Finch Sells | Affiliate Marketing Blog

3.5 Years In Recap

Jan 12 2021

Well, it’s been a while.

Just when you thought the world couldn’t descend in to a more farcical state, I’ve decided to blog again.

There are a few reasons why I wanted to ‘check in’ after 4 years AWOL.

The first, and probably most important, was to get my surgically repaired hairline off the damn homepage.

I mean, if you’re going to abandon a blog, you probably don’t want your lasting legacy to be a graphic image from 24 hours after a hair transplant, right?

Fun fact: After 10 years writing about affiliate marketing, that one post (and the interest it received) lead to my entire site being re-categorised as a ‘Hair & Beauty Blog‘ by SEO tools.

My main organic competitor is a site called Hair Transplant Diary.

So, there’s that.

But no.

The main reason I wanted to post is because I’m currently shut off from the world in National Lockdown, with none of my usual hobbies available, and a burning itch to commit a lot of fucks and shits to WordPress.

If you read this blog several years ago and wondered what came next after affiliate marketing… the answer, will probably disappoint you.

But here it is anyway.

What I’ve Been Up To

First, the life changes.

When I last posted, it was August 3rd 2017.

I lived in Thailand and was recovering from my second vanity operation, the first being LASIK eye surgery in 2016.

I look back on those days through some seriously rose tinted glasses.

Not everything was perfect in Bangkok, but it was definitely the most exhilarating few years of my life.

If you haven’t had the chance to live abroad, my advice is simple: do it while you still can. I love my life now, but the energy of Bangkok completely transformed me.

It broke me out of the mundanity of British suburbia, shattering my comfort zone along the way.

It changed my entire perception of what a productive lifestyle looks like.

I met a lot of great people in Bangkok, from completely different walks of life.

The best way I can describe it is that in the UK I tend to gravitate towards people who share the same hobbies, the same interests.

We might not have much in common, but we like doing the same things.

In Bangkok, I found myself learning and growing from people who had lived completely different lives. You might not share hobbies, but you share the same spirit.

Living abroad there is a camaraderie amongst expats and a spirit of ‘go-getting’ that I just don’t see in the UK.

Here, life is comfortable.

It’s great and it’s fine, but it’s comfortable.

Getting Married

My three and a half years in Thailand culminated in getting married on the beach in Koh Samui.

We had close friends and family with us, many of them using the chance to explore South East Asia on their own holidays.

We took them on a sunset cruise the night before, and then celebrated our wedding on the beach with cocktails, wine and a couple of stray dogs.

Thailand Only, as they say.

It was a tough decision to get married in Thailand when so many of our loved ones wouldn’t be able to make the trip. But it was a chance for us to share the lifestyle that we loved.

I have glowing memories of Thailand, and this was the pinnacle.

Just weeks before, my wife and I had taken a long trip across Thailand to the small town of Pai.

That experience trekking through the mountains was our last major ‘adventure’ before returning home.

We still talk about it after two sips of wine.

Moving Back to the UK

One month after the wedding, we moved back to the UK.

Neither of us felt particularly attached to a location, and our friends and family had scattered to various parts of the country.

So to decide where to move, we basically stuck a pin in a map.

We settled on Bucks as a good middle ground between two of our favourite places – London and Oxford.

Since settling in Bucks, we’ve bought a house and slowly begun to rebuild our social circles.

There’s no doubt that life is ‘easier’ in the UK.

Everybody speaks English, for one.

Sounds stupid – but you don’t appreciate the foundations of your own culture until you’ve been starved of it.

Becoming a Daddy

By far the biggest life change since I last posted.

My daughter was born in December 2019 and has swept through my life with a ferocity that would make the new strain of covid blush.

Everything has changed.

I don’t want to bang on about the rites of passage of becoming a father, because it can sound offensive to those who don’t have (or want) kids.

Parents can all too easily develop a superiority complex where they think they know better, when they don’t.

But what I will say is that the process has changed me.

Getting to know her has rewired my entire reward circuitry.

There are times where I miss some of the ‘freedoms’ that came more easily before parenthood, but… not really.

They are two separate realities – and her world is the one I want to live in.

What I’ve Been Working On

Life may change, but the grind stays the same.

OK, the work stuff.

“4 years. What the hell have you been working on, Finch?”

Well, for some perspective…

This site started as an affiliate blog in the Wild West days of 2009.

Back then, blogging was the craze and the entire affiliate industry could be bundled in to a single Vegas exhibition hall.

Affiliate marketing has changed so emphatically that I don’t even feel qualified to talk about it anymore.

Blogging is dead.

All the popular affiliate bloggers of that era have gone on to other things: ecommerce, crypto, consulting, retirement… whatever.

There are certainly none of us left offering anything practical or actionable when it comes to the industry I remember.

There’s still a large contingent of guys using Facebook, AdWords or Native Ads, but I’m so divorced from the process that I couldn’t tell you what the hell they’re actually running, except that it’s probably not what those traffic sources imagined when they drafted the Terms of Service.

Even before I quit blogging, I made those concerns clear.

Crash and Burn Marketing

The affiliate ad campaigns I used to run offered immediate returns, but required almost constant upkeep.

Launching ads on Monday, checking stats on Tuesday, getting them profitable by Wednesday, and then putting out fires for the rest of the week.

That was life.

