Bald As I Wanna Be

By Tony Kornheiser

Sunday, March 30 1997; Page F01
The Washington Post 

Last week I got a rare opportunity to be on the TV news. Most of the time when I'm on TV,
I'm sitting around with other fat slobs talking about why the strong-side linebacker went into
a rotating cover after the tight end showed flex to the weak side. But this time they asked to
interview me as an expert on "a question of social consequence." Me, an expert! It was
about time. I could not wait to see the videotape afterward, those dignified shots with a
close-up of your head, and underneath they give your pedigree, like: 

TONY KORNHEISER

Renowned Humorist

or 

TONY KORNHEISER

Nationally Syndicated Columnist

I was going to make a still photo of this shot, and send it to friends and relatives. After I saw
the videotape, I decided not to. Under my face, this is what it said:

TONY KORNHEISER

Bald Sportswriter

It was humiliating. Wendy Rieger, the blond bombshell news vixen, was interviewing me
about this new pill that would grow hair on bald men. Wow. Who wouldn't want that?

There is just one teensy catch:

It can make you impotent.

Um, doesn't that sort of defeat the whole purpose? Isn't it like curing a hangnail by lopping
off your toe? 

Being the cagey guy I am, I asked Wendy if the impotence would go away when I stopped
taking the pill. Yes, she said. But the newly grown hair would go away as well.

Well, I said, how long is that window of opportunity open? How long before my hair falls
out?

She smiled and said kindly, "Don't worry. Not before closing time."

You may have noticed that I have less hair than some men. I mean that in the sense that
cactuses have less leaves than most plants. Much of my hair is gone. I believe there's a logical
explanation for this: I was kidnapped by aliens, who attempted to make me into a topiary
French poodle.

Actually, I do not have a receding hairline. I have an advancing skin line. For years I have
watched my scalp gradually grow, dislodging the hair on top of my head, like a glacier slowly
advancing on a forest -- killing the trees, knocking them down like bowling pins and replacing
them with cold, smooth ice.

I have a few strands of hair that I sweep up from near my ear, and rake across the top of my
head. But it hardly covers a thing -- my friend Wilbon says, "You look like you're wearing a
seat belt across your head."

Anyway, this new pill could be good news for guys like me. Except for the impotence factor.
(Of course, if you're already bald and impotent, I guess it's a no-brainer.)

Come on. What kind of Hobson's choice is this? You don't think men want hair on their
heads for some idealized idea of appearing handsomer, do you? Men don't care about being
handsome for themselves. If there were no women to bag, all men would weigh 300 pounds,
drink out of toilet bowls and walk around wearing bathrobes all the time, even at formal
occasions such as the investiture of the King of England, who would be wearing a bathrobe,
too.

"Don't take the pill," Wilbon told me. "Bald is in now."

Bald is in for black guys, I reminded him. Wilbon is bald and black. 

"Maybe you could take a pill to get black," he said. 

This situation is really unfair to white guys. Bald black guys look really cool, like Michael
Jordan. Bald white guys look cool too, but like Frosty the Snowman.

You can tell Frosty is ashamed of what he looks like, because he wears a hat. The only men
in the culture who wear hats are firemen, the pope and bald white guys.

Over the years, I have tried a variety of ways to regain my hair. In my twenties I took shots
of estrogen in my scalp. I didn't grow hair -- but I went up an entire cup size. In my thirties I
bought a toupee. It cost $140. It was curly, like the hair of the father in "The Brady Bunch,"
and it sat on top of my own hair like a mushroom cap. I attached it to the sides and back of
my head with clips. I wore it once, for about 20 seconds. I walked out of my house, and my
neighbor Harvey saw it and started to howl. "Whaddya got on your head, a duck?" I went
back in the house and took it off and never put it on again -- except for camouflage, on the
night I dismembered Harvey's dog. I'm kidding. I just shaved the dog. 

In my forties I used that sissy-boy Rogaine. My doctor was so sure it would grow hair that
he gave me plastic gloves to wear as I applied it so I wouldn't sprout hair on my palms. I
used Rogaine for four years, rubbing it on my head twice a day. I'd have done just as well
pouring Scotch on my head.

I've never tried transplants, and I think it's a little late in the game now. They like to transplant
your own hair from where you have it growing -- the only place I can grow hair now is my
ears. Ear hair grows straight out, like the bristles of a toothbrush. I would look like Don
King, with waxy buildup.

Hair transplants look ridiculous for years until they fill in. You become a Chia Pet that a cow
grazed on.

A lot of bald men won't take this pill. I went around the office asking some chrome domes.

Karl is my hero. He is bald and has a ponytail, which takes guts. Talk about flaunting an
infirmity. It is like a guy with a speech impediment becoming the Voice of America. Anyway,
Karl and a few other baldies said they wouldn't take any medication to regrow their hair even
if there weren't the possibility of impotence attached -- which sounded like complete denial
to me. Joel brought up two interesting points: (1) What if your wife starts buying this pill for
you? She wants you to look better, and doesn't care if you perform; and (2) after the
widespread release of this pill, every man with a thick head of hair will become suspected of
being impotent. Women will ask each other, "How did he get that much hair, huh?" 

This is an interesting point. From now on, being bald might actually help you nail babes!

Bring on the pill. 


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