So what will happen then, when there’s nothing left? I’d like to lose it with grace and dignity like Bill Murray. No toupees, no plugs, no pills, no graphs. Just me and my shiny dome, trolling for other bald-headed individuals to high-five. We’ll solemnly nod at each other on the streets and spend Sunday afternoons in damp basements talking about Jude Law and Jason Statham—they went bald gracefully, and we can do it too! Then we’ll cheer, hold hands, cry, drink coffee, eat donuts, maybe start a fight club?
I conclude this letter by saying that that I've graciously conceded—like General Robert E. Lee or Al Gore the second time. I hope all men will go quietly into the night as I have. No, we won’t all look like Samuel L. Jackson, Bruce Willis, or His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama—we’ll just be us.
We are a legion of shiny-headed champions who don’t need luscious locks to succeed—because the locks we desire are right HERE (I’m pointing to my heart/soul area right now) and if you’ve got that, you don’t need anything else. Guys, forget male pattern baldness and start living with male pattern boldness.