I was embarrassed to be wearing my bluetooth headset while grocery shopping. Now, had I been having a conversation with an actual person, I would have felt more comfortable. But all I was doing was listening to a podcast. Sometimes I bring my headphones with me because, in my mind, it’s socially acceptable to be wearing headphones in public. But having a bluetooth headset is geeky and lame.

A few things. First, nobody is looking at me. On Sunday afternoons it’s a couples’ shopping experience. I was in a trendy part of Chicago and it was a lot of guys pushing strollers while their wives held up scraps of paper while shelf-scanning. I saw many women in sweatpants and other “fell out of bed” gear. This is something my sister has never understood about Chicago. That women can walk around so casually without normal clothing. She lives in the West Village in NYC, however, where the most beautiful people in this country congregate.

The other piece is that even if a woman (I don’t seem to care about judgment from men) does pay attention to me, the odds she’s judging me as lame is minimal. I’ve learned that people think a lot less about (not of) me that I would have expected. Everyone has their insecurities we think are scarlet letters for the world to shame. It almost never happens. If I see an overweight woman I don’t think ugly thoughts or pity or love or whatever other judgments I might have. I just keep walking because I don’t care what she weighs. I hardly notice.

I’m sure the same is for me and my dopey bluetooth. I just kept thinking that some beautiful goddess will stop me and ask where the gourd aisle is and then I’ll quickly rip the electronic from my ear and stick it in my sweater-coat. Somehow I’ll get her approval because I’m not a geek.

I know we all have some version of this. Something we hide away to keep people from seeing us as we are.

Even though I dealt with a little embarrassment internally, I kept it in my ear during my shopping. I did take it out while at the deli counter because I didn’t want the meat cutter ladies to think I was a jerk barking orders while talking to somebody more important. Same thing when they were ringing up the totals.

There are things that screw me up a little that keeps this craziness alive and well. I was doing some work at one of our offices yesterday and a young woman walked in to do something. We chatted a bit about nothing, and as I was leaving she said, “You have great style – I like the whole ‘look’.”

This is funny because I have no ‘look.’ I wear a solid color t-shirt, jeans, and cheap Aldo shoes. I wear the same Banana Republic sweater coat everywhere I go. So, to hear that out of nowhere was flattering. Maybe she was flirting or just being nice, or maybe even lying. Who knows? Either way, it’s comments like that where I start paying attention to my looks.

What’s important is that I notice when I run those patterns of, “Uh oh – they won’t like me if they saw/knew/heard X.” That’s about me and my shame. The truth is though that some people will judge you and run away based on who you are. But, it’s been my experience that the ones who love you almost never run. And, if they do – screw ’em. They were just a big fatso with a terrible haircut anyway.

photo credit: Leonard John Matthews via photopin cc

She suggested we start to leave my hair a little longer on top. I was really excited for this news because I was gearing up for a funky new summer ‘do. Turns out it was because my hair is thinning. Now, since that post went live she has gone to great lengths (get it?!) to tell me I’m exaggerating and that I’m not losing my hair. It’s just not as thick and luxurious as it was three years back. But if it’s not as thick that means there are few strands. Ergo, I’m losing hair.

Now, I’m not going to argue with Ashley. She’s a beauty queen. I let hot chicks say whatever they want. Plus, I’m no hair doctor. I don’t know how it works. Maybe the follicles are getting narrower or some shit.

Either way I didn’t really pay attention until this weekend. I was heading out and needed to fix the hair. I threw a dab of this molding creme and started moving the hair this way and that for ten seconds.

Then I saw it.

The light from above my childhood bathroom vanity shone down onto my hair. However, it went past the hair and touched skull. Yes, light touched skull.

To say that I needed smelling salts to revive me would be an exaggeration. I didn’t even faint. I did, however, brace myself against the counter and lean into the mirror for a closer look.

