Dear Offender of Follicular Decency,

Psssst!! [Whispered, urgently:] Hey. You with the desperation spread sparsely across your head. Let’s step into my office and have a brief chat…

[Close door.]

Ok. So, I understand the need to cling, like a leach to supple flesh, to your former youthful self. I, for one, cannot claim to be immune to the desire to remain 21 in corporeal years, while still aging like a fine wine on the inside. With the big Three Ohhhhhhh lurking around the corner, me and my eye cream understand, completely. Trust me. However. This does not mean that I cavort around town screaming “OMG, I like, totally LOVE Forever 21!!!” while donning something spandexy and hot pink that I purchased at Forever 21. And, more importantly, it does not mean that if Mother Nature decided to rob me of the long and feminine tresses with which I’ve always been blessed, that my retaliation against her would consist of this:Aside from the fact that this is a total perversion of what hair was originally intended for, it’s also a symbol of something so much more pathetic than that: Desperation. And there it is, spackled across your balding cranium for all the world to see. Little do you know that those few strands which you’ve asked to do the job of a half-head of hair are as good as placing a banner across your lengthening forehead that says, in bold type, “I’d rather look like this than admit to myself that I’m losing my hair.” (Substitute “this” with “a sad, middle-aged man grasping with white knuckles at the last hope for a full head of hair.”)

You’re not fooling anyone. Not even you, Donald Trump.

Or you, Benny Hinn. Seriously, even though both of you do some sort of clever circa-70’s feathering trick with your thinning hair, it’s obvious what you’re hiding under there. And, frankly, it’s just sad.

It’s not like there aren’t options out there for you. And, that, Dear Offender of Follicular Decency, is what I’ve followed you three city blocks to pull you aside and discuss with you. See, you’re a special case: You’ve gone beyond the usual offense of pulling a thin veil of side hair over the top, and have started dipping into the back and bottom-most section of hair to do so. And I just cannot, with good conscience, allow you to continue on without telling you first that there are solutions.

There are toupes, hair implants, wigs. But perhaps the best thing, for everyone involved, would be for you to just bravely shave it all off. It’s a big step, I know. But just think of all the money you will save on hair products. And, you should know by now, that Britney Spears did it. So, now it’s the cool thing to do anyway. (Just don’t go showing your labia around town while you’re at it, though you don’t have any, so that shouldn’t be a problem.)

Anyway, please. I beg of you. Do the right thing. You’ll feel better. And besides, if you wouldn’t do it to your dog, why would you do it to yourself? You wouldn’t, would you?

With love (tough love),
La Cubana Gringa