Anyone who's followed even a handful of my posts will know that I get low. Sometimes, real low. Sometimes, these episodes of depression are random, sporadic, and have no discernible cause. More often, however, there is a concrete reason for the dips. This post is an account of my most recent, hair-related low and the episode that caused it.
Recently, I made the decision to reconnect with some old school friends, many of whom I hadn't seen in several years. Yes, it was 5 years on and we were all, inevitably, very different people, but by and large the enterprise had been a successful one. Until, that is, I got back in touch with an ex. I hesitated before clicking the send button, in truth, for though we'd had a good split and had remained friends for almost a year after the relationship ended, I worried about how it might look. When you reconnect with an ex, however short the relationship, there's always the expectation or, at least, the possibility of something more. Does he REALLY just want to be friends? We have history after all...
I clicked send. To my surprise, she messaged quickly back. Perhaps this shouldn't have been so surprising. She was a 5, maybe a 6 out of 10 who, while she hadn't lost her charm, hadn't suddenly trebled her breast size or picked up a curvier arse either. There are no pictures of me online. As far as she knows, I'm still Chad lite. She always had a huge sexual appetite - loved to fool around with guys. She was being fun, flirty and even just a little bit overtly sexual. Why wouldn't she want to take me out for a ride?
Then, inevitably it came: "What's your Snapchat? Let me snap you" she played. Suddenly, the whole situation changed. I panicked and told her I didn't have it, but she insisted I send her a pic before she would meet up. I sent the pic.
Later, in my depressive spiral, I would wish I had just catfished her. Sent over a 3 year old pic of me with an NW2, a healthy glow to my skin - a holiday snap. As it was, I sent her a selfie. Bad lighting, several Instagram filters. No hat. The conversation tailed off. She started referring to me explicitly as "mate". Eventually, I pulled the plug.
I've said this before, but I'll repeat it: there really is no substitute for first hand experience of the before and after effect of baldness on your sex life. Virtually everyone, if they really think about it, can figure out that hairloss isn't good for you in the abstract. Seeing the change in the concrete, however, is another kettle of fish entirely. Maybe 50% of the time, I feel good about my hairloss. 30% a little bad. 20% terrible. This was a 20% time.
Recently, I made the decision to reconnect with some old school friends, many of whom I hadn't seen in several years. Yes, it was 5 years on and we were all, inevitably, very different people, but by and large the enterprise had been a successful one. Until, that is, I got back in touch with an ex. I hesitated before clicking the send button, in truth, for though we'd had a good split and had remained friends for almost a year after the relationship ended, I worried about how it might look. When you reconnect with an ex, however short the relationship, there's always the expectation or, at least, the possibility of something more. Does he REALLY just want to be friends? We have history after all...
I clicked send. To my surprise, she messaged quickly back. Perhaps this shouldn't have been so surprising. She was a 5, maybe a 6 out of 10 who, while she hadn't lost her charm, hadn't suddenly trebled her breast size or picked up a curvier arse either. There are no pictures of me online. As far as she knows, I'm still Chad lite. She always had a huge sexual appetite - loved to fool around with guys. She was being fun, flirty and even just a little bit overtly sexual. Why wouldn't she want to take me out for a ride?
Then, inevitably it came: "What's your Snapchat? Let me snap you" she played. Suddenly, the whole situation changed. I panicked and told her I didn't have it, but she insisted I send her a pic before she would meet up. I sent the pic.
Later, in my depressive spiral, I would wish I had just catfished her. Sent over a 3 year old pic of me with an NW2, a healthy glow to my skin - a holiday snap. As it was, I sent her a selfie. Bad lighting, several Instagram filters. No hat. The conversation tailed off. She started referring to me explicitly as "mate". Eventually, I pulled the plug.
I've said this before, but I'll repeat it: there really is no substitute for first hand experience of the before and after effect of baldness on your sex life. Virtually everyone, if they really think about it, can figure out that hairloss isn't good for you in the abstract. Seeing the change in the concrete, however, is another kettle of fish entirely. Maybe 50% of the time, I feel good about my hairloss. 30% a little bad. 20% terrible. This was a 20% time.
