A receding hairline poses a lot of annoyance for the owner of one. And I won’t even get into how painful it is to watch your forehead span further into your scalp with each passing day. That’s manageable. It’s the juggling act that gets played out everyday on your head that is crazy.
The remaining soldiers battling at fore-front start behaving like sore losers, running helter-skelter. But they are also wired for a sole task to cover the scalp, so they keep curling and furling all over the deserting scalp. Of course, failing terribly at their attempt to cover it to any convenient extent.
The dearth of much competition also makes every individual’s development feel brisk, the troop growing longer rather than denser. Given there remain very few of them, they get caressed more by the owner, pulling few out every time they are.
What this leaves behind is a scene akin to a movie theatre playing any recent M. Night Shyamalan movie. Very few that matter occupying the seats, scattered, with tons of empty spaces peeping all across.