Zeph Sanders was 20 years old when his hair started falling out. When thinned from the density of astroturf to the remaining fragments, he hid his head under a beanie before logging on to play video games on the live streaming platform Twitch.
“I started getting comments like, ‘Brother, where’s your hair?’ and it made me feel a little uneasy,” Sanders, now 27, said on a recent video call from his home in Orange County, California. spoke. The days continued. ”
Sanders showed a glimpse of his bare scalp in a video posted to TikTok last year. It became popular, eventually reaching over 4 million views. Hundreds of commenters suggested miraculous playback methods, and Sanders began experimenting with his iPhone’s camera in his windowless bathroom.
A year later, he has made an impressive impact on his crown and 600,000 new followers on TikTok. “Brother, give up,” one person wrote on a recent video, along with a crying-laughing emoji.
Sanders is one of many influencers who have built a dedicated online platform around hair loss, or more specifically, hair loss. They have left the word “bald” to their parents’ generation and instead discuss “baldness” and self-confidence, and “thinning hair” and vulnerability. (Their commenters aren’t necessarily kind.)
Many of the genre’s stars have cited prescription drugs that have shown evidence of efficacy, alongside oils and medieval-looking tools that dermatologists consider questionable at best, when discussing the emotional toll of losing hair. is advertising.
Sanders is paid to introduce viewers to the hair growth company that provides the prescription gel he uses (and it’s sent to him for free). He also receives commissions from sales of scalp massagers, satin-lined baseball caps, and more than a dozen other products he links to on his TikTok profile. He said he was making as much as $7,000 a month from hair growth content on TikTok and YouTube.
As serums and ointments pile up in post office boxes, hair loss influencers are overcoming pesky incentives. Is it possible to cultivate a more compassionate way of talking about hair loss while selling products that claim to reverse hair loss?
“People just want to believe.”
Dr. Marianne McLedes Sena, director of the Hair Removal Center at Lahey Hospital and Medical Center in Massachusetts, often sees patients asking questions about treatments that have become popular on TikTok and Instagram. “Don’t believe everything you see,” she tells them.
She said a very short list of over-the-counter and prescription drugs (minoxidil, finasteride, dutasteride, spironolactone) have significant evidence of efficacy when it comes to hair loss. Additionally, telogen effluvium, a common hair loss caused by illness, hormonal changes, or high stress, usually resolves on its own without treatment.
Beyond that, things become murky. There is limited evidence that rosemary oil may have a mild effect on slowing hair thinning, but it can also irritate the skin, Dr. Sena added. “When it comes to these serums and nutritional supplements and massage devices and shampoos and all these other things, there is absolutely no evidence to support their use,” she said, referring to the products she sees on social media.
Hair loss is likely to be more widely discussed following the rise in hair loss caused by the coronavirus pandemic. But when Jada Pinkett Smith’s alopecia was the subject of jokes and slaps at the 2022 Oscars, and Harry Styles’ recent shave led to speculation on social media that he was due for a hair transplant. The conversation can still be mean, like when.
Angelica Isegohi, another hair loss-themed TikTok personality, said these jabs sting because hair loss feels like a blow to a person’s identity. Isegohi, 26, who lives in Dallas, said her Nigerian mother braided her hair when she was young.
She had a moment of recognition this year when she saw an Instagram reel about traction alopecia, which is common in Black women. “I said to myself, ‘I don’t think I’m the only one going through this,'” she recalls. Since she started posting about her hair loss in August, she’s gained 11,000 new TikTok followers who watch her weekly updates and laundry day routines.
More than 10 companies have contacted Isegohhi to promote their products, she said. She turned down all but one company that sold growth oils containing rosemary. She said she has never tried prescription drugs and is still uncomfortable recommending them to her followers.
Other influencers are doing it too. Direct-to-consumer pharmaceutical companies like Hims & Hers reach out to influencers and offer them free prescription products after consultation with a healthcare provider.
Hims & Hers dismissed the idea that these customer testimonials could be compromised. “Through our partnerships, we compensate influencers for their content and always ensure that our product content and treatment results are appropriately represented,” a company representative said in an email.
Mr Saunders told his followers that he tried oral finasteride, which was reportedly given to him for free by Hims, but experienced a decrease in sex drive, a known side effect of the drug.
Spencer Kobren, founder of the American Hair Loss Association, a nonprofit consumer advocacy group, said there are pitfalls in the way both prescription and nonprescription drugs are championed on social media.
He worries that TikTok’s focus on lighthearted content could downplay the side effects of some drugs, which should be explained in detail by dermatologists. The app also lumps proven medicines and “snake oil” into the same feed, which can be confusing, especially for vulnerable viewers, he said.
“People just want to believe,” he said, adding, “Everything is just really questionable.”
“From thinning to winning”
The hair removal videos that rise to the top of TikTok’s algorithm are often physical, gonzo-style skits in which users break eggs on their heads or spit out entire bottles of hair powder. There are plenty of stunt before and after videos, but often no explanation of how the “after” was accomplished.
“The type of content that’s definitely more advanced is people who are a little more entertaining and less educational,” said Brandon Patton, 39. He posts videos with titles like “Slim and Win” zooming in on his receding hairline. NBA player.
Mr. Patton, who lives in Atlanta, is one of a handful of hair loss influencers who call themselves trichologists, or hair and scalp experts. (Trichology is not a licensed medical field, and you don’t need a degree to call yourself a trichologist.) The $100 consultation helps men open up about their hair loss and encourages them to consult a U.S. dermatologist. Patton said. More advanced cases.
Koblen said he is highly skeptical about the proliferation of trichologist qualifications. Certifications may also be earned through online courses that take less than a week. (Patton said he had 60 days to live.) “They’re not giving people a fighting chance to see a real doctor,” Koblen said.
Kobren is also critical of hair loss influencers who promote cheap hair transplants offered outside the United States, which can cause permanent scarring if not done properly. He said it was a serious surgical procedure. The procedure is so interesting to viewers that videos tagged #hairtransplant have been viewed more than 4 billion times on the app.
The majority of hair loss narratives on TikTok posit that a thick head of hair is the optimal endpoint. But Chloe Bean of Scottsdale, Arizona, has been trying to come to terms with the amount of hair she has.
Bean, 24, has alopecia universalis, an autoimmune disease that started losing her hair when she was eight years old. She battled hair loss for years with cortisone injections, which had unpleasant side effects. “It felt like a battle I would never win,” she said. During her college years, she decided to permanently shave her head.
On TikTok, she posts makeup routines and outfits that compliment her bald head. She also sells wigs and stick-on eyebrows, which she says are popular among people undergoing chemotherapy.
She said she wanted to show that life can be good and even fun without hair. For Halloween, her followers tried to convince her to dress up as the rapper’s Pitbull. When she called it quits, four million people watched her take on the role of Mr. Clean.
