Acceptance: It's a Process

Oh. My. God. Gasp! Now I’ve seen it all. Oh, no you didn’t. What a giant step backwards. How sad. How awful. Poor guy. Aw. Man, it sucks to be bald.

These are just some of the thoughts swirling around my head since first seeing this photo. I thought I’d settle on one reaction and write about that, but it wasn’t that simple.

You know what this is, right? It’s a tattoo. Of hair. On a balding head. And it’s coming to the United States of America as a solution for the follicly challenged. (Yes, I’m making up words, get over it.) The man in the photo is a HiStyl client after receiving tattoos.

I don’t know why I had such a negative string of reactions to this solution.

Perhaps I was responding to it as a sort of fraud, tattooed hair follicles held out as real when they’re not. From across a room, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between tattooed hair and natural hair. From this close-up picture, I can’t even tell where the actual hairline ends and the tattoo begins. Can you? But then I can’t always tell who is wearing a wig and who isn’t, and I know the signs. For years I wore a very natural hairpiece that fooled a lot of people. How is a tattoo of hair follicles any different? And what is so wrong with the pretense of being natural if it makes you more comfortable?

Maybe, then, my response was so strong because tattoos are just too permanent. What if you experience a re-growth? (It happens.) Or the opposite – what if you experience additional hair loss? Then you’d have a gap between the tattooed hair follicles and the natural ones. Of course, there are remedies for these things. And couldn’t the same be said of tattooed eyebrows? When I lost my brow hairs, I considered this option. I didn’t do it, and my eyebrows grew back in – lighter, lower, sparser. I’m glad I didn’t get tattooed eyebrows, but I’ve never had a negative reaction to them on others.

Hmmm…I am starting to think my initial rejection of tattooed hair follicles came from my new philosophy of acceptance. No, really. I want so badly to live in a world where people without hair feel beautiful and accepted and confident, not shameful and sad and isolated. I wear the scarves. I try to set an example. I blog. I spread the word about alopecia. All in an attempt to create a world of acceptance.

I guess I got so caught up in my vision that I forgot the meaning of the word, and that true acceptance means allowing people to make their own choices and then supporting them in whatever they choose. For that, I apologize.

Today, my solution is a pañuelo, a colorful scarf that matches my outfit and lets my head breathe. For others, it could be a natural hairpiece made of human hair, or hair transplants, or a pink wig or fun hats or even a proudly bared bald head. Or even tattooed hair follicles.

Whatever makes you happy, and comfortable, and confident, I’m for that.

© 2009 Christy Bailey

Want to see some people who really are comfortable with their differences? Check out this article from Mental Floss Magazine. It's not what you think.

Take Me the Way I Am

There aren’t a lot of songs about hair loss. So last summer when I heard “Rogaine” in a breathy, singsongy voice on the radio, I went on high alert. I held my breath in anticipation of learning the artist name: Ingrid Michaelson.

Immediately, “The Way I Am” became my new favorite song.

The Way I Am by Ingrid Michaelson

If you were falling, then I would catch you.
You need a light, I’d find a match.
Cause I love the way you say good morning.
And you take me the way I am.
If you are chilly, here take my sweater.
Your head is aching, I’ll make it better.
Cause I love the way you call me baby.
And you take me the way I am.
I’d buy you Rogaine when you start losing all your hair.
Sew on patches to all you tear.
Cause I love you more than I could ever promise.
And you take me the way I am.

At first, I found the lyrics to “The Way I Am” sweet. You take me the way I am? Wow. We all long to find someone who will do just that – accept the good, bad and ugly in us.

The more I listened to the song, however, the more I became bothered by it.

Never mind the implication that baldness is some sort of problem with an easy fix, like a chill, or a headache, or a holey sock. Just use Rogaine, and shazam, problem solved. It’s not always that easy. There are many types of baldness, caused by different things, and treated in different ways. With my type, some people lose quarter-sized patches of hair on their scalp, while others lose all body hair. Some grow their hair back quickly, while others never get their hair back. Some people re-grow their hair with Rogaine, only to lose it again when they stop taking the treatment. I certainly tried it, years ago, before there even was a Rogaine for women. I only had a few bald spots back then, and I was desperate to have my hair back. I also tried steroid shots and an irritant cream that turned my head purple and made me want to scratch my skin off. Sometimes these treatments work on alopecia. None of them worked on me.

Then there’s the idea that balding heads are indeed a problem—something that needs to be fixed. Aren’t bald men considered sexy these days? Think Taye Diggs. Yowza! Couldn't someone facing hair loss embrace a bald head? Why should we assume that everyone automatically wants to treat hair loss?

But what really bugged me was the underlying message of acceptance paired with the “I’d buy you Rogaine” lyrics. Can you “take me the way I am” and still want to make changes? Doesn’t acceptance mean you experience something without attempting to change it?

I had to look up the definition.

From merriam-webster:
ac·cept
transitive verb
1 a: to receive willingly b: to be able or designed to take or hold (something applied or added)
2: to give admittance or approval to
3 a: to endure without protest or reaction b: to regard as proper, normal, or inevitable c: to recognize as true : believe
4 a: to make a favorable response to b: to agree to undertake (a responsibility)
5: to assume an obligation to pay ; also : to take in payment
6: to receive (a legislative report) officially

Hmmm…not exactly what I’d hoped for. The only definition with any reference to change is the third one: to endure without protest or reaction.

Is a balding head something to be endured? Maybe it is.

But maybe it doesn’t have to be. Once upon a time, bald wasn't even acceptable, much less sexy. Balding men scrambled to find just the right toupee and then prayed people wouldn't notice the rug on their head. Balding women didn't exist, at least not in the public eye. People didn't embrace their baldness. They didn't own it.

But that was before Sean Connery went bald and still managed to be sexy.

That was before Michael Jordan and many other basketball players made it cool to be bald.

That was before Melissa Etheridge performed bald at the 2005 Grammy awards.

That was before Robin Roberts ditched her wig on Good Morning America last year. And then walked the runway - bald.

As long as there are confident bald people willing to set an example, there's hope for all of us.

As for Ingrid Michaelson’s song, I still find it catchy and sweet. It’s just not my idea of true acceptance anymore.

What is? How about these:

“I am not my hair
I am not this skin
I am not your ex-pec-tations
no no I am not my hair
I am not this skin
I am a soul that lives within”
– Singer India Arie, “I am not my hair”

“They say time takes its toll on a body
Makes a young girl’s brown hair turn gray
Well honey, I don’t care, I ain’t in love with your hair
And if it all fell out, well, I’d love you anyway.”
– Singer Randy Travis, “Forever and Ever, Amen”

What do you think? Are acceptance and change mutually exclusive?

© 2009 Christy Bailey