It was a high risk, high return business model that worked brilliantly for several years… but like everybody else, I saw the writing on the wall.

On numerous occasions my campaigns would go from earning thousands per day to losing thousands. As the years went by, the cycle became shorter and more pronounced.

Most of the time, success resembled a familiar pattern: BOOM, followed by a slow pitter patter of eroding profit.

And the BOOM was on a lucky day.

You could launch a winning campaign and the future would look bright. At times, very rosey indeed.

But I could never get over the fact that we were still just affiliates – expendable ’traffic experts’ with a short term interest in driving sales for somebody else’s business.

Once the genie was out of the bottle – the marketing sizzle – anybody could replicate the success. And that’s what happened.

We quickly learned the dangers of an indefensible moat.

As the industry got more competitive, and mainstream advertisers caught up, the space became harder and harder to navigate without resorting to… the dark arts.

Cloaking, bait and switch, burner accounts…

That’s not to say those tactics weren’t commonplace from the very start, but they became unfair competitive advantages. And in many cases… necessary.

If you weren’t prepared to use them, you had no chance of keeping up.

We don’t need a recap of the shit that went on, and still goes on, but I was left with no doubt that the walls were closing for ‘white hat’ affiliates – or at least, those who weren’t prepared to operate at exceptional economies of scale.

At which point, my theory was – what’s the point?

Might as well change business model completely than pursue one which comes with all the complexity of selling your own products but without any of the actual ownership.

Anybody who read my last affiliate guide back in 2017 would have sensed the self-loathing dripping from every page.

It was called ‘A Complete Guide to Affiliate Marketing’ but it might as well have been titled ‘Things I Hate About My Job’.

I knew back then that the industry was evolving – for the greater good – and if I wanted to sustain a lifestyle business, I needed to build some competitive advantages that weren’t going to be outbid in the night.

So that’s what I’ve been doing.

For about 4 years now.

Replacing Arbitrage with Asset Building

I still work in affiliate marketing, but I’ve stepped away from paid advertising arbitrage.

Since I stopped blogging, and since I left the arbitrage game, I’ve enjoyed probably the most productive stint of my career.

And it all boils down to the fundamentals of building assets – instead of crashing and burning from one affiliate offer to the next.

My job these days revolves around publishing and monetisation.

Building websites, flipping websites and investing in predictable income streams.

Whereas my 21 year old self was ravenous for instant profits, instant wins, instant success… the work I do these days is much more gradual, strategic and – as you can probably guess – less worthy of blogging about.

I have dozens upon dozens of websites in my portfolio.

Some are very profitable, others are ticking along nicely, and there’s a good handful that stand as virtual testaments to how wrong a man armed with a GoDaddy account can be.

About 80% of the projects I’ve worked on over the years are abandoned.

Ghost ships. Digital fossils.

I laugh when I look at them today.

But you only have to win 1% of the time to be ‘successful’, just as long as you are prolific, and scale the shit out of the successes you have.

Whatever the case, I am much more invested in the process of building out these assets.

Every day that I spend working on them feels like a step in the right direction. I can set clear goals for the week, month and quarter that don’t start:

“1) Deal with…”

Working in high stakes arbitrage clouded my judgment in ways that I never really appreciated at the time.

Most importantly, it obscured my underlying goal – to build a business that works for my lifestyle.

Instead of a lifestyle that works for my business.

In that sense, things have been going great.

There’s just one problem…

You know?

The problem.

Some fucker ate a bat sandwich.

Working Through The Pandemic

No shit: Coronavirus has been hard for us all.

Years ago I used to brag to friends about the idle joys of working from home.

No commute, no crowded trains, no early morning rise. Oh, such paradise.

What’s not to love?

OK, I take it all back.

You win, office rats.

The last year has been mentally tough.

As a Brit writing this in national lockdown for the foreseeable future, I’m definitely reaching peak pandemic fatigue.

There’s this misplaced idea that those of us who are used to working from home should be the best prepared for a situation that demands it.

Maybe, but anybody who works from home with their faculties in tact knows the importance of establishing routines and rituals to break up the monotony.

For me, a good work day involves: a few hours sifting through whatever tasks I’ve mapped out, an hour smacking balls around the snooker hall, and a bit of light reading over a Flat White in Caffe Nero.

A healthy mix of work, mental detox and coffee beans.

Despite being objectively dog shit at the game, snooker is my number one mental escape.

It’s one of the few activities that is so mentally taxing that I can’t possibly think about work or my inbox while I’m playing it.

With the snooker clubs closed, and coffee shops operating as delivery-only, I’ve resorted to a sad daily march to the Costa Express machine at my local Tesco.

If I’m lucky, I might talk to a stray cat on the way.

“Y’alright mate? S’shit innit. Everything. Least you don’t have to wear these fucking masks…”

“Anyway, catch ya tomorrow. Same time, yeah?”

There are a few things I’ve learned about myself in the midst of the Pandemic:

I’m a lot more socially needy than I thought.

One of the perils of a reclusive career (working online) is that you have to self-regulate your social life. I’ve done this several times in the past when I’ve felt myself slipping too far on the introverted scale.

Like when I suddenly took up cricket in Bangkok.

Those were some good days.

All of my social activities revolve around sports.

Or beer… but we’ll say mostly sports.

With sports banned, my social life has been detonated.

