I want to bald gracefully

A colorful infomercial once told me that all men should bald gracefully. It is my desire to be a gracefully balding man. When co-workers discuss my hair behind my back, I want them to say "that David fellow, he balds gracefully". Within the first two dates, I want her to make a comment about my neatly-trimmed, closed-cropped hairstyle. (Extra points if all her girlfriends know as well!) I want to be my barber's magnum opus. I want strangers to ask and to touch my hair. I want my grandmother to boast about her grandchild's hair while she gossips while playing mahjong. I want for the waitresses to be able to say "that handsome man over there ordered rum and cokes for the both of you" while I smile and wave nonchalantly from across the bar. When I'm rollerblading with my dog, I want other rollerblading dog owners to talk to me. I want people to notice my defined cheekbones that has been enhanced by my hairstyle. I want poorly-balding men to tap me on the shoulder while I'm on the 107 and give me a thumbs up while I am in the process of removing my headphones, and I want them to envy me while they do it. I want my hair to remain perfect after I remove my tuque. I want a lawyer to lose his hairpiece as I'm walking by so that I can glance sideways at him and smile with pity. I want to be able to tuck my t-shirt into my jeans and still look the part of Upper Management. I want to be my parents pride, their joy. If only I could bald gracefully, I would be a happy man.