Sir Patrick Stewart commanded a starship, performed Shakespeare, and helped a great many men feel better about the top of their heads. I received similar guidance from a history professor whose hair had suffered a catastrophic encounter with Wisconsin weather.
Watching a tribute to Stewart brought the memory back. He’d told the story of wearing a hairpiece for a final audition for Star Trek: The Next Generation. Paramount wanted to see him with hair, so his wig traveled from London to Los Angeles.
He got the job, and Captain Picard ultimately reported for duty without it.
Somewhere in that hiring process, somebody recognized that a man could possess authority, intelligence, and dignity without bangs.
From Entertainment Weekly:
"Right as I was boarding my plane at Heathrow, my London agent called Sheila at home and notified her that the Paramount people had been in touch, asking if I owned a hairpiece, and if I did, could I bring it to the audition?" Stewart writes.
"Sheila diligently retrieved my 'audition wig' from its space in my wardrobe and boxed it up, whereupon a British Airways representative collected it and placed it on a later flight to Los Angeles," he continues.
The revered thespian isn't sure if his "hairpiece flew first class" but it had arrived by the following day from London and and so he "drove back to LAX to retrieve it." The bewigged Stewart was then only asked to perform one scene before he was dismissed, so when the execs dropped his dressing room afterwards, he thought, "S**t, here comes the bad news."
Millions of men appreciated the discovery, although few of us received a starship as compensation.
During an older interview, Stewart recalled walking bareheaded through a rain-swept square near the Barbican. A man carrying an umbrella passed him, then called his name. The stranger removed his hat, revealed his old bald head, and thanked Stewart on behalf of bald men everywhere.
From the Graham Norton Show:
You can see it written on my tombstone, "You are the poster boy." When I was working at the Barbican, I was walking across a rain swept square, one of those public places. A guy walked past me with a hat on and an umbrella and I was walking along bare headed and suddenly I heard my name called, "Mr Stuart." He lifted up the umbrella and he took off the hat and he was as bald as me and he said, "On behalf of all the bald men in the world, thank you."
I understood the gratitude. My own moment of clarity came at the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire, where I sat in a history class one semester.
Our professor walked into the room as I was grabbing something from my backpack. The class gasped, and I can still see why.
Recommended: A Baby Box Helped Build Their Family. Now They’re Helping Other Families.
He had an extraordinary comb-around. Please appreciate the distinction. A comb-over moves surviving hair across disputed territory. His arrangement appeared to require considerably more planning, product, and cooperation from the atmosphere.
UWEC’s footbridge crosses the Chippewa River and has a notorious reputation for cold and wind. Students have spent generations learning how much Wisconsin weather can accomplish during a relatively short walk.
Bernie may have the best #bridgeface of all time.....😂 #uwec #uwecwinter https://t.co/AHBI4qr5WW
— UW-Eau Claire (@UWEauClaire) January 21, 2021
I assumed the professor had just crossed it. Whatever route he’d taken, a substantial section of his carefully arranged hair had broken formation.
The product held magnificently. Unfortunately, it held the hair arrow-straight at roughly a 45-degree angle from his head.
He’d prepared for gravity, but the wind had introduced another subject.
I don’t remember the history lesson that day. I remember making a decision about my future with absolute clarity: When my hair started leaving, I wouldn’t attempt to disguise its departure.
Eventually, my bangs reached the top of my head. I began shaving, and I’ve followed that plan ever since.
There’s something wonderfully efficient about ending negotiations with your hair. You stop checking whether the arrangement has survived a doorway, a gust, or an enthusiastic greeting from somebody taller. You can go outside and worry about the actual weather.
Looking back, though, I feel some tenderness toward that professor. He was trying to preserve something familiar about himself. Most of us have stood before a mirror and wished it would be a little more accommodating.
Hair loss can arrive long before a man feels ready to look older. Stewart’s easy confidence reassured me that a bare head could belong to someone people admired, listened to, and found attractive.
My professor offered a different lesson, entirely without intending to. His bad hair day helped me decide how I wanted to handle my own.
I hope the rest of his day improved. I’m grateful for what I took from his classroom, even if it wasn’t going to appear on the final exam.
I still shave my head. The face underneath belongs to the same fellow, with a few more miles on him and considerably less maintenance upstairs.
Stewart’s stranger took off his hat in gratitude. I’ll tip mine to a history professor in Eau Claire, then put it back on before crossing the bridge.
