By the seventh month, there was no more fuzziness. My hair looked better than it had in decades. I looked younger. I felt younger. I visited the barber, who whistled and thanked me like a proud grandfather. After cutting my hair, the barber said, “Sorry, but we’ve got to do something,” and then ran his hands back and forth through all my hair, with a big smile on his face. “This feels so good.”
On our first date, a woman told me that I didn’t look very 46 years old. (Obviously this is a flat-out lie that everyone tells, but still.) She then elaborated: “You still have hair.”
“I guess I was lucky because I had good genes.”
About nine months later, as I gazed with satisfaction at my hairline, I noticed something less exciting: I’d gained weight. My face looked puffy, my cheeks chubby. I stepped on the scale and saw that I’d surely gained about 10 pounds since the surgery. I couldn’t blame the transplants, but my fears about my thinning hair had now been replaced by fears about my body.
Of course, both of these fears are foolish. (Remember the line from the after-school special: “It’s what’s on the inside that counts!”) But I realized that I probably had some degree of insecurity about my appearance. Probably many of us do. And no matter what you do to upgrade or optimize your appearance, the symptoms may subside, but the underlying psychological issues will remain. That’s what money is like. Research on happiness shows that buying something new causes a surge of joy that eventually wanes and quickly returns to its original state. Then you want more and repeat.
Of course, asking for a hair transplant to tame your inner demons is too high of a hurdle. The goal was to fix hair, not cure it, but by that standard it was a huge success. The bald spot on the top of my head is almost filled in, my bangs look thicker, and I no longer need to use pomade to “hide” the open corners of my widow’s peak. Widow Peak had completely disappeared. It was all natural and thick hair.
On a backpacking trip to South America, I met a group of people in their 20s and 30s who were surprised to learn that I was 46. I thought this was just politeness until he unattended, approached the rest of the group, and excitedly said, “You’d never guess how old Alex is!”
This was my first experience. Before going to Istanbul, I had never experienced a reaction like this. So I think it’s all thanks to the port. And after a while, it no longer felt like a hair transplant, it just felt like my own hair and I didn’t have to worry about it anymore. And now, in the 10th month, I forgot to check in to Hair of Istanbul. It’s so relaxing.
Would I do it again? Absolutely. (That’s not to say you should: do your research, understand the risks, and know what you’re getting into.) I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life. This wasn’t one of them. I’d go even further and predict that hair transplants will become much more mainstream in the near future, especially if costs continue to come down. The results are too good to ignore.
At a recent party, I met a friend who knew Istanbul but hadn’t seen me since my “ugly duckling phase.” “Nice hair!” she said in a whisper, not wanting to expose my cover-up.
I thanked her and told her I was happy and that I did look a little younger.
She saw my new appearance and took a long look. Then he nodded and said, “Well, why don’t you try Botox?”
