Often, on hairlosstalk, you hear a lot of stuff about a person called Chad. Of course, Chad is not real - well, not in a doggedly literal sense anyway - he's a metaphor, a catchall moniker for a good-looking guy who pulls girls, the kind of girls anyone with bad hair can only dream of. Typically, Chad is 6ft tall, a full-head and in possession of washboard abs and a sleek jaw. He's captain of the football team, irrepressibly popular - he could take a dump in a girl's lunchbox and she would still ask HIM out. Point is, he's the guy every guy wants to be and the guy every girl wants to fuck. Many of us know Chad's, some of us have been been him. Not many of us, though, have met super-Chads (definition forthcoming), nor know what it's like to have almost your entire friendship group consist of them. This post is my attempt to address this oversight. I first started losing my hair in 2015, when I was in my late teens. I had aggressive, thinning male pattern baldness, and my hair thinned out and was functionally disappeared within a year. Before hairloss I'd been decent, good-looking even. I'd got plenty of girls and been invited to all the cool parties. Despite horrendous social skills, sometimes I hooked up with genuine hotties. As you can guess or perhaps even know, hairloss changed all that. As soon as my hairloss became visible, I noticed a number of subtle changes. It was difficult to put my finger on what they were. People just started looking a bit less positively at me in the street, when I interacted with them they were a bit less friendly (just a bit, but enough to make me feel something was wrong). Girls stopped answering my calls. What was the toughest part, however, was seeing my degeneration indexed against my friends. Take the biggest Chad you know and multiply him by 1000 and that is literally my 3 (former) good friends. The first is an investment banker. Sean O'Pry with a high-powered job in finance. I shit you not. The second is a marine who exactly like Jamie Dornan, but with ginger hair. The third is just qualifying as a surgeon and looks like Olly Murs but with a more chiseled face and a much better body. All are 6ft plus tall. All are socially brilliant. All slay pussy like knights slay dragons. There's something utterly crushing about witnessing your own decline juxtaposed to such people. You see the effects of lookism and baldness in palpable form. When I was on my own, I could kid myself that hair didn't matter, that there was "more to life than being really really really good looking" (quote Zoolander). I still maintain that there is, but going out with them, it's difficult to believe. So here's what life's like when you're *super* Chad, with a running comparison to life experienced by a baldite (me) thrown in. I'll run you through a Friday night. We're at a bar. A cute girl sidles onto the bar, a couple of seats down from Banker Chad and immediately starts giving him the eye. We give him some shit about it and him and Marine Chad do their usual bet (they do this pretty much every night out) as to who can pull the cutest girl. About 15 minutes of sexist banter, rating her various body parts our of 10 and he walks, cool as a cucumber, over to the girl and buys her a drink. The bar person - also a girl - flirts with him and despite a busy bar he gets served instantly. He goes home with the girl he hits on after about an hour. Marine Chad, whose been playing it cool, spots a girl on the dancefloor - another stunner, one of the hottest women in the place by a mile - he dances over spins her around and within another hour, he too is shaporoning a stone cold knockout out the door. Surgeon Chad gets the number of the bar maid. He says he'll call her soon. In the meantime I engage in slightly awkward banter with surgeon Chad, hit on a few girls (unsuccessfully) and then go home. On the way home, I pass a Chad fucking a girl in a bus station. I put on some minoxidil and go to sleep. Next Friday evening, the whole scene will play out all over again. This is life when your friends are super Chads.