When my friend Jen offered me an opportunity to attend a HurryDate event for “bald men and the women who love them,” I accepted immediately. As a bald man, I absolutely needed to know – who are these women who love me?
The event was held at a Beverly Hills bar called Nirvana. According to Buddhists, nirvana is the extinction of individual consciousness. There is no sign outside the bar, so you literally have to walk in and ask “Is this Nirvana?” Then a hostess says, “Yes, this is Nirvana.” Then you lose individual consciousness and collapse to the floor. Or at least that’s what happens in theory.
So here’s the scene at Nirvana. The bar is dimly lit and everything that can be made of wood is made of wood. There are couches and beds where a sensible Midwestern bar owner would put tables and chairs. The walls – and it takes a minute to notice this – are adorned with carvings of ancient peoples grabbing each other’s junk. It’s possibly the least-sexy porno of all-time, with the notable exception of Two Girls, One Cup.
As if the setting was not surreal enough, for the first time in my life I found myself in an enclosed space with a dozen people who looked similar to me. It was completely unsettling. Imagine a funhouse of mirrors, and some of the mirrors are much more older than you and some of the mirrors are much more Indian than you. I wanted to run out of the bar and back into a world of hair, where I was the exception and not the rule.
If a random stranger had walked into the bar and seen the 13 of us bald guys gathered in one room, here are three thoughts that might have crossed that poor stranger’s mind:
• Fleet Week has come to Beverly Hills
• The metrosexual wing of the KKK is setting up shop Beverly Hills
• The world’s foremost super terrorists are enjoying happy hour in Beverly Hills
In all, there were 13 men and 11 women. Every person was assigned a number. Each “date” was five minutes. At the end of five minutes you marked Y or N on your scorecard next to your date’s number. After the dates we were told to go to hurrydate.com and enter our selections. Those people who chose each other would be notified on the site.
My quest for information on why women love bald men unearthed a few answers. One popular reason women dig the bald thing was celebrities. Some of the women said they were into Bruce Willis or Vin Diesel and I assume they pictured their ideal man in a similar light. Sadly, none of the women mentioned my favorite bald dude – Sir Winston Churchill. I swear to God – I am not kidding – if one of the women would have said her favorite bald guy was Churchill, we would have been in the car two minutes later and on our way to Vegas. I didn’t agree with the man’s politics, but by God he was a vision with that bald head of his.
Many of the women said they could not explain their fascination. They just know what they like and they like bald. One woman said she likes the feel of rubbing a bald head. I know this to be true, because on more than one occasion while at the bar I have felt the hand of a strange woman on the back of my head. Bald is different and some women are into different. They want to experience it. I liken it to women who dig Australian guys because of their accents. Australia is England with slightly better food, but damn if those Aussie blokes don’t rake in the American ladies.
And that’s pretty much all of the insight I was able to gather. I think some of the women were there because it was a HurryDate event in their age range and it was on a night they were available. Unfortunately for my quest, the bald thing seemed secondary.
The women, as they always are at these events, were fascinating. I have changed their names to protect their identities.
There was Andrea, an attractive masseuse who was into the sports. She’s perfect, right? Wrong. The conversation was brutal. In my head I was justifying all of the things I didn’t like about her because 1.) she was hot 2.) she rubs strangers’ bodies for a living and 3.) she can hold her own at the batting cage. I was forcing it, trying to make it work. I so wanted to make it work. And I couldn’t.
Here’s the thing about speed dating. They give you five minutes, but you can tell within two seconds if it’s going well. It’s all in the facial reactions, tone of voice and other subconscious indicators. Malcolm Gladwell wrote about how people size each other up within the first two seconds of meeting in his book Blink. Now that I’ve done speed dating twice, I can back him up.
I had an open mind going into each conversation, but I can count at least six cases in which I knew it was over before the first word was said. Mind you, I do not lack for confidence. I think I’m a catch and not just because my mom says so. But I could tell, in two seconds, that it was all over and that the next 4:58 would feel like five hours.
Some of the other women I met included Beth, who appeared to be on wine number two and was slurring her speech, but was otherwise very nice. There was Carla, who for some reason decided a five-minute conversation was the time to play coy. I also met Danielle, who bragged about being fired from her job. That wouldn’t be my opener, but I was thankful for the variety.
After the party I received six matches, two of whom I had said yes to myself. One was from Beth, who may or may not remember what I look like. And the other was from my friend Jen, who had invited me to the event in the first place as my friend and wingman.
Sadly, the evening produced precious little new information on women’s love of the bald head.
So here’s my theory. It’s not scientific, but it makes a lot of sense, especially if you break it down on a subconscious level.
Women like bald heads because it reminds them of giant wangs.
To read about my previous speed dating experience, click here.