Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

I started taking Propecia when I was twenty-four because my hair was thinning. Damn my mom’s side of the family gene pool. Someone mentioned that taking Propecia would “hold onto” whatever hair I had.

I was a working commercial print model in New York and hell would freeze over before I let my hair go without a fight. And fight I did. I got a Propecia prescription, (1 mg pill a day) going so far as to add Rogaine in my thirties and used weird peppermint-smelling shampoos to be safe.

Sure, I read about potential side effects but nobody can tell that you have erectile dysfunction or mood disorders when you’re smiling in JCREW’s new fall catalog! 

I kept it a secret. I never told girlfriends, and I hypocritically chided my model friends to lay off the Botox and face surgeries when I, myself, clinged to my youth like a life preserver.  But something happened this past year. I became determined to never set foot in another hospital or be taken care of by a doctor. I went one-hundred percent natural, inside and out. 

I stopped taking the magic white pill. The same pill that helped me get laid, made me a bunch of money and gave me confidence in job interviews. My hair thinned in a matter of months and friends pulled me aside. They whispered in hush tones, “Dude your hair. You gotta get on Propecia.” 

I’m still the same person, run by my ego at times and am materialistic. (I won’t blink to put down six-hundred dollars on an All Saints leather jacket.) It bothers me sometimes. Last week someone told me that with my new glasses, I look like I run a VC fund. 

These past two years, I lost my hair but also friends that were not really my friends, goals that I never really cared about, people that I loved. I don’t have to play pretend anymore. I am free.