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can’t remember. It’s a fact. I’m losing my hair.
    Not to complain, but why me? Why not my sister Dorrie, or my other sister, Robin? Why do all the women in my life have to deliberately flaunt their gorgeous locks? In the beginning it was Mom, with her shoulder-length chestnut-colored hair, which I loved to touch. Then it was Robin, who still has a massive mop. Then Dorrie, whose hair is even thicker than Robin’s and more unruly. My business partner, Stephanie, has an ungodly mane. It was the first thingI noticed when I interviewed her for the position, not long after I’d finished filming
Something’s Gotta Give
. While she rattled on about her qualifications, all I could think was, Do I really want a brown-haired, brown-eyed junior Cindy Crawford flaunting her blown-out hair in my face five days a week? Do I need to be reminded of my wispy flyaway strands as her fingers shake out her cascading locks, day after day? Forget it. Then I tried to imagine what her hair would look like on my head. One word came to mind: good. That’s what it would have looked like … g-o-o-d.
    Then there was Dexter. Sure enough, as she grew, her hair grew, too. Now it’s even more abundant than Stephanie’s. Why do I have to be surrounded by women whose hair seems to swish past me as if they’re frolicking in a Prell shampoo commercial? The only relief comes when they bitch about, I don’t know, a bad cut. Once, Dorrie went temporarily nuts after she gave herself a Jane Fonda shag trim. I tried not to enjoy her pain. But come on, give a woman a break. Goddamnit.
    Look, bottom line: I’d like to wish good thoughts for everyone who’s made me feel self-conscious and miserable about my hair. I’d like to stop complaining, and stop comparing. I’d like to be less envious. I’d like to change. I’d even like to put a smile on my face and be grateful for what I have. All I ask foris this: no disappearing hair follicles, no alopecia, no female pattern baldness. That’s all I want. Nothing more. That’s it.
    So, what exactly is hair? I looked it up on my iPhone while Dexter was getting ready for her swim. Hair is protein that grows from skin follicles at the rate of about half an inch per month. Each hair continues to grow for two to six years, then rests, then falls out. Soon enough, a new hair begins growing in its place. Female pattern baldness occurs when hair falls out and normal new hair does not grow in its place.
    Okay? Then there are the signs of impending baldness. What are they? Well, hair thins mainly on the crown of the scalp. It usually starts widening through the center. Symptoms of female pattern baldness include strange hair growth on the face or in the belly button. Another symptom of female pattern baldness can be the enlargement of the clitoris. Does that mean I’m going to have to look at my clitoris to know if I have female pattern baldness? Count me out.
    Let’s say I am balding. What are some solutions, besides wigs and extensions (which, in reality, can only be used if you actually have hair)? There is transplantation, or plugs, as we used to call them. Dr. Norman Orentreich performed the first transplant surgery in 1952. He coined the term “donor dominance” to explain the basic principles. When hair is relocated, it continues to display the same characteristicsof hair from the donor site; in other words, it grows. The downside of Orentreich’s technique was that unfortunately, the new hair created an unnatural “corn row” or “doll’s hair” look. As I was reading, it dawned on me that I knew Dr. Orentreich. In fact, Woody had used his shampoo to stave off baldness, and it worked. I called the Orentreich Medical Group in New York. A friendly receptionist told me that Norman Orentreich had retired. His son David was running the practice, but unfortunately she was not at liberty to sell me the shampoo since I was not one of his patients. I called Woody, and a week later the shampoo arrived. From