The joy of youth and a fullsome barnet.

Forty-Something Follicle Fallout.

Warning! Mid-life crisis incoming. I may well be a hop, step and a jump away from splashing the cash on a flash ride, squeezing myself into skinny jeans and disappearing over the horizon.

Or not.

Probably not in fact. But I’m starting to get a little worried. The first signs of old age are edging in, no longer do I live with the unerring confidence of youth. Gone are the giddy days of immortality and making pacts with friends that we’ll die wearing Levi’s whilst listening to music that’s still relevant.

The joy of youth and a fullsome barnet.

What’s caused this you ask? Well, I’m facing up to the fact that my hairline is no longer what it was. I was more than happy to go grey, after all a little salt and pepper in the hair is fine by me, but it’s really starting to go on the top. My daughter is an honest critic who now refers to the “hole on the top of my head”. My barber recently quipped that he may not be seeing much of me in the future. “Less than you think sunshine” was my immediate response to the impudent pup.

So what to do? Bite the bullet and take early action, or watch for the slow disappearance of hair like some glacial movement only to wake up one day and realise it’s all gone?

Fortunately, there are plenty of options (and role models). Yul Brynner, Bruce Willis, Patrick Stewart and Jason Statham have all pulled off the buzzcut/bare noggin with masterful success. Though they are all A-list film stars this is still an achievable option, even for a middle-aged dad from Woodthorpe.

On the other hand, you don’t have to look far for what happens when you leave the situation unchecked. Rab C Nesbit springs to mind, as does being distracted by the island of hair clinging to Steve McClaren’s forehead whenever I see him interviewed. I’ll forgive Bobby Charlton because he’s a living legend and somehow got away with it.

So I have to face it, the days of walking in slow motion through a stiff breeze with a bouffant fringe dancing in the wind are behind me (I’m more worried my remaining hair may take flight). There are fewer options when I go to the barbers and I’ve learnt to silently hate the pictures of hair models sporting pompadours and other luxurious hairstyles.

But on the other hand, it’s quite liberating. I’m not a fan of having too much choice so nature is taking all the distraction away from me. I’m going bald at the back and receding at the front so I can’t deny it any longer. And as the youngest in my family, my sisters are delighted that their little brother is losing his hair. And, being sisters, they hardly ever point it out in public. Ever.

My sisters may be correct. Dammit!

So I think I’ve made my choice, keep the hair super short (within reason). I’m not sure I want to get rid of all of it but I’d rather keep it neat. I’ve seen too many ageing rockers who are clinging to the concept of long hair whilst losing it all on top. That’s not a look anyone needs, it’s akin to a badly maintained mullet (which isn’t easy considering the utter contempt I have for mullets). In fact, most recently it appears that Prince William himself has been having the very same issue as me and has reached similar conclusions. Maybe I should follow his lead? All I need is a spare £150 for a haircut.

 

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Just past my 40th year (but only just), I'm a wrangler of two young children who are either going to keep me eternally young or drive me to an early grave. I have my own film inspired blog at http://no-onelikessubtitles.blogspot.co.uk where I'm allowed to witter on without any editorial control. In my spare time (what little I have), I tend to draw a lot and paint toy soldiers. As you can tell, I'm a total grown up!

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