I went to brush my teeth and saw it.

My hair was Perfect.

I rubbed my eyes.

My hair was Perfect.

You see, I’d gotten my last haircut nearly two months previous and felt that I’d long passed the possibilty of hair improvement. There had been times in the past two months when I’d been quite satisfied with my hair. Sometimes even happy. I might look in the mirror and say:

“Yea. This is the hair I seek.”

I don’t spend alot of time on my hair. Because my hair is very fine and my skin on the oily side, I definitely have to wash it every day. Excepting times it’s very short, I never leave the house unshowered without a hat (unless I’m just taking out the garbage or something). It shoots out this way and that like a pile of easter basket hay after being slept on; one half perfectly coifed, the other channeling Yahoo Serious (nothing cools-up an essay like Yahoo Serious references).

But generally, I just wash it, mostly dry it and leave it at that. I’m a bit of a Christian Scientist when it comes to my hair. I do what I do and if things turn out well, then that’s God’s will. If not, then I… do nothing.

I’ve bought various hair products when I feel inspired, when I decide that I’m going to care. When I’m at the stylist they always give me a messing of pomade. But I’ve found it’s a bit like Excalibur. It only seems to work in hands that were destined to use it. I’m pretty sure it’s the angle — like you have to be behind someone, both facing a mirror to apply it. The angle of my hands, the point of view I have, it just always ends up clumping on the top of my head. When I try to compensate I manage to goo up everything which is sort of contrary to the point.

The point is, I don’t care, right? I certainly don’t care enough to write a whole damn essay on my hair! What kind of fop does that? I’m going to stop very soon.

My grandfather on my mother’s side is bald. That means I’m destined to be bald. Between fine hair (thin strands), a high forehead and genetics, I’ve basically felt that my hair was a facial detriment. From my freshman year in high school it became apparent. I could never have “Cool Hair,” I just strived for “Not Looking Like I Was Going Bald” at least before I could get “Married” after which I could reveal the “Awful Truth To My Unsuspecting Wife.”

Then in 1999 a little thing happened called “Propecia.” Actually, it happened before then, but it became known to me at that time that Propecia was just a weaker form of Proscar, a drug used to treat prostate enlargement. Proscar is just the Merck drug company’s brand name of Finisteride. By buying Proscar, a much less sexy drug (and therefore cheaper) you can split it in fourths (or fifths if you’re really talented — Proscar is 5x one Propecia) and take the little pill pie pieces and save, save, save!

Even now Propecia runs about a whopping $60/month. Keep in mind you have to take it EVERY DAY so that amounts to over $700 a year. For some, that’s a small price to pay for not being bald, or being less bald. Back in 1999, I still had most of the hair I did when I was 19. I used to measure my forehead by putting my hand over it and looking at the space between my hairline and my fingers. It’s not too accurate, however, and an inch could go with that measurement without even noticing. On a forehead, an inch is like the Louisianna Purchase.

Back then, you would buy Proscar from an overseas pharmacy via the internet. You’d pay like $50 to have an online consultation with a doctor (haha) and you’d get a prescription. If you ordered from the same place the next time, you wouldn’t need to pay the fee again. I think I paid about $110 for 30 pills, which could be stretched for about 4-5 months. That’s certainly reasonable. Then, the laws changed. It seemed like every time I needed to order I’d have to find a new supplier. Nowadays I get like 90 pills of GENERIC Proscar from some pharmacy in India for about $70. Okay, so I can buy Propecia “legally” and “locally” for:

$2/day

or via the internet, via splitting the pill and via using a generic form:

$.15/day

Not bad.

I don’t think Propecia/Finasteride/one-fifth-a-generic-Proscar has given me more hair than I had, but then I started taking it before I started really losing it. I have 1999 hair, basically. Still, my 1999 hair still has the same traits that keep me from really doing a cool hair look, it’s still fine and I still have a big ol’ forehead.

But when I looked into the hotel room mirror, that day was different. The moment, my hair looked 1) Thick and depending on your standards 2) Stylish. Knowing the moment would be fleeting I knew I must record the moment. If I could get a photo of my hair, perhaps I could give it to a stylist/barber/whatever and they could actually cut it that way.

Licking a finger tip, I tested the air currents in the hotel bathroom. I could monitor the situation in the mirror by slowly backing out of the bathroom. I didn’t want to try a risky 180 degree turn for fear of what the resulting swirl might do. Step by step I entered the bed area of the hotel room. Finding my camera while keeping my head level, I returned to the bathroom. Due to poor lighting (the exposure kept coming out motion blurry) and an inability to create the perfect self-aware wry expression, I finally had my shot.