Unlike my wife who makes a big effort to Zoom her friends and family, video chats are not a natural environment for me.

I’d rather launch my PS4 controller at a virtual stranger on Fifa Weekend League than face the weirdness of calculating when it’s my turn to say something on a video call.

I suppose this is how you end up talking to stray cats.

Willpower is finite.

Without my usual options for burning off steam, I’m much more reliant on vices to get me through the week.

Caffeine, alcohol, Deliveroo takeaways…

You name it.

It’s probably in my face.

I tip my hat to anybody who is successfully navigating Dry January.

You must be truly fucking insane.

My wife and I joke from Sunday onwards: “Are you looking forward to the big day?”

We’re talking about Saturday.

Saturday has become code for ‘Scheduled Date Night’ with at least two bottles of wine and a lot of brave talk of “…one day going on holiday again”.

I’m too eager to wish away time.

On numerous occasions I’ve found myself wishing away time.

“Wake me up in March when this shit is over.”
“Looking forward to getting Christmas done because it’s a step closer to the vaccines being here.”
“Don’t worry, the weeks will start to go quicker in January.”

I try to catch myself, because… is there a worse habit?

I can’t think of one.

My daughter turned 1 last month.

When I look back on the year, it seems criminal to have ever wished any of those weeks away.

Those precious moments with her are worth more – much more – in the here and now, than a teleport to a covid-free future where I’ll probably be just as grumpy but a little bit older.

(Does it count if my blog sidebar still thinks I’m 29?)

Ultimately, we’re all faced with the same dilemma.

How to make the most of a time that is… less than optimal.

I don’t really know whether blabbering in to this abandoned corner of the web qualifies as time well spent, but that appears to be what has just happened here.

Happy Covid Times, everybody.

See you in the next pandemic.

My FUT Hair Transplant: The First 5 Months

Aug 03 2017

Those who have seen me in the last 5 months, or seen my updates on Facebook, will have noticed a slight change in appearance.

I’ve piled on 200 lbs and taken to smoking cigars.

I’ve had a hair transplant.

I know, I know.

It’s not often you find affiliates posting about hair transplants.

Probably because they have some sense, and/or know what a Flog is.

What follows below is a long, meandering post riddled with insecurities, selfies and follicular challenges that would probably have halved my FeedBurner count back in the day.

Still, this blog is nothing if not personal.

If you’re intrigued to know what the process of getting a hair transplant is like… well, count your magic beans.

If you have no such interest… see you next time.

If you’d prefer to skip straight to sending me Hate Mail, please find the comment form attached below.

Got all that?

Right, let’s see loads of pictures of me.

Why a Hair Transplant?

It’s funny, but one of the first questions I get when I mention the transplant is… why?

Why would you do that?

The answer, if it wasn’t already obvious, is MPB: Male Pattern Baldness.

I had it, mate.

Loads of it.

I was going SuperBald.

The Longer Story:

I’ve been the reluctant owner of a thinning and receding hairline since my early 20s.

As young as 20, 21…

While it’s not something that I’d lose sleep over — especially back then — I’ve never been exactly chuffed with my prospects up top.

What started as a few innocuous comments from friends in the pub (“You’re going bald, you slag“), lead to self-examination in the mirror (“Hmm, little bit more light bouncing off the dome than usual…“), which in turn lead to scrutinising my latest tagged photos on Facebook (“Untag.“).

Nevermind the drunken dinosaur I saw staring back; the shouting, stupid, sweaty mess parading as myself on a nightclub floor — often horizontally — oh no… that was to be expected.

What unsettled me was the fraying temples.

I resented the idea of losing hair in my early 20s.

So, I told myself, I’d just wait for the inevitable and then change tacks.

“Yes, Finch, the signs are there. You’re probably going to lose most of this hair. On the bright side, people will stop calling you James Blunt. On the downside, you’re not built for baldness, my friend. So, here’s what we’ll do… We’ll wait until it’s all gone, and then we’ll hit the gym HARD. Slender and bald? No, no. Not gonna work. The answer is pile on muscle. Fast and FURIOUS.”

In other words?

Compensate.

When it’s gone, forget about it

Just get Buffting, instead.

Amirit?

That soothed me, for a while.

But it didn’t stop the scrutinising (“Oh hair, where art thou?”) in each round of tagged FB photos.

I’m not sure what coaxed me towards sitting down one day and researching cures, but I credit LASIK surgery 2 years ago with opening my eyes (literally) to what’s possible if you have money and a good surgeon.

So, 5 months ago, I remember vividly…

A couple of lazy Google searches on the sofa.

Best Ways to Restore Hair
How Do Hair Transplants Work

“This is how suckers get rebilled…” I thought.

It didn’t take long to stumble across the many case studies of FUE and FUT surgery.

Within a few hours, my mind was made up: “Fuck it, I work from home, I can keep a low profile for a couple of months if need be…”

So, I set up a consultation for the following week.

And proceeded to read a thousand Before/After hair journeys like the one I’m posting now.

Choosing the Clinic

Bangkok has several high quality hair transplant clinics.

I went with the DHT Clinic based in Ari.

It’s led by Dr Damkerng Pathomvanich (Dr Path) who has an excellent reputation, and a formidable track record for Making Noggins Great Again.

There were cheaper options available, but you’ve got to be slightly masochistic to invest in a hair transplant only to leave the quality to fate.

