**This post is a follow on from the last** post entitled ‘The Day I Was Mistaken For a Homophobic, Racist Bigot,’ which documented my unfortunate case of mistaken identity. This post won’t make much sense if you don’t read that one. It’s very much connected with this revelation of a new comfort-zone challenge. However, the chronology of events explaining the root behind this may be a bit mixed up.
A bit like the movie ‘Pulp Fiction;’ the timeline will keep going backwards and forwards, but it’ll all make sense at the end.
A couple of years ago, I took a look in the mirror and decided that I could not lie to myself any longer. No matter how much it bruised my tender male ego which kept saying it wasn’t so – I was indeed losing my hair. And to give you an insight into how much I cared about my appearance with a full head of hair, my Grandmother used to sing this song to me:
As dramatic as it sounds, this (balding) revelation seriously affected my confidence – especially with the ladies. My perception was that no girl wanted to be seen dead with a baldie and I would indeed die a single man, with seven Border Collies to keep me company, coupled with an unhealthy addiction subscription to ‘Babecast.’
It really was soul-destroying.
I was seriously cut up by lack of follicles and even though I didn’t want to – I shaved my head to a grade one level. I even stopped going out with friends to bars! What would be the point? I’d only be mistaken for an egg!
One night, one of my mates wouldn’t take no for an answer and after being badgered for hours, I caved in and agreed to take my miserable baldie self out for a lads night out. I didn’t even bother chatting up a female of the species of course, now that I was (in my eyes) now a lower-class citizen.
After a few drinks, I felt somebody rub their hands over my head – I thought of which swear word I was going to choose, as I was absolutely convinced it was one of my mates winding me up. Nope, it was a girl – and she was pretty tasty! She then went on to tell me that she loved bald men and continued to stroke me and purr like a cat. My cynical mind told me she was being sarcastic, but no – she was digging me.
We didn’t live happily ever after and skip into the sunset or anything, but we did go on a few fun dates and this made me feel better about myself. I found that going bald was not such a big drama after all. Some women liked men with hair and some didn’t – and the world did in fact not end! More importantly, if a woman was bothered by my lack of follicles – then she blatantly wouldn’t be a worthy Mrs Man Vs Clock and that saves me time…which I don’t like wasting.
I have a friend who likes skinny men. One of my mates likes larger ladies. My other mate is hot for Asians. It’s really not a big deal in the dating pool!
What I found is it’s all about confidence – the more you have, the more you can handle a problem and less of an issue things become. So yeah…I got the hell over it. Also, I figured there are so many people suffering in the world with poverty, pain and all sorts of heart-breaking stuff – and here’s me feeling sorry for myself for this! So I totally got over the bald thing…
…until THAT DAY in Newcastle, when I was mistaken for a racist! Ever since that day, I have grown my hair out because I live in constant fear of being prejudged. Part of it is paranoia and part of it is accurate. Shaven headed people over here are a bit scary in general and I find people are less friendly to me and more assuming, but it’s time to get over it once and for all and smash down them barriers that we put up for ourselves.
Life is precious and we only get one, therefore we must take it seriously and cherish it. But sometimes, we just have to have the ability to laugh at ourselves and chill the hell out. Getting it shaved off tomorrow and going to own it 🙂