Okay, so it turned out not to be a bald spot. The hair just was set in a weird direction thanks to the gel. But, my hair always turns in funky directions. I could have been in a boy band with this hair. I wouldn’t have been one of the guys who sings well or dances. I would have been the introspective, brooding one staring off into the ether while the other four did their choreographed megaworm box-step. The new-cool-for-school boy band guy.

I’ve been looking at my hair for a long time. This is first where I had ever seen a decent chunk of my melon. I knew it was time to take action.

My father has been using Rogaine for ten years. He stopped recently because it doesn’t actually work for him anymore. I did a little research online to make sure minoxidil does not cause Smelly Dick Syndrome (SDS), and I then I got online to place an order. My dad went upstairs and hooked me up with a three month supply from his private stash.

So now I take this eye dropper (eh… hair dropper) thing and drip hair growth goodness on my skull twice a day. It is funny to watch and I’m not happy about it, but it’s time to face facts. Balder and fatter. It’s happening. My back hair, though – no problem keeping that growing.

One fun thing you can do with back and shoulder hair. Shave it all and wait seven days. Then rub your hands over it for the spiny prickles. Now, run around the apartment yelling, “I’m a porcupine! I’m a porcupine!”

So, I’ll be Rogaine’ing it until the day I day, I guess. I think you have to keep going or it all falls out like a month later. I’ve taken the plunge. Will I film myself putting the solution onto my head so you can see it stream down the side of my face and then upload it here on the blog? You know I will.

I got my haircut last night and, while driving home, called Jessica (the girlfriend). Wait, I’d like to back up a step and complain about something. Okay, if you read my stuff you know I bicycle to work and it’s pretty strenuous. I go to one of these high-end salons in the Gold Coast of Chicago off Michigan Avenue. For three years I’ve been a patron, and for three years I’ve biked there. I arrive covered in sweat with the helmet, my gross bike clothes, and my dog in a backpack. They couldn’t be nicer about it. During the winter months I take the subway still with dog in tow.

Well, I needed to drive to work yesterday for some nonsense. I wrote the other day about how I have this nice car provided to me by my parents. One of the bummers of the Gold Coast is that there’s no parking. I called the salon to ask where to park. “Oh, we have valet!” I became excited in the prospect of a free valet service, basically unheard of in Chicago. She continued, “Yes – it’s only $12! Special pricing for our clients!” I did a big, “Harrumph!” and hung up.

Let me describe the scene as I’m as pulling up to the valet station. It’s me in my suit sitting my parent’s hand-me-down luxury car with a six pound chihuahua perched on the passenger seat. The guy says, “Sir, will the dog be coming with you?” I looked at him like, “Of course the dog is coming with me – um, I’m getting my haircut! Who doesn’t bring their dog into the salon?” In reality I mumbled a, “…yes.” Then I scooped her under my arm and exited the Jaguar.

I was telling my girlfriend this story afterwards and how I felt like a giant douche getting the car valeted and then walking into the salon with my dog (who was wearing a sweater). She asked me how much I spent on the haircut. I’m not a guy who likes fancy things – later on that night I picked up Pizza Hut. But the fact is I still have a full head of hair at thirty-six, despite Ashley (stylist) telling me I may be slightly thinning. “$55 – I know it’s a lot.” She then wondered if that included tip. “No, I tip $20 – $15 to Ashley and $5 to the hair washer.”

I would like to point out that I wear $60 dress shoes with my suit. Just saying, yo.

Jessica did the quick math and said, “Oh my. You spend more than twice as much as I do per year on my hair.” I was aghast. This is not what a straight man wants to hear. How could this be? Birds spend a fortune getting their hair done, don’t they?

Well, not if you don’t need coloring. Jessica has thick, brown hair. Four times a year she gets it trimmed at $60 a pop. I spend $75 every six weeks.

Sure, it’s not my cheapest expense, but I buy the generic dental floss. So, it’s sort of even.

photo credit: pattyanne:made via photopin cc