The Consultation

What happens at a hair transplant consultation?

First step was to diagnose my current state of hairloss on what is known as the Norwood Scale:

I was currently a Norwood 3, but heading towards a Norwood 4/5 based on male pattern baldness running through my family.

Anybody reading this now who is hovering around stages 2/3, but doesn’t want to get a transplant, I have one word for you:

Finasteride.

Well, two actually:

Finasteride and minoxidil.

Had I known about these drugs five years ago, I probably wouldn’t have had (or wanted) the surgery.

Taken together they can halt premature hair loss and thicken your remaining hair.

But once it’s gone, it’s gone.

I was looking to restore, not preserve, so surgery was my only option.

Ignore any bullshit marketing-talk slapped on shampoos, conditioners, and hair products that suggest otherwise.

FUT vs FUE

Next step was to discuss the two main types of hair transplants: FUE and FUT.

FUT is known as the ‘strip’ transplant.

A curved strip of the scalp is harvested for its tightly packed hairs, then sliced up in to hundreds of tiny grafts, and planted in the recipient area.

FUE involves the individual transplant of hair grafts, one by one, requiring a larger donor area but without leaving the same strip scar that is synonymous with FUT.

Based on the number of grafts I required to fill the temples and mid scalp, Dr Path suggested FUT as the best solution.

FUE could lead to the risk of over-harvesting and leaving my donor area thin.

Good enough for me.

I always planned to be quite open about this process, so the presence of a scar that might ‘reveal the truth’ wasn’t an issue.

Hairline Details

Next up, Art Attack.

I was sat in front of a mirror as the assistant grabbed a thick black pen and started ‘shading in’ various hairlines by colouring my temples.

How far forward did I want the hairline?
Widows peak or straight hairline?
Which way did I normally comb my hair? (Answer: What’s a comb?)

It was exciting to see the ‘proposals’.

It was the first time in about a decade where my hairline had actually been present.

Tide’s in! At last!

In terms of ‘design’, my requests were pretty simple.

Nothing crazy, nothing ambitious.

Just make me look how I did 10 years ago — minus the beer stains.

Number of Grafts

The assistant then wrapped a plastic sheet over my head and started sketching out the areas that would require grafts.

Quite a nice massage, actually.

Dr Path assessed the area of the sheet, then drummed a bunch of numbers in to a calculator.

Hair transplants are generally costed by the number of grafts required.

Which is affected by:

The area of the recipient site
The density/thickness of the donor hair
The desired density/thickness at the recipient site
How far forward you want to lower the hairline

A Norwood 2 patient looking to fill in the temples might only need 1000-1500 grafts.

A Norwood 6/7 patient looking to rebuild an entire hairline might require 5000-6000 grafts.

I was given three different quotes, ranging from 2900 to 3600 grafts based on the area I wanted filled in, at various densities.

We settled on 3260 grafts.

I wanted to fill in the crown, too, but Dr Path was adamant that it was unnecessary, as I still had a lot of hair there.

Taking Minoxidil and Finscar would be sufficient, he suggested.

Six months later, he was right.

Risks and Expectations

Finally… risks and expectations.

Yadda yadda yadda.

I won’t bore you with the sensible stuff.

I was booked in for the surgery four weeks after the initial consultation.

Luckily for me, a patient dropped out of his surgery just a few days after my consultation.

I heard about the vacancy on Sunday, got in touch, and was promptly booked in for surgery the following Tuesday.

All in all…

I went from researching hair transplants, to having one, in the process of seven days.

As illustrated by this amusing note in my Evernote ‘Things to Try’ folder:

Day of Surgery: 22/2/2017

As you might expect, hair transplants are long procedures.

They can take several hours, and for true bald eagles, even several days.

My operation was due to start at 9am, and I wouldn’t leave the clinic until 6pm.

It was a strange experience catching the skytrain to Ari in rush hour, knowing that 10-15 doctors and assistants would be taking a similar route and I would be their task for the day.

The poor bastards.

I arrived at DHT Clinic around 8:30am after wolfing down a quick breakfast.

Stunning view of downtown Bangkok from reception…

After the initial greetings, I was given a cocktail of sleeping pills and valium to take the ‘edge’ off the day ahead.

I wasn’t particular nervous, but I wasn’t going to turn them down either.

Before the operation… a standard check of the vital signs, and a quick blood test against various diseases (HIV, etc).

After a thorough antiseptic shampooing, the doctor’s assistant marked out my hairline design on another plastic sheet and started drawing various lines that would be used, presumably, during the surgery.

At that point I met Dr Path again, this time in his funky pyjama surgeon get-up.

We spoke about the procedure and finalised how many grafts would be used, and the density.

DHT Clinic was fantastic throughout the entire process, but if I could nitpick a single complaint, it’s that you probably shouldn’t expect a patient to follow along with hair graft density calculations when he’s just chowed down a bunch of sleeping pills.

I was basically nodding along to anything at this point.

“Whatever you think, doc.”

Finally I was guided through to the operating room, which had a reclined chair lined with pillows — with a large hole in the front to rest my face.

The radio was playing bizarre Thai pop music, which is about all I remember as the gaggle of assistants promptly began massaging my feet and legs.

Hospitality, mate.

Next up, the strip harvest.

