I lost my hair, my home, and almost my will to live. But I’m still fighting.
I’ve always been shocked at how society treats male pattern baldness—like it’s just a minor cosmetic issue men should “man up” and accept. As if we’re not allowed to care about our appearance. As if we don’t have feelings.
We’re told: You’re a man—just provide. Beauty isn’t for you.
That hurts. It always has.
My name is Bara Adwan, and I fled Gaza in the middle of a brutal war. I’m 23, now living in Egypt, trying to survive and provide for my family. I’ve lived through war, poverty, depression, and loss—things no one should face, especially this young.
But one pain hit me quietly and early, and no one ever saw it.
At just 18 years old, I noticed my hair falling out. I turned to my mom, terrified and heartbroken, and said: “I think I’m going bald.”
She looked at me, lovingly but honestly, and said: “So what? You can be bald.”
That moment opened my eyes—not just to my reflection, but to how society ignores what men feel.
If a woman loses her hair, she gets compassion.
If a man does, he’s told to suck it up.
For years I tried to fight it—medications, hairstyles, denial. I told myself it was normal shedding. But the truth is, it stole something from me:
My confidence, my ability to be present, to connect, to feel desirable.
I’ve never been in a relationship. I’ve never even touched a girl. I get treated like I’m 45… but I’m only 23. I should be in my prime.
Losing my hair changed how I saw myself—and how others saw me.
I started feeling like I wasn’t me anymore. I became awkward, withdrawn, afraid to be vulnerable. I avoided mirrors, pictures, people’s eyes. I’d keep my distance in conversations. I wouldn’t let anyone touch my hair, afraid they’d notice the hidden bald spots.
It affected how I connect with people. I always felt like I had to explain myself, or hide. I stopped seeing myself as someone who could be loved.
And I always dreamed of having long hair—it’s part of who I am. I work in cinema, and my look is a reflection of my soul, my art, my identity. But male pattern baldness erased that dream slowly and painfully.
And while that was happening, life hit me harder.
The war in Gaza forced me to leave my home. I lost family members, people I loved deeply. I escaped alone. I’ve been drowning in grief and deep depression ever since. There were nights I didn’t want to wake up.
But something inside me won’t let go.
Maybe I’ve hit the bottom. Maybe I’ve lost too much already.
But I believe I still deserve to feel whole. To look in the mirror and recognize myself again. To walk in public without hiding. To heal.
That’s why I started this campaign.
Not because vanity matters more than survival—
But because dignity, identity, and hope matter too.
If you’ve ever felt overlooked, insecure, or invisible… you’ll understand what this means to me.
If you believe men deserve care too…
If you’ve ever lost something and fought to reclaim it…
Please consider helping me fight this one small battle.
With all my heart,
Bara