The realisation that the end was nigh came at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, aged 20. After a night dancing to the sweet funk of High Fade in Whistle Binkies, some friends and I hiked up to Arthur's Seat to see the sunrise. A long trek but worth it: the sun creeping over the horizon, basking us in this glorious orange. But when videos were shared of our 4am descent from the hilltop, a camera caught a top-view of my scalp. It was an unfamiliar angle and I was shocked. I couldn't argue with the morning rays. My hair was thinning. A lot. And so began my depressing obsession...

Read: In 2025, I thought a lot about hair loss and masculinity

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