This is probably the most uncomfortable part of the op, where the surgeon slices a thin strip of skin from the back of the head.

I don’t have a picture, obviously, but here’s what it looks like (not for the screamish).

It looks worse than it feels.

My noggin was fully numbed by several injections at this point.

The only sensation I could discern was the sound of the blade delicately cutting through my scalp.

A sort of unstitching sound.

Followed by, literally, a stitching sound, and the snip snip of twenty-something staples being pressed in to my head.

Again, sounds gruesome, but it was pretty much pain-free.

The action was out of sight and out of mind.

(In contrast, I found LASIK considerably more uncomfortable.)

After about an hour, the donor strip had been taken, and I looked up to find 8-10 assistants slicing it up in to thousands of tiny follicular units, each containing between 1 to 3 hairs.

The rest of the day would be spent painstakingly ‘planting’ these grafts in to what would become my new hairline (and mid scalp).

This process… took about six hours.

Turned on to my back, two doctors began delicately planting each graft – one by one by one.

Lunch time came and passed.

Several of the assistants who had taken part in the graft harvesting disappeared throughout the day.

Dr Path would come and go, with the occasional offer of sleeping pills and more painkillers.

I didn’t take them as I wanted to be fully cognisant for my journey home.

Throughout the day the assistants would take turns giving me foot massages, helping to pass the time.

To be honest, it felt more like a spa session than a hair transplant.

Finally, at around 6:30pm, the procedure came to an end and I was given the back and sides ‘mirror’ treatment, as you would after a haircut.

I can’t remember my words but they were along the lines of:

“Thank you very much, I look mental, but thank you very much. Mental.“

They led me back in to the waiting area where I was offered a quick meal and shown how to put on a bandana, which I would need for the journey home.

I was also given a compression headband — key for reducing the swelling over the next few days.

I paid the bill, hailed a Bangkok taxi, and set off home to scare the living shit out of my waiting dogs.

Day 1 Post Op

My objective for the next day was simple:

Get the rest of my head shaved.

FUT, unlike FUE, doesn’t require a buzz cut prior to the surgery. This left me with the horrendous two tone look you see above.

Bald and Bristle.

The clinic had told me I could get the hair evened out the next day, which I saw as pretty much mandatory.

First night, I went to bed with my head raised in ones of those neck cushions that you’d pick up in Boots at the airport.

I slept well.

Until… about 4am when I woke up with the back of my head feeling, as you’d expect, rather tender.

Like it had taken a holiday to the fires of Hell… would be a better description.

So, that’s what the extra painkillers were for, eh?

I bolted them down and the searing discomfort was gone within 15 minutes.

The next day, I returned to DHT Clinic to have both the recipient and donor areas examined, as is the norm post transplant.

All clean was the verdict.

The team had done a fantastic job.

I was also given a demonstration of how to clean and wash my hair properly using a luminous red antiseptic shampoo.

My takeaway thought:

“I really don’t want to get that shit in my eyes.”

Several hours later, as I danced around the shower naked, swearing and clawing at my burning retinas, the verdict came back strong:

No.

No, you really didn’t want to get that shit in your eyes.

Day 2-5: A Scabby Man

The first few days were marked by the scabbing process and a much-needed buzz cut.

By the time the scalp had ‘cooled down’, the swelling had reduced, and the scabs had been and gone (helped by coconut oil)… I quite liked the buzz cut look I was left with.

Ironically, I’d never had my hair this short.

Of course, it was helped by the newly inserted grafts… which I’d soon be losing in the shed phase.

One thing I learnt over these days was the importance of the compression headband.

It traps the swelling above the band.

If you forget to wear it… the swelling travels down your face and you’ll wake up with two black eyes.

Not a good look, at a time when good looks are hard to come by.

The scar itself was recovering well.

Was taking every last ounce of willpower not to pick at the immense crust forming on the back of my head.

Every time I caved, I’d quickly regret it.

A bloody handful of half-dissolved stitches and fresh crimson seeping from the wound is a useful reminder. Not. To. Pick. The. Scabs.

RESIST!

Day 14: Stitches Out; Shedding Begins

After around 10 days, I had the remaining staples removed from the back of my head.

21 stitches in total.

Was glad to see the back of them; especially the dissolvable stitches — which were by now dangling in No Man’s Land, hanging out of my head like pieces of frayed string.

If I gave them a tug, the string would either ease free… or cause a shooting stinging sensation.

Again… RESIST.

At around 10 days, I began to notice the new grafts shedding.

I’d shampoo (extremely delicately) and notice hairs in my hands.

“Here we go, then. See ya later, buzz cut.”

Days 21-30: An Ugly Duckling is Born

The first few weeks post hair transplant are a cruel, cruel process.

First comes the euphoria.

Well, I’ll be buggered, I’m going to have HAIR.

Then as the scorched earth scalp redness subsides, and the swelling goes down, you can already see the makings of your new hairline.

Unfortunately, you know it won’t last.

After the initial hair transplant comes a dramatic shedding process.

Around 80-90% of those newly inserted grafts fall out, naturally, in the first month.

It’s normal (but it still takes the wind out of your sails).

Under the surface, the roots will have taken hold.

They enter a dormant stage before growing back after 3-4 months.

In the meantime… it can be mentally challenging to see the new hairline, and then lose it.

Clump by clump. Hair by hair.

