I first realised/accepted that I was losing my hair in my early 20s.
I’d always had a hairline further back than most, and both my dad and grandad had lost a lot of hair.
But I was happy living in denial land for a little while longer.
“Just because they’ve lost their hair, doesn’t mean I’m losing mine.”
I don’t remember the exact moment I came to terms with it, but I know that my phone or Facebook showed me an old memory, a photo from a few years back.
It was a slap-bang reality check on what was going on with my hairline.
The photo showed me a hairline that had been slightly further forward, a little denser on top.
I played around with my hair in the mirror, parting it this way and that, searching for the signs that I still had a plentiful number of follicles. I combed it this way and that, finding the right angle that would give the perception of growth, not loss. Goddammit, why are bathroom lights always so revealing? It was obviously the light’s fault, not my genetics.
I left the land of denial and then I got angry. Angry at the world, angry at my ancestors and their faulty genes. Angry at the men with lots of hair, angry at the people who made jokes about my own.
The anger replaced the denial and then…wait, oh shit. I’m in grief, aren’t I?
I knew the five stages of grief - denial, anger, bargaining, depression and then acceptance.
I knew that grief is about loss in general, not just loss of a person. It can be the loss of anything.
And wow, my hairline was all about loss. Loss of hair, loss of my youth, loss of my self-worth, loss of my attractiveness (in my eyes).
I’m grieving.
I spent about a decade moving through those stages of grief, going round and round in circles between the bases. All the bases, except one: acceptance.
I tried a few potions and tinctures for a bit, and hoorah! My hair grew noticeably thicker, my self-worth was reclaimed, genetics be damned.
Then after a couple of years, genetics beat medicine as the hairline started winning the war again.
Denial and anger reared their ugly heads.
I kept delaying decisions, kept telling myself it didn’t really matter to me, kept telling myself I’d deal with it one day.
Shame swirled around me.
I hated looking in the mirror in the morning because I didn’t like what I saw staring back.
I’d look around me when I was walking down the street, trying to see if any women were looking at me, trying to take it as a sign that maybe I was still attractive.
And yet, if I did catch anyone’s gaze, my first thought was “I bet they’re laughing at my hairline.”
My brain became my worst enemy, twisting the screw of shame, making everything feel worse.
All the while, my hairline wasn’t getting any better.
Time passes and you don’t always notice it so much, because you’re seeing it every single day. My hairline was running on a slow time lapse through my eyes, and it’s harder to take stock of the change.
But then another memory popped up, I think it was iPhone memories this time.
This time it was only a few years back, at a time I was still worried about my hair loss.
But wow, did I really used to have that much hair?
I ran to the mirror and felt a gut punch as I compared myself now to then.
I looked older.
My head looked out of shape, in my eyes.
I loved my beard, hated my hair.
The eyes looking back at me were tired and worn, like they’d spent longer than the three decades they’d been on the planet.
A knock on the door in my head.
“Hello?” I said to this thought, invading my privacy, my moment of introspection.
“I’m Acceptance” it said.
Ah, we’ve made it have we? The final destination on the grief train. It’s only taken over a decade, dozens of hours of worry and anxiety, and a fair few jokes long the way.
“Couldn’t you have driven the train a bit bloody faster?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter how long it’s taken to get here, what matters now is what are you going to do about it next?”
I knew the thought was right. I’d worked in the mental health space for years, and I knew that while we can’t choose what happens to use, we can choose what we do about it.
I could sit around wallowing to myself about how shit my genetics are, or I could do something about it.
Should I shave it off? Nah, not for me. I see plenty of men who look fantastic bald, and I doff my cap to them. But I knew it wasn’t personally the look I wanted.
Can I just accept how I look? Also not for me. Again, some people look great as they are, but just personally, through my own eyes, I didn’t like what was staring back at me.
Is it a hair transplant then? I think it bloody is. We’re doing it, aren’t we?
Two weeks after that dash of cold water that had been thrown on my reality, I’d had a consultation with a hair transplant clinic in London.
I came out with a strange feeling, one of…lightness?
I knew why it was. Because finally I’d taken action. Finally I’d grabbed this hair loss by the balls and said “listen you little rascal, I’ve had enough of you being in control. It’s my turn.”
A month after that, I’d booked in for a hair transplant. Post-summer, my last hurrah of fun before I reconstructed the bed of hair on top of my head.
I’m twelve months on, and I’ve never looked back.
I feel different. I am different.
In my opinion, I look younger, my eyes look like they have more energy, my smile looks more real, not like it’s hiding a hidden shame anymore.
Why didn’t I do this sooner, I sometimes tell myself?
But I know the grief train runs at its own pace.
What’s important is that it doesn’t only run in one direction, a destination we’re forced to arrive at.
We can change which direction we want to send it.
For me, that was a hair transplant, and I almost can’t even put into words how different I feel now to how I did before.
I still have some growth to go. I’m twelve months in and it can take up to 18 months, sometimes longer, to all come through.
But I’m okay with that. Because for once, I’m talking about growth, not loss.
That’s not what I wanted for myself. Everyone is different, and everyone’s experience will be different. Some people will read this and think “bloody get over yourself mate, it’s only hair!”
But none of this stuff is about anyone else’s opinion.
It’s only about your own.
Do what you need to do for yourself, and don’t look back.
I’ve had loads of people message me about hair loss, hair transplant and their questions since I’ve been writing about this online.
We want to try something a bit new, and see if we can make JACK more of a community where people can find answers and next steps for the things they’re grappling with.
I want to offer 20-minute “chats” where I can talk through my experience and you can ask any questions you might have about hair loss.
I’m not a qualified expert, so it’s all free, no expectation, I won’t be selling you anything. Just a chat.
If it’s something that has value, we may try to build it as more of a permanent feature to the JACK community.
Message me directly (George Bell) on here or through my LinkedIn, and we can find a time.
Thanks for reading this far. All power to you - whatever it is you’re feeling right now.
I didn’t have a hair transplant but did choose a hair system over 2 years ago. It’s really helped me and I enjoy looking in the mirror for even more reasons now too