|::| Operation: Hair Resurrection — Rise, My Follicles.
—“Lather, Rinse, Regret.”
You bought the shampoo. Massaged your scalp like stirring soil. Waited. Waited. Waited. Hoping something might grow.
You prayed to rosemary. Bathed in caffeine. Believed the bottle.
But darling— no magic can resurrect dead follicles.
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Oh ..You still want to try? Fine. You have three paths:
Go to the Doctor.
Let them prescribe the drug you forgot the name of. (It’s probably finasteride or minoxidil, but who cares?) It’s slow. It tingles. Smells weird. But it has receipts.
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Get a Hair Transplant.
Not cheap. Not magic. But at least it’s alive— just relocated. Better positioned. Better poised. There’s still hope in the roots.
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Wear a Fabulous Wig.
No need to suffer. Slay it. You lost your hair— but not your taste.
It’s not fake. It’s fashion. It’s freedom. It’s functional art.
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So stop crying in the shower. Stop worshipping the minty lie. Either see the doc, call the surgeon— or become an icon.
You didn’t lose your crown. You just changed the designs. (•ؔʶ̷ ˡ̲̮ ؔʶ̷)
“You didn’t grow your hair back. But you did grow delusion. Congrats.” ——- some hair growth shampoo.
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