(Some) Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Legend has it — as my mother recounts the tale — that I possessed a shock of platinum blonde hair as a toddler. So breathtaking were these luxuriant locks that women, hypnotized, would approach us in the supermarket and run their fingers across my head, in those halcyon pre-coronavirus days.

I recently flashed back to that period of my life, when I counted myself among those lucky enough to have bangs. Sitting in a clothing store changing room and trying on a pair of pants, the back of my head caught my attention in the full-length mirrors. What had once been a crop of natural blonde had transformed into a “salt and pepper” coiffure that existed in a rim around the back. While I still have a wisp of hair in front, high on my forehead, there is a ski slope worth of scalp plunging down the back.

Nearly a decade ago, one of my brothers suggested that I preemptively shave my head. I’d experienced a pretty severe haircut in my 20s, perpetuated by a passive-aggressive barber who believed the younger generation conspired to deprive him of a living by spacing our appointments further apart. I ran my fingers through my scalp after that butchering and felt a series of ridges and bumps. I didn’t think a clean facial palette would make that big a difference.

If anything, I have regrets about wearing baseball caps on an almost constant basis for…