Written in July 2003, this piece appeared on a now-defunct site that very much resembled the first rumblings of a blog community. I’ve had to update some of the hyperlinks. For the record, my hair is now kept high-and-tight and the horseshoe stache has been replaced with a wide goatee.

 

I did it because I wanted to. I wanted to see what would happen. How drastically would the disappearance of a few ounces of hair actually affect my life? Would my friends behave differently toward me? Coworkers? Family? Lovers? What about MY behavior?

A new razor. Clippers. Plenty of hot water. Clean towels. Jon said he’d bring the after-shave. It could’ve been any Tuesday night–balmy, rainy. We landed at my place around 9:30pm. I stood in the bathtub, around the corner from the mirror–I didn’t want to look until it was all over. For some reason, the clippers I use on my goatee were more effective than the hair clippers at getting my hair down to shaving length. My head down, staring at the discarded crewcut at my feet, he slathered on the shaving cream. He kept chatting, explaining that my scalp would feel just like my face had after the first time it met the razor—sensitive and tender—but that it too would soon “toughen up”. My resolve kept me remarkably calm (much later, Jon commented on how ‘serious’ I had become). He expertly slid the razor through the foam so effortlessly, I had to wonder if was working. I was assured that something indeed WAS happening up there. Tip my head this way. Tip my head that way. One little cut on the side, a bit of blood–but that can only be expected for my first time. The bladework was done, and Jon excused himself, telling me to shower off the fallen hair, and to gently run a loofah over my scalp to pry loose any layers of dead flaking skin—again, to be expected. My first touch was oh so timid—what would it feel like? Would the shower-water sting, now that my head had lost a layer of protection? The soapy loofah felt good, and oddly enough, didn’t sting. The warm shower hit my head, but it didn’t hurt...it actually didn’t feel like anything. It felt…numb. Indeed, I felt numb.

Jon was the first critic: he said it looked hot. I had a good-shaped head for it. No odd bumps or divots. But oh, that cut! It looks worse than it is; better slap a bandaid on it. A bandaid? Will it hurt to take it off? I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.

Knowing that people would feel obligated to lean their comments toward the complimentary, despite their true opinions, I did my best to encourage people to be disparaging. Nevertheless, initial reactions were sketchy at best, from the awkward “Oh! You shaved your head!” to the congenial “Well alright, you did it!” My boss served up the first quasi-compliment, “You have a very pretty head.” Steven returned my shiny head and smile with a look of profound amazement. He knew it was coming, but you just never know exactly what you’re going to get, you know? We hit 30˚ for drinks with SweetJimmy that first night, and after his second Skyy-and-water, S.J. worked up the courage to say “I think it looks good on you, but I think you look better with hair.” There it was: the first honest criticism, quite constructive, and simply put. I thanked him for his input, and we moved on to JR’s for another round.