As the shedding gets underway, the patient enters what is known as the ‘Ugly Duckling’ phase.

And as most FUT/FUE patients will confirm, this is the hard part.

It’s not just the shedding that constitutes an ugly motherfucker.

There’s also the shock loss.

Due to the invasive nature of FUT, many patients suffer dramatic hair loss around the donor site in the weeks after surgery.

It can take several months for the hair to grow back.

Well, as you can see below, I got the arse end of the shock loss deal.

“Just a warning: I look like somebody’s been at me with a lawn mower.”

— March 2017 stump speech, if required to remove cap in public.

2 Months: Signs of Life

You know what helps to speed up a hair transplant recovery?

I’ll tell you:

Catching the norovirus.

On a trip to Krabi, I contracted a severe strain of vomit and shits, which did wonders for my perception of time.

In the sense that I no longer cared about the changes happening on my head. Only those falling out of my guts.

The last few days were horrific.

And flying home was the worst.

Flying with food poisoning is an indignity I’d wish on probably less than ten people, off the top of my head (give or take a couple).

When we land, I haven’t had anywhere near enough water for the 38 degrees Bangkok furnace.

It tells.

I’m dizzy, delirious, anxious…

I know full well, it’s a race against the clock.

I am going to shit myself.

The only question is where.

“The worst flight of my life,” I tell my fiance, grey-faced, in the middle of a tantrum at Don Muang Arrivals. By this point I’m scowling unbridled terrorism at anybody who makes eye contact with me, interchangeably shoving wafers and Imodium in my face.

“But you handled it really well,” comes the reply.

I nod my head.

Several decades pass before I realise she’s taking the piss.

Silently my hair continues to grow.

[/AdrianMole]

3 Months: Day Zero

Progress!

The recovery from a hair transplant follows a reverse bell curve.

You start with excitement and enthusiasm, which is swiftly replaced by a downer as you face up to shedding, shock loss, and the loss of novelty in it all.

The general consensus is that after 2 months, you will recover sufficiently to reach the same stage that you were pre-transplant.

As in… if you hadn’t seen somebody since the day before your hair transplant, and you saw them 2 months later, they shouldn’t notice too much difference in your appearance.

Personally, it took me around 3 months to reach this Day Zero.

Due, mainly, to shock loss.

Both in the donor area, but also in the recipient area where some of my ‘good’ hair around the temples had taken a while to grow back.

I was also suffering from intermittent folliculitis; which is very common when new hair is attempting to break through the skin.

Regardless, to reach ‘how I was before’ was a big thing psychologically.

You can then get excited that it’s all ‘new hair’ from here.

That shit you paid for when you signed up for the transplant.

Typically, in keeping with my personality, I started to lose interest in the recovery as soon as I reached Day Zero.

I no longer felt awkward going outside without my cap.

I slowly began to forget about what was happening on my head.

New hair growth is so subtle and slow that the effects will be noticed more by other people than by yourself.

If you’re reading this thinking a transplant will have a transformative effect on your life, filling you with oodles of newfound confidence and vigour…

Nah, mate.

The Self adjusts accordingly.

You’ll be less invested in the results just as they’re rearing their tiny follicular heads.

4 Months: Rapid Growth

The 4th month post-surgery marked some rapid progress.

My left temple has been around 6 weeks ahead of the right temple. Probably because it managed to retain some of the original grafts.

I also had more hair on that side to begin with.

(A common genetic MPB trait, according to the doctor.)

Not only was I seeing a lot of new growth by Month 4, but the hair around my crown was thickening up from the prescribed 5mg Minoxidil and 5mg ProScar taken daily.

The areas of shock loss were slowly growing back; barely distinguishable with my hair kept longer. Although, as you can see in the image below, it was still noticeable with wet shorter hair.

Any tenderness or loss of sensation to my scalp had disappeared by this point.

The scar was now just a faint pink line.

I was told it would be invisible unless the hair was cut to a 2 grade, and that was certainly the case with my usual mop.

5 Months: Pretty Hairy

Here we are now, in the present, just over 5 months post-surgery.

It’s at this point that most people begin to report substantial new growth and a major change in hairline appearance.

I think I’ve been around one month ahead of schedule throughout most of the process.

Things are definitely moving fast.

Apparently a warmer climate, massaging the scalp, and eating well can help to spur growth.

(Unlike a lot of FUT patients, I haven’t taken any additional supplements or used any fancy hair products.)

My hair has always grown ridiculously fast. Being younger than the average FUT patient, too, perhaps explains why I’m further along the timeline.

Appearance-wise, the right temple is catching up with the left.

They both now appear fully ‘filled in’.

The hair is getting thicker week by week – definitely most noticeable when it’s wet.

All of the areas that suffered shock loss have grown back.

The crown seems to be thickening, too, although that could just be depth perception given my hair is now much longer than I’m used to keeping it.

Five months down, and I’m way beyond Day Zero.

Very happy with the results so far.

In Summary…

This was initially going to be a 12 month diary.

It takes over a year to see the full results of a hair transplant, so I’m still less than halfway through the process.

Over the next six months I should see more growth, plus thickening of the hair and changes in texture.

That’s all gravy.

But I’m pleased with the results already.

If I didn’t grow another hair, that’s fine by me.

Which is how I should probably end the most self-indulgent blog post I’ve ever brainfarted in to existence (“Marketing blog, he says!”).

