I’ve been fortunate in my life not to deal with any major self-image problems. Sure, I had the classic times as a teenager where a bad hair day or a massive pimple seemed like the end of the world, but there aren’t really any parts of my body that I feel insecure about.

Well, there may be one: my hairline.

Like many young men, the thought of losing my hair terrifies me. Male pattern baldness is like a storm building way off in the distance: you don’t know when it’s going to hit you or to what extent, but you can see it slowly creeping forward, and that’s scary. Frankly, the whole thing is bullshit. You go through life, fleshing out an identity that’s closely tied to your appearance, and then all of a sudden, you start losing one of the few parts of it you can actually control.

Over the last five or so years, I’ve noticed a bit of recession in the hairline department. It’s not that bad (compared to some other people), and my hair hasn’t thinned out at all yet (thank god), but it’s been just enough to make me uncomfortable.

While it’s not all that noticeable in my daily life, especially with the way I wear my hair, I think about it now and then. It’s most obvious when my hair is wet and slicked back. When I get out of the shower, I often cringe at the sight of it.

It’s not something that gets me too down, but I think that’s because it’s relatively hidden. If it were on show for everyone to see, that would be a different story – I think I’d feel pretty self-conscious.

You see, like many people, I’ve always been told that to feel your best, you’ve gotta look your best. Dress to impress, they say. This philosophy has served me well. Whether I’m going to a job interview or hanging out with friends, I put a decent amount of effort into my appearance. As a result, I always feel like I can take on the world.

But what if I didn’t like the way I looked? Would I still be my same vibrant self, or would my esteem be shattered? I genuinely don’t know the answer.

To test this – to lay out my insecurity for everyone to see – would be one of my toughest challenges yet, but I think it would be worth it. I won’t be able to count on my looks to buoy me for my whole life. I want to find confidence from some place deeper, more sustainable.

I figure now is as good a time as any for a practice run.

That’s why this week I: Got a buzzcut.

I really didn’t want to do this one. As the day got closer, I ummed and ahhed a lot, thinking about all of my upcoming social events that I wanted to look my best for. There are quite a few, and thinking about having my head shaved for them just depressed me.

I was starting to talk myself out of it as I drove to my hairdresser’s house. Fortunately, I had already told her that I wanted a buzzcut, so she kind of took the reins and didn’t give me much time to change my mind. Before I knew it, she’d gone bzzzzz right down the middle. We’re really doing this, I thought. Although I was staring at myself in the mirror the whole time, I was trying my best not to think about it and just focus on whatever I was talking about with my hairdresser.

When she was finished, I got my first proper look. It was a shock at first, of course, looking so different. It wasn’t as horrible as I’d expected, nor as good as I’d hoped (I was secretly manifesting that I’d look like one of those high-fashion magazine models with the buzzcut, sharp jawline, and uber-serious facial expressions). Getting my hair cut was the easy part, though. Now it was time to face the world.

It didn’t get off to a hot start.

The first test was simply looking at myself. There was no escaping my hairline now. Seeing it was no longer restricted to shower time – every mirror or window I passed was another reminder. Looking at your reflection and not liking what you see is about as hard of an ego hit as you can experience. I tried to keep positive and tell myself it didn’t matter, but it was difficult.

The second test was letting other people see it. The first couple of days were filled with all the shocked reactions you’d expect. There were plenty of those awkward encounters where people said ‘Oh my god’ or ‘Wow, you look so different’, but didn’t say ‘nice haircut’. In fairness, I don’t think it looks good either, so I don’t blame them, but it did reinforce my fears about doing this.

Even just walking among strangers was challenging. I felt like people were staring at me (a ridiculous thought, of course), and kept worrying that I would see someone I knew and have to either avoid them or explain myself.

During those first few days, I thought about my old hair constantly. I wanted it back. I felt like someone had stolen my favourite outfit and told me I’d have to wear my old raggedy clothes for the next few months.

Luckily, as the week wore on, things started to turn around.

In those early days, much of my stress was centred on people seeing my buzz for the first time. Walking into work on a busy Saturday night was daunting, as was going to uni, and seeing my friends at the gym. After people had seen it once, though, I didn’t have to withstand their shocked faces anymore, relieving a major point of angst for me. I used to worry that people would one day see my hairline… and now they had. So, in a weird way, I didn’t have to worry about it anymore.

In the middle part of the week, I started to think about my hair less. I got lost in my job, writing, workouts, conversations, etc., without it crossing my mind. After I’d seen the majority of my friends and family, I started worrying less about future social interactions. Overall, I realised that this whole buzzcut thing wasn’t the big deal I’d expected it to be. While I was getting my hair cut, my hairdresser must have sensed that I wasn’t loving the look. ‘It’s just hair, Mitchell’, she told me. She was right.

On the last day of the week, something special happened. I was walking into work, and I felt good. Excited. Assured. Like I was bouncing across the pavement rather than simply walking. It’s the way I usually feel, and it was the first time this week I‘d felt it. It was a defining moment that proved I was still me.

This week has been a fascinating experience. I still don’t think my hair looks good, and I can’t wait for it to return, but I’ve decided that there’s nothing wrong with that. A conversation I had this week with my honours supervisor – an amazing guy with his own hair loss journey – showed me that I should enjoy my hair while I still have it. That being said, I came into this week unsure if I’d be able to find my usual confidence even when I wasn’t feeling good about my looks. I’m happy to say that, in the end, I could, and that makes me optimistic about the future.

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