How the ancients handled hair loss

Donald Trump’s obsessive “awhairness” makes one wonder: why is it so important to him? The topic was of some interest in Rome.

The emperor Domitian wrote a treatise on baldness. So too did Cleopatra, who offered the following remedy: “For bald patches, powder red sulfuret of arsenic and take it up with oak gum, as much as it will bear. Put on a rag and apply, having soaped the place well first. I have mixed the above with a foam of niter, and it worked well.”

Pompey had himself depicted in statuary wearing a hairstyle associated with Alexander the Great, with a lock of hair brushed back from the forehead. Julius Caesar combed his hair forwards to try to cover his receding hairline. The problem was solved when the Senate allowed him to cover up by wearing a laurel wreath at all times.

The first emperor, Augustus, paid little attention to hair but was scrupulous about shaving, even though barbers hacked away with pretty crude instruments and could inflict painful wounds (spiders’ webs soaked in oil and vinegar staunched them). They were so common that Roman jurists made desperate efforts to establish damages in advance.

The satirical poet Martial tells us grooming took so long that the customer sprouted a second beard before the barber had dealt with the first.

But none are in the same league as Dionysius, tyrant of Syracuse (d. 367 BC), for whom hair was a matter of life or death. Temperate, energetic and enormously wealthy, he ruled with a rod of iron and could trust nobody.

Terrified that his barber would slit his throat, he taught his daughters to cut his beard and hair. But in the end he decided even that was too dangerous and told them to trim it by singeing it with red-hot walnut shells instead. Further, his bedroom was surrounded by a wide ditch with a gangway across it, which he pulled up after him when he went to bed.

Trump should take note. After all, “Donald and Melania” does have a sort of “Samson and Delilah” ring about it. Does his power lie in his hair? Hair today, gone tomorrow?

This article was originally published in The Spectator’s June 2025 World edition.