5 hours ago
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Growing up, I was obsessed with Jim Carrey. I was just entering my teens when The Mask came out, and I can still picture myself watching Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls on TV one weekend afternoon, absolutely howling at the silliness of it. His elastic facial expressions, the energy, the stunts – it was the perfect tenor of humour for a young boy.
By the time I was in college, I had moved on to his more thoughtful films. The Truman Show was a favourite: still funny, but with a philosophical edge that spoke to me at the time. I loved seeing Carrey stretch into more serious roles, and as the internet made it easier to watch interviews, I came to admire him as a person, too.
Which is why, when I found out he was doing a TV series called Kidding, I was thrilled. The idea of him playing a troubled children’s TV presenter was irresistible. I started watching as soon as it came out, not knowing that it would trigger a personal turning point.
Around this time, I had started losing my hair. I was in my early 30s, which felt too soon. I thought I might start balding at 50, so I wasn’t mentally prepared. I’d always had thick hair, even wearing it long at university, so when it began to thin, I fought it. I tried combing it over to hide the bald spots, but eventually there was no hiding it. Every time I looked in the mirror I saw what felt like proof that I was getting old too early. It made me feel less attractive, as though something had been taken away from me.
Then one night I sat down to watch Kidding. In the very first episode, Carrey’s character is fighting with his controlling father about the direction of his show. In a moment of frustration, he takes a pair of clippers and drags them from his forehead all the way to the back of his skull, ruining his perfect TV hair.
I burst out laughing – but I also felt something shift inside me. What he did was was an act of liberation, of taking back control. And suddenly I saw my hair loss for what it was: not just a cosmetic issue, but something I’d let control me. I paused the stream, went to the bathroom, grabbed my beard trimmer and did exactly what Carrey had done. One long line straight down the middle. I looked ridiculous. I laughed for a solid minute, standing there, finally seeing the absurdity of how much energy I’d spent hiding those bald spots. Then I went back to the sofa and finished the episode, still with that stripe across my head. When the credits rolled, I went back and finished the job.
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It was like a weight had been lifted. The anxiety I’d felt every time I looked in the mirror was gone. I actually thought I looked pretty good. I had a nicely shaped scalp hiding under there! I couldn’t wait to show my friends. When I met them I wore a winter cap and did a dramatic reveal – every single one of them said I looked better shaved. Even my mother, who had struggled with the idea of her once long-haired son being bald, admitted she liked it.
These days, I keep my head shaved most of the time, though occasionally I let it grow a bit. Either way, I’m comfortable with how I look. I still have plenty of insecurities – I think that’s normal – but I no longer feel as though I am ageing before my time. I know that there is social stigma around men balding, but I try not to let that affect me. I know that for every woman who prefers a man with a full head of hair, there will be someone out there who likes me the way I am.
If I ever met Jim Carrey, I would thank him for teaching me to see myself in a lighter, sillier way. Losing my hair felt like something happening to me, something out of my control. But by laughing at it, by shaving it off on my own terms, I turned it into a choice, and that made all the difference.
