As is documented on my blog, turning 40 was a tough transition. It was when I started feeling my age and realising I am often the oldest person in the room! It was when I realised that I needed to take stock of my achievements and give myself some credit, which was a bitter pill to swallow, and it was also the year I was continually reminded that my hair was disappearing – my crown was literally being snatched away from me.

I have always been fixated with hairstyles and how I wanted them to look. Somehow, in my younger years, I associated my hair looking correct with an avoidance of mean comments from my peers. I would brush, comb, spray, rewash if necessary until my hair looked passable. It was an exhausting ordeal for me and for those around me – a stray hair could bring me to tears.  

My hair has also been a way to express myself – the colour, the style, the length. I have experimented throughout my years and generally pushed the boundaries. But as the big four zero approached, I noticed something disturbing…

My hair had a large circular crown of translucency. Sure, I couldn’t miss the receding nature of my hair line, like my hair was afraid of my eyebrows and wanted to get as far away from them as feasibly possible, but now there was an unwanted halo, a constant reminder to me even if most people couldn’t see it atop my head (6’2” ha sits benefits I guess).

I have bored close friends and family members with my focus on this balding spot and it was time to make a conscious decision, so I talked to a friend who said that they thought my beard with a short haircut would really suit me. 

I am a fairly risk adverse person, but I am also prone to quick bursts of dynamism, and this was one of those sporadic times. The next day I went to the barbers and asked him to cut it all off! At first he took some time to think about it, but concluded that if my wife wouldn’t hold him responsible, he reckoned it would suit me! 

And so the catharsis of cropping my hair began. What began as avoiding a comb-over, became a discovery that how I look is not a precursor to the person that I am.  A discovery that style is a personal journey. Ultimately, a discovery that I am ageing and maybe that is not a bad thing. It’s amazing that one haircut could have such a profound effect on me. 

Looking back now, I don’t know what I thought the hair was doing! Maybe I thought  it was a representation of me, or maybe it was something I was hiding behind. Like a sort of armour. But since it’s gone I feel I have found my style, re-discovered me. I feel lighter for it. 

So this is my tale of a small change that made a big impact. I guess you could say that I took the opportunity to snatch the crown for myself! And with my new style and the confidence to go with it, I will wear that metaphorical crown to remind me to just be me.

TIB