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Hair today, gone tomorrow

Social Chaos: Bill's Briefs

At a certain age, one begins to acquire certain painful memories. For me, one was that dreadful morning when in front of the mirror I paused and said, “Look at the hairs on my hairbrush;” then I realized and screamed, “That’s not my hairbrush. That’s my comb!” I shed until I was bald by 21.

What a catastrophe. What to do? I did what any queen would do. I bought a wig.

Groomed and glued I looked quite natural in the dim bar lighting, but later in the evening I was in constant terror of losing it in the midst of a passionate romp. It was also very hot and so I only ventured forth with it when the weather was cool. I was surprised that it didn’t seem to make any difference in my take-home rate.

In less than a year, I stopped wearing it when I began getting phone calls from guys and I couldn’t remember if I was be-wigged or bald when I met them. That led to some amusing situations which I would rather forget.

So what about you: to wig or not to wig? (I refuse to even mention the comb-over abomination.) And for you hairy ones: to dye or not to dye? (As for the recent surgical procedures I don’t know enough to comment.)

My advice for all options is to forget about them. It is your personality that counts. Do what I did: be nice, friendly and smile. If you forget about your scalp, so will they. In fact, recently the bald, shaved head is very popular. You are bald or your hair is gray /white. Get over it. Think Anderson Cooper, Yul Brynner, Nicole Murray-Ramirez.

Guy or gal, young or old, if you hide or lie about your less than perfect height, weight, age, hair, etc., when the truth comes out the results can be disastrous. Be honest. What you see is what you get. Only this way can lead to a truly meaningful relationship with roommate, friend or lover.

I must confess, sometimes even honesty has unforeseen consequences. One Christmas I worked in Macy’s shoe department in NYC. Bravely leaving my “toup” on the bureau, I served the public in the best holiday spirit. One fateful day I rushed to help a little old lady. I grabbed the shoes she wanted to try on, gently lowered her into a seat and feeling like Prince Charming knelt before her to slip on the hideous but sensible walking shoes. The virtuous old dear looked down at me through her trifocals and saw the top of my bald head. She thought she was sinfully exposing her knee and so quickly put her skirt over it.

Lord have mercy. Shrieks. Screams. What a to do. And you should have heard her!



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Posted by LGBT Weekly on Apr 27, 2011. Filed under Bill's Briefs. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. You can leave a response or trackback to this entry

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