Always make fun of your chrome dome before a student does. That way, you own it and they can’t belittle you. Whenever a student or colleague mentions their hairstyle, join in with “me too.” For example, when a student says, “I’m getting a haircut on November 14,” say, “Me too!” When a colleague says they hate to wear hats because it messes up their hair, say, “Me too!” It’s important not to crack a smile when you say this. Stay stone-faced; this way, they won’t know if you’re joking or not. Maybe you’re delusional. Maybe you’re nursing a grudge. It makes lunch much more interesting.
Shave your head twice a week. Religiously. By this I don’t mean to make the sign of the cross or kneel down, but shave every Sunday and Wednesday. Or Monday and Thursday. It’s up to you. Because if you don’t, you will start to get annoying little stubbles that scrape like sandpaper when you pull shirts on or off.
Don’t get stingy with the razor. Replace it every three weeks. If you stretch it to four, the Gods of Gillette will make you sorry. The dull blade will rake across your noggin like a plow through a dry field, leaving deep, bloody divots behind your ears. Head cuts bleed like crazy, so when you stride out of the bathroom, acting like nothing is wrong, your spouse will react in horror at the sight of the scorched earth that is your brain pan. In the grand scheme of life, razors are inexpensive. Leaving crimson furrows across the virgin expanse of your head is costly.
Wear wigs with your costume every Halloween. The difference between your uncoiffed and wiggy self will be electrifying to your students, especially if the hair on the wig is shoulder-length. Always flip your wig hair back and forth like a supermodel. Halloween is all about wish-fulfillment, and this is the only time you’re going to have hair, right?
Always keep a photo from earlier in life when you had a full, luxuriant head of hair. Like the wig, it will amaze and frighten your students, in equal measure. Even if the picture looks more like a mug shot, it will remind your young charges that you were once a real human being who went to movies and concerts, ate at restaurants, and took walks in the park. This is before you became an educational ogre who sleeps under his desk on the weekends, emerging only to grade papers and assign readings before crawling back into your lair to gnaw on a protein bar and drink a V8 Pomegranate Blueberry, the only joys left to you in your twilight years.
Finally, remember to always polish your head. In much the same way that Rihanna reminds listeners to “shine bright like a diamond,” your head should be a bright beacon to all who enter your room, a sign that learning and fun—in equal measure—are about to occur. Maybe. If not, console yourself with the fact that at least you made fun of your folliclly-challenged self before the students did.