I’ve discovered that I have a “look.” A “look” that’s more common than I realised. Since I bought some new glasses with a thicker frame, it’s become very apparent that I am indeed one of the many who have adopted “The Look.”

It’s like when you purchase a new car. You feel great as you drive around in your red Ford KA and then you see another, then another and another. Your bubble bursts when you realise that every other bloody driver on the road has a red Ford KA.

I’m the same now with my newly discovered “look.” I’m just another bald man with spectacles. Just another bog standard photo fit; another face in the classic 80’s game Guess Who; another creative possibility for a child at Christmas with a new Mr Potato Head.

Get a hard boiled egg. Draw a pair of glasses on it with a marker pen. Congratulations, you’ve just created “The Look.”

The other day I stepped into the reception area of work as I was heading home. I found a colleague who happens to be a bald man (completely shaved like me) with spectacles, signing out. Next to him, the coffee machine repair guy who just so happened to also be bald (completely shaven like us) with spectacles. He also had a striking ginger beard but he still sported “The Look.” He was part of the club.

“Bloody hell,” I said, “Three in a row!” I was genuinely enthused by this moment. I contemplated getting a selfie with them to share on social media to bring joy to all who gazed upon the three bespectacled baldies like we had just been uncovered on some kind of baldy scratch card where three baldies with glasses can win you a hair transplant and laser eye surgery.

Or we could have a selfie with our heads side by side, looking downwards. If we drew nipples on our heads and if the lady on reception stood behind us, we could be recreating that three breasted woman in Total Recall.


Unfortunately, I wasn’t met with the same level of enthusiasm in return. There’d be no time for banter here; no Total Recall re-enactment today. Personally I think they just need to open their minds.

Anyway, needless to say, I didn’t ask for a selfie.

Then today I left work a little late and had to get a dash on for the train. There’s a fine window of opportunity but who should I see running across my path as I burst through the exit door? Yes, a bald and bespectacled man, heading for the station.

As he ran past other commuters heading in that direction, I realised that my sprint for the train was now redundant. I will not be part of some humorous spectacle like a bald man charity dash or a glitch in the Matrix! I will not be a source of amusement! I was laughed at enough in the playground but not at thirty five damn it!

The fact that he was running in a kind of overly zealous, bouncy, children’s TV presenter way didn’t help and I didn’t want the other commuters to think I was chasing him.

Plus I’d probably try to beat him. It’s completely incongruent with the unwritten urban law of bald brotherhood. A baldy should never go head to head with a baldy.

So to prevent ridicule, I missed the train.

People with hair will never know the struggle.


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