine, I just generally prefer my women to be classy and to not be shallow slags.”
It was our last date.