How could Wayne Rooney let down all of us balding men?

I don't feel sorry for bald men: they've got Bruce Willis. And how can prematurely greying men complain when David Lynch's silvery quiff remains one of the world's finest hair-do's? But who have men like me, society's thin-haired inbetweeners, got to look up to during that short period before we succumb to the grim inevitability of the barber's clippers? Until this weekend we had one beacon of hope: a man who refused to pander to the hairline conventions that our vanity-obsessed society dictates. And then Wayne Rooney went and broke our hearts . Let's be clear: allowing your hair to thin gradually and naturally is a social taboo. These days, you're expected to either shave it off or cover it up, whether it be with hair plugs, a good old fashioned showbiz toupee or one of those daft caps that Jason Gardiner from Dancing On Ice was fond of before he, too, took the coward's way out. But Rooney – a man who works in an industry rife with preening narcissists – had the guts to say "No". He reminded society that there was a third way, whereby you rode out the storm, taking the long, lonely and arduous journey towards baldness the way nature intended. But now he's bottled it, seeking assistance from the hair replacement clinic – that last refuge of the thin-on- top coward. On Saturday, he announced on Twitter that he'd had a hair transplant. "I was going bald at 25 – why not?" he wrote. For two days I clung to the hope that it was a joke. And then, yesterday, he posted a picture (see left) of the hair-doctor's handiwork. The only thing lending him any character now is the blood and the bruising that the surgeon left behind. But that will be gone in a few days and what will he be left with after that? The bland, homogenised McHair of the Lego Man. Society wins this round. But as long as there are still a few threads defiantly hanging on to our scalps, some of us will fight on. After all, there's always Prince William.