The Bald Truth - it ain't so bad.

I never thought I’d lose my hair. Honestly, it wasn’t in the script. Dad’s still got a thick mop. Mum’s dad? Full set. My brother? Not a hint of a bald spot. It was a family tradition — hair for life — until I turned up and broke it.

And when it happened, it wasn’t slow. No gentle recession, no time to bargain with the gods of follicles. One week I was shampooing without a care; the next I was staring at my scalp in the mirror, wondering when it had moved in.

In a way, I’m glad. There was no “awkward in-between” stage, no mulish clinging to comb-overs, no late-night Googling of “best men’s hair toppers.” Apart from a short-lived, ill-conceived platinum blonde experiment — a phase I now file under “fruitless foibles” — I went straight to the razor. And that first pass? Liberating. Like walking out of a heavy coat you didn’t know you were wearing.

But here’s the thing about going bald: it’s not just a haircut, it’s a whole new climate. Skin that’s never seen the sun is suddenly front and centre. Shampoo gets retired, but hats and sunscreen take over.

I was reminded of that book Who Moved My Cheese?. Two mice in a maze, one mountain of cheese. One mouse sees the supply dwindling and starts exploring for more; the other stays put, chewing until there’s nothing left. Guess which one survives? Hair loss is like that — the sooner you accept change, the smoother the transition.

So I adapted. I became a hat guy. I learned that bald isn’t an excuse to let the rest of you go — you’ve got to keep the chassis in shape. I swapped shampoo for a good cleanser, worked it over my scalp daily. Moisturiser became non-negotiable, because this skin wasn’t meant for the Sahara treatment.

And sunscreen? That’s gospel. Your head is now 12-noon all day, and the sun will happily turn it into a baked potato if you let it. I go for physical sunscreen — the mineral stuff that sits on top and blocks the rays. And I don’t just hit the scalp. Forehead, neck, ears, the backs of my hands — all fair game.