Could I Pull off Bald?
Sunday 10th May 2026
A month! A full month has passed since I bored you with details of my uninteresting life, and what a month it’s been. Downs, ups, all-the-way-ups, downs again, further downs, back up agains. It’s had it all. The usual stat summary that you didn’t ask for? This one’s a bit of a journey.
8 projects live
0 work tears shed(!)
1 white hair discovered
1 cry about hair
1 cry about ageing
2 onsite boyfriends made
8 successful projects live
7 happy clients
1 less happy client
1 Instagram story like from Maverick
0 follow-ups from onsite boyfriends
1 cry about prospect of dying alone
3 raves
9 coriander margaritas consumed (Carpet Shop iykyk)
0 messages from Maverick
2 dangerous conversations with the Horntail
2 dentist visits
2 osteopathy appointments
5 hours spent staring at top of head on discovery of bald patch and hair thinning
2 cries about hair
1 cry about ageing
1 cry about money and being behind all peers in finances
1 cry about prospect of dying alone and destitute (luteal?)
1 cry at “Wuthering Heights” (luteal)
2 gym sessions
1 yoga class
0 spinal relapses
8 happy clients (thank you ketamine)
I think I might leave it there, feels like a pretty accurate representation of how the past month has played out.
The work is good and my confidence is up, but the money is tight and the outgoings are outgoing at an alarming rate.
The boys are there but nothing’s materialising, but the writers are staying true not to give any of them hard scripts just yet, instead having me focus on very real and scary aspects of my appearance and health, especially after AI showed me that I cannot, in fact, pull off bald with these eyebrows.
I’ve had odd swings this month between longing for a man in my life and praying I never find one. Visiting friends in Earlsfield and Epping, stepping off the train and wading through a sea of copy-and-paste couples in variations of the same matching workout sets queuing up for Gail’s, tucking into the exact same plates of avocado on toast.
I wanted that though - holding hands with someone who loved me, buying a house that feels like the one I grew up in, having our slow morning before he goes to play football with the boys and I…well, what? Eat brunch with girls and talk about new bathroom taps until I die?
I’m not sure what it is that’s made me so suddenly balk at the thought of the life I honestly thought I wanted, but maybe it wasn’t about wanting it, it was just…what you did. Go to uni, get job, meet man, buy house, procreate. Tick, tick, tick. Live near city but do not participate in city life. It’s just occurring to me that many of the things I like doing aren’t in that list (apart from men woi oiiii).
Maybe it’s that, or perhaps it has something to do with reading about the millions of men found visiting sites that give them tips on how to drug and rape their wives, or watching Reform seats get secured up and down the country.
Part of me now mourns my freedom, peace and personal safety every time I think about what it’d be like to be loved. Quite hilariously grand as a concept when I don’t even do anything particularly interesting or exciting as it is (I just like complaining about everything), and as much as I’ve slagged off the suburban life above, I’m literally off to a four-year-old’s birthday party.