Sy Sperling: Now Resting in Peace in a Piece
“He was proud to wear a Merkin where at least his hair was free”
Sy Sperling, a former swimming pool dealer who proved the old adage, “If you look like an insurance salesman when you’re bald, you’re still gonna look like an insurance salesman when you have fake hair,” is no longer the Hair Club president. Nor even a client.
According to a statement from his family, Sperling succumbed to a lengthy illness, finally wigging out in Boca Raton, Florida.
Sperling’s biography says the legendary entre-hairneur1 became inspired at an early age to address baldness when a cheetah escaped from a nearby circus and over-aggressively tongue-groomed the few remaining patches of peach fuzz from his scalp.
As God was his witness, Sperling promised he’d never again suffer the embarrassment of male pattern hair loss. Nor take another nap with his head directly underneath a hot buttered popcorn stand.
Searching for new ways to help fill the void of hair loss products, Sperling began his quest by trying to sell wigs by mail. But that didn’t work out because he couldn’t afford the postiche.2
In 1968 Sperling picked up hair-weaving techniques from his stylist and was soon able to leave his job selling swimming pools. But not before he lost most of his comb-over in the filters.
Sperling eventually perfected a technique using glue to attach hair to a fitted nylon mesh. The mesh gave the scalp room to breathe with the added bonus of being able to trap sardines at the beach.
The result was an almost lifelike topping that could remain in place through showering, exercising and getting attacked by eagles.
Sperling said his ultimate goal was to remove some of the stigma around baldness and replace it with the stigma that comes from wearing a hairy oven mitt that comes loose every four days.
Success came quickly for Sperling. Within the first month of airing one of his iconic commercials his Hair Club received over 10,000 telephone calls asking if that was his real accent, and if so, why couldn’t he do anything about it?
In a 1997 interview Sperling recalled how in 1969 the business became so popular Jimi Hendrix requested an appointment to install his hair mesh system. Not out of concern for hair loss but to conceal his massive stash.
Sperling always believed Hendrix would still be alive today had he only come in for his scheduled tightening.
Sperling was also a noted philanthropist. He formed a Hair Club for Kids to help children losing their hair from chemotherapy. He provided Meals on Wheels for the homeless. He was also a “devout” vegan who fought for animal rights. All noble and wonderful causes I wasn’t aware of before writing most of this obituary. He seems to have been a genuinely good person who really wanted to help people. Which makes me feel guilty about mentioning his other charity:
The Hair Club for Wombats. A charity helping bare-nosed wombats overcome the relentless bullying inflicted by hairy-nosed wombats, dingos and Tasmanian devils.
After years of success, Sperling sold the business in 2000 for $40 million and retired. During this rewarding time he spent his winters in Boca Raton visiting his southern hair, and his summers in Vancouver visiting his northern hair.
Sperling requested his remains be dug up every two weeks so technicians can tighten the complex nylon webbing attaching his soul to the afterlife.
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Not a real word. Why do you even have to be told this?
I’m not proud of this pun, but I’m not above it either.
Maybe Tom Cotton thinks we’re Bolshevics for mocking Maine, Mainers and assorted Manurians.
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Results may vary.
I regret that Dominick Dunne didn’t live to commemorate Hair Club Sperling’s passing in Boca Raton. According to his biographer, Dunne intermittently wore a toupee in his thirties before abandoning the artifice altogether.
He and his similarly thin-on-top younger brother John Gregory Dunne were obsessed with mentioning wigs wore by other men, both in fiction and IRL, such as Sinatra, whichever Menendez brother it was, and the attorney representing Dominick’s daughter’s murderer. Dunne claimed the petite lawyer sported “a quarter-pound of hair taped to the top of his head.”
"Stash"