Green Head by Anomymous

I have a receding hairline, and I’m concerned about it. It’s 2:00 am, and I am staring at the mirror, holding back my hair with my fingers. As I crane my neck to get a better look at my temples, I can feel the cool, hard porcelain basin trying to hold me in place. The shelf below my mirror is crowded with a wide variety of solutions meant to stop my hairline from receding; there’s one with silver and potassium promising to stop miniaturisation, another contains Pyrodoxine, Thiamine, and Pantothenic Acid to promote “metabolic regeneration”. I apply both of them, one in the morning and one at night, as I search for signs of improvement. No luck so far.

As I rub the tonic through my scalp, I think to myself How did it come to this?The problem is a multifaceted one: genetics, stress, luck - or perhaps a combination of factors. Each one of them could apply to me; every single man in my family is balding, I am definitely stressed, and I do feel very unlucky. Follicular wells are notoriously sensitive and tricky, which is probably why millions are spent on research to prevent hair loss (money that could probably be redirected towards more selfless missions), but why do we place such importance on the hair on our scalp?

The shelf below my mirror is crowded with a wide variety of solutions meant to stop my hairline from receding;

The simplest explanation may be one of selection. Healthier, more nourished people are less likely to lose their hair due to the metabolically taxing requirements of hair growth, a clear sign of evolutionary fitness. An explanation like this seems awfully convenient, doesn’t it? Not to mention that it looks awesome - the Native Americans, the Greeks, the Vikings, the Mongols, are all depicted with strong, healthy hair that cascades off their shoulders, evoking thoughts of freedom and strength; very ‘masculine’ traits. The Romans are certainly awe-inspiring, but when you compare the Tusculum bust of Julius Caesar with that of the Gauls he subjugated in France, I’d go with Asterix and Obelix each time. 

A common duo suggested by most forums online is that of Finasteride and Minoxidil. The combo is meant to act synergistically with Finasteride, blocking testosterone from being converted into dihydrotestosterone (DHT), which apparently causes the wells to shrivel up and choke the hair strand, so by blocking its production, the wells are given a longer lease of life. Meanwhile, the Minoxidil is supposed to act as a vasodilator, loosening the blood vessels to allow the starving cells access to the nutrients that they desperately need. Preventing further loss while supporting what exists seems like a good strategy, except for the fact that turning off a crucial hormone willy-nilly is a bad idea. Hormones are multifunctional, and DHT serves more functions than simply causing hair loss, so that won’t cut it. Minoxidil is similar - turn the tap off and your gains will be lost with a stunning speed. In fact, you may end up worse than before as your hair finds it difficult to return to its resource-poor past. 

It’s apparently not that uncommon to see Istanbul's airports swarming with follically challenged men who are there for a new lease on life. 

A hair transplant is the next logical option, but the process seems positively medieval to me. Almost like a managed plantation, individual hair follicles are cut out from “unused” areas and moved to more visible areas to create depth. Some unlucky cases create follicular Potemkin villages, an illusory depth that makes surgical intervention quite clear, but, like in most cases, you get what you pay for. And as the number of such surgeries continues to skyrocket, it seems plausible to me that a trip to Türkiye may become a ___‘coming of mid-age ritual’___, just as backpacking in Thailand is for young adults. It’s apparently not that uncommon to see Istanbul's airports swarming with follically challenged men who are there for a new lease on life. 

Somehow, I have come to terms with the ensuing onslaught, or at least that's what I tell myself (likely due to some hipster-ish conviction). I’m not some selfless fakir (but I’ve never seen one with receding hair, perhaps meditation does reduce cortisol?), and I know for a fact that I’ll eventually succumb, unable to control myself. I used to think that I’d come to terms with it and even embrace it, but as the scythe of the reaper draws ever closer, I feel anxious to prolong my youth. 

After all, who really wants to be bald? Meanwhile, I’ve already begun to look up derma rollers on Amazon. The prospect of selecting an appropriate needle gauge to repeatedly puncture my scalp fills me with apprehension. Do I really have to do this?