Confessions of a Balding Millennial

Humour

Confessions of a Balding Millennial

Illustration: Shruti Yatam

O

ne sunny morning of my 22nd year on this planet, I found myself in front of a mirror with a trimmer in my hand. “Do you really want to do this,” the man in the mirror asked me. About 0.3 seconds later, a Dove ad voiceover saying “Bald is Beautiful” began relaying in my head with the energy of a Nike ad. I began to shave my head.

When you’re entering the perceived prime of your youth, balding is a pretty sad thing. It means years of being hustled fancy oils by barbers balder than Anupam Kher, getting “treatment” in shitty old buildings that are likely to collapse faster than you can say Dr Batra, and never ever going out with your head uncovered during the monsoon. It means wistfully dreaming of walking down a road without the need to pray that no strong gusts of wind come your way.

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