Why are we so obsessed with hair? Just a bunch of fibers sprouting out of your skin, yet we make a massive fuss over it. Those with it, flaunt it. News anchors, fashion models, that damned Jeremy Allen White. Boy, does he love to show off. His hair should be nominated for an Emmy, just on thickness alone. What did he do to deserve that floppy mess on top of his head? I thought this country was a meritocracy? Nope. He’s obviously benefited from a family history of thick locks.

Call me greedy if you must, but I don’t just want some hair – the sad remnants of a life in decline – I want a lot of hair. I want so much hair that I have to employ a live-in barber to trim me up twice a day just to keep it all from consuming my entire face. I want people in the streets screaming at the top of their lungs. “Look at that hair! The guy under it isn’t so bad, either!”

I wouldn’t dare classify myself as bald, though. Thinning? Sure. Most people are not tall enough to see my bald spot, nor can they clearly see the nearly imperceptible retreat of my hairline. Unless they spend even a second comparing photos of me today to my Guardian author photo, which is from nine years ago. You might not notice, but I do. I have to carve out an extra 20 minutes every morning just to fuss over my bald spot. I summon what little hope I have left to comb and fluff the thin area at the top of my head, praying I can figure out the cheat code for hiding my darkest shame. Eventually, I surrender – the rage over my metaphorical windmill subsiding as I accept reality.

Unfortunately, for some,........

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