Why post about your hair, Finch?

When I was researching the operation, ‘follow along’ diaries were my catnip.

They were some of the most useful resources for understanding the hair transplant process.

(Yes, I did check to ensure that it wasn’t one of you affiliate bastards penning them.)

I know hair loss is a thing that affects a lot of men — and women — so I have no qualms in spilling my guts like this.

Overall, I’m really glad I had the transplant.

I wouldn’t describe the process as ‘life changing’ by any stretch, but I’m happier with how I look, and I’m not filled with that same dread: “Oh god, what’s gonna be left of my hairline in ten years?”

That’s not to speak down on any readers who are Bald And Proud, either.

If you’re happy with it, who gives a shit, right?

For some people, the bald look is a winner.

Alas, so ends my little story.

I hope the above does a decent job of summarising what to expect if you are one of the 0.02% of readers considering FUT.

Failing that…

I hope it explains why I have somewhat more hair than I did 6 months ago.

Thanks for reading.

My Experiences with the ‘Smart Drug’ Modafinil

Jul 13 2017

This is a post about my experiences taking the popular ‘smart drug’ modafinil.

I often see friends and marketing acquaintances posting about cognitive enhancers on Facebook.

From smart drugs, to nootropics, to vitamin stacks…

We’re all over that like pigs in shit.

Modafinil is a small pill that is becoming difficult to ignore.

I’ve seen opinions all across the board, from those who swear by it, to those who didn’t notice a single change on a high dosage.

As you’ll see in this post, I have had both good and bad experiences.

What is Modafinil?

Disclaimer: For the love of Jezuz, please do consult a qualified medical professional before interpreting any of this post with anything other than a pinch of the saltiest balls.

Modafinil is a wakefulness-promoting agent used to treat narcolepsy.

It is prescribed to patients who suffer from excessive daytime sleepiness, and those with shift work related sleep disorders.

That’s the official use.

Off-label, modafinil has become the default ‘Smart Drug’ of choice for those seeking productivity gains in the form of sustained concentration and intense focus.

It is the unlikely tonic of both CEOs (“Smart Drugs Are Coming to the Office”) and students (“Smart Drug Taken By One in Four Students“).

If you have shit to get done — many piles of it — chances are, you’ve spared a thought to the idea of a shortcut, or seven.

How can I get more work done whilst procrastinating less?

This is the crowd that modafinil appeals to.

Anybody with an inbox that won’t subside, an essay that won’t write itself, several pages of code waiting to be freed from the spinning wheels of mental inertia.

The Appeal of Modafinil

Ever see Limitless?

It’s a decent movie, with a great central hook.

Hopeless Writer Bum procrastinates his life away in failed attempt to deliver manuscript.
Writer Bum stumbles across new experimental smart drug, NZT.
Writer Bum pops the magic brain pill.
Writer Bum explodes in to fit of productivity and delivers manuscript in a single sitting.
Editor: “You OK, hun?”
Writer Bum takes over the world, unleashes his true cognitive potential; ably assisted by NZT.
Goes ape shit in the process.

(Sorry for the spoilers, chaps.)

Limitless was, of course, entirely fictional.

Hollywood Science.

There is no such drug that is capable of ‘fully utilising the un-used parts of the brain’.

But, anybody who saw that movie came away with the same idea.

“I’d fuckin’ have some of that, matey. Straight down the hatch. No questions asked.”

If your moral fibres beg to differ, then you’re trespassing on the wrong blog.

And so… modafinil.

Arguably the closest thing we have to an effective brain drug in 2017.

As an affiliate, I heard about modafinil via the usual circles.

On Facebook, Skype and Reddit.

Loads of you swear by it.

Some of you even post photos of the little pill pre-popping.

An ode to a smart friend.

Well, we know affiliates are particularly adept at riding the next hot trend. All the way to the bank.

Trends don’t come no bigger than a ‘smart pill’ that decreases your overall BellEnd’atude and slices through the to do list like a knife through jam doughnuts.

(Yes, I’m dribble-typing in a bakery.)

I can’t remember when I finally decided to experiment with modafinil, but I tracked that package from the factories of Mumbai like a hawk.

This is it, Finch.

This is is, you pathetic labouring dinosaur.

We’re finally gonna get some work done.

MO-DA-FI-NILLLLLLLLL

Initial Impressions

It’s impossible to discount the placebo effect when you go to bed excited to wake up and try a smart drug.

I’d read so many user accounts and follow alongs that I’d psyched myself up to become a new man.

That said, the first weeks using modafinil were startling.

My routine would look like this:

7:30am — Wake up, pop a tab.
7:45am — Shower and feed the dogs.
8:00am — Wait 30 minutes for my Modafriend to kick in.
8:30am — Arrive at desk.
BLITZKRIEG-MODE
1:00pm — Quick lunch.
1:30pm — Arrive at desk.
BLITZKRIEG-MODE
6:00pm — Dinner and wind down.
7:30pm — Fuck it, arrive at desk.
BLITZKRIEG-MODE
Midnight — Calmly close laptop and think about what I’ve just done.

Placebo, or no placebo, it didn’t really matter.

On the 3-4 days per week that I’d use modafinil, I’d bulldoze my way through tasks where previously I’d been stuttering, getting restless, and eventually reversing back to my News Feed.

