It's the only real secret I've kept from my boyfriend. He knows all about my pathological fear of being ignored, that I blister for days over tiny perceived snubs. He knows that The Biggest Loser makes me cry. But we've never talked about the Propecia.
He knows about my anti-depressants — I leave the bottle on the dresser sometimes. The Propecia: that stays in my messenger bag, stuffed deep into the pocket where I keep my spare toothbrush. One day I accidentally left it on the sink in his bathroom. When I got to his house after work that night, before he'd gotten home, I saw it there and panicked. Could he possibly have seen it? Who left the house first this morning, me or him?
Even if I'm not looking for a date, I still want to be dateable.
Viagra, contrary to popular belief, is not the most embarrassing men's pharmaceutical. Viagra feels almost swanky in a bachelor-pad, orgy-ready, condoms-on-the-coffee-table sort of way. It's aggressively proactive — it says, "Kiss my ass, old age. I'm not done fucking yet." It's an offensive shove, not a defensive cower like Propecia. And Propecia is humiliating because, even in this day and age, male vanity feels pathetic. Men are expected to look good, but not preen. We're supposed to be effortlessly sexy, like it just sort of happened. In addition, at $207 for a three-month supply, Propecia makes the user feel hopelessly bourgeois, which only makes you feel older — the very thing you're trying to deny.
My Propecia habit makes me realize that I've chosen conformity and self-interest over idealism — exactly the attitude I used to hate. Exactly the attitude I used to associate with aging. Clearly it's no longer about fearing eternal singledom; now that I'm dating someone, my reluctance to go bald is pure gamesmanship — with the world, with my partner, with anyone else out there who might want to date me. Because even if I'm not looking for a date, I still want to be dateable.
Now that it's preventable, going bald is like an act of defiance. I can see Propecia becoming a standard corrective measure in the future, like braces, and only a few rebellious souls will reject it, the same types who go vegan and tattoo their necks. They'll be snickered at, but also secretly envied by the rest of us for rejecting the ever-shrinking parameters of attractiveness.
There are times when I think about becoming one of these people. It would be as easy as not picking up my next prescription. So far I haven't been able to work up the courage, which, in the Big Competition, probably loses me at least three points. n°
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Will Doig has written for New York magazine, Black Book, Out, The Advocate and Highlights for Children. He was raised in Massachusetts and New Hampshire. Today he lives in Park Slope, Brooklyn.
