The Wealthy Have Such Silly Worries

A paraphrase from the hair-seller in Rohinton Mistry's A Fine Balance, but appropriate here and addressing exactly his issue:

from Wolf Hall
Hilary Mantel

Master Wyatt wears a jacket of a stiffened cream brocade trimmed with sables, which he probably cannot afford; he wears a doublet of tawny silk. He has tender blue eyes and a mane of golden hair, thinning now. Sometimes he puts his fingertips to his head, tentative, as if he still has his New Year's headache; really he is checking his hairline, to see if it has receded in the last five minutes. He stops and looks at himself in the mirror; he does this very often. Dear God, he says. Rolling about the streets with that crowd.  I'm too old for such behavior. But too young to lose my hair. Do you think women care about it?  Much? Do you think if I grew a beard it would distract. . . No, probably not. But perhaps I will anyway. The King's beard looks well, does it not?