The best way I could describe the effect was rapidly-induced tunnel vision.

Without really noticing anything different.

The elusive state of Flow — which I reckon I’d be experiencing now if it wasn’t for those jam doughnuts — is where we all want to be.

My first few weeks using modafinil marked a sudden dramatic spike in output where those little distractions that occur throughout the day had no effect on me.

If somebody messaged me on Facebook, I’d barely twitch an eyeball.

If a distracting email landed in my inbox, I wouldn’t see it.

My procrastination pro-skill of cycling through news sites, inboxes and social media accounts (Seen them all? Start again…) was overcome through sheer total-minded tunnel vision.

As a result, my first experiences with modafinil — besides the occasional intermittent headache — were entirely positive.

There seemed very little downside.

The Tolerance Builds?

Some of you guys are crazy.

I’ve read accounts of affiliates going from no modafinil, to taking two pills per day, every day, and then wondering why…

Your sleep is shit-hammered
The effects of the moda have decreased

I’m going to put this bluntly:

If you have an addictive personality, or don’t feel like you could control the urge to say no to a smart drug on a normal day at the office, then don’t get started. Period.

It’s a no brainer that taking modafinil every day is going to reduce the efficiency of the drug, whilst potentially introducing unwanted side effects (and worse: dependency).

I was mindful of only taking modafinil on days where it would be beneficial — specifically, on tasks that required intense concentration rather than lucid creativity (which btw, it can hinder spectacularly).

Despite this, after several weeks, I noticed that the performance high had tapered off.

I was still getting more work done on modafinil, but without the same intensity or total-mindedness that marked my early experiences.

This could be down to a tolerance of the drug, or an erosion of the placebo effect.

Whatever the case, I did not feel Limitless.

End of the Experiment: Panic Attack

My dabbling with modafinil came to an abrupt end in January this year when I suffered a panic attack.

This had never happened to me before.

It scared the shit out of me.

I was sat at lunch with my fiancee, in a food court, feeling overly ‘buzzed’.

I had taken modafinil that morning, along with a large highly caffeinated coffee… which I suppose is the equivalent of raising two fingers to the Gods of one’s nervous system.

Over the previous weeks I had occasionally felt a sense of unease. Heightened senses. Jittery restlessness.

Particularly around meal times.

My theory was that pulling myself away from work, out of the tunnel, was causing an avalanche of thoughts, feelings and emotions to rapidly rush back in and fill the vacuum chamber I’d created.

I hadn’t yet put my finger on anxiety as a root cause.

But this day would mark the first time I’d ever felt the need to read about it. To understand the signs.

All of those signs I was feeling over lunch:

Restlessness
Fidgeting
Sweaty palms
Racing thoughts
Sense of paranoia
Sense of foreboding
Racing heart rate
Dizziness and nausea
A complete disconnect from my surroundings
A need to GTFO

Over the years, I’ve encountered all of these symptoms — to some extent — but never a situation where they’d all come rushing to the surface over a lunch of fucking fried rice.

It was inexplicable.

The colour had drained out of my face, my hands were shaking, and the murmur of foreign voices lunching was swirling around me. One big cacophony of mental noise, amplified by the silence of my fiancee eating her lunch with a concerned look. I don’t remember talking, just muttering: “Need water, I need water, where’s the water…”

Finally grasping that what I was experiencing was a panic attack, my next thought was: oh shit.

The modafinil.

It’s not going to leave my system for hours yet.

I needed this to be over in seconds, not a whole afternoon.

I left the restaurant in a hurry and we sat outside. I felt like I’d run in to a brick wall, mentally.

Seems crazy, but that’s when it dawned on me: it had taken me precisely 29 years to establish how anxiety feels when it manifests physically.

Even though the small signs had been there all along.

I did not like the feeling one bit.

After making it home through an extremely shaky taxi ride where I wanted to jump out of the vehicle and run at the sight of every red light, I went to bed and slept for hours.

The following weeks were tough.

I was shaken badly.

Riddled with this new catch-all feeling of anxiety, particularly around meal times.

I suffered a few recurring smaller attacks, despite ditching modafinil.

The recurring theme had become coffee.

Within 25/30 minutes of dousing myself in those sweet velvety beans, I’d grow restless. I’d feel sweaty palms.

I’d be reading the Kindle and panic would sweep over me at the turn of a completely harmless sentence.

I’d flee the coffee shop and spend the next hour pacing my apartment furiously, or laying down and daring my pups: “Calm me down, calm me down…”.

The closest I came to a short-term fix was playing games of Fifa online.

That way I felt less anxious, and more disgusted at the pause-spamming antics of the bastard who’d just dispatched a mentally understrength Finch FC 4-1.

(And some people call me fickle…)

Anxiety in Disguise

Looking back…

I’ve suffered from varying degrees of anxiety for as long as I can remember, but the symptoms had never de-railed me, or escalated to such an extent that I felt paralysed by them.

They were too small for a busy mind to notice.

I’d just stampede over them.

A nervous disposition rather than a simmering wreck.

My mind goes back five years to a particularly tough time in my business.

I didn’t appreciate it then, but I was under extreme stress and running on toaster fumes. My body was breaking down without breaking down.

I’d feel sudden pangs of nausea, a sense of complete disrepair. Dizziness on my feet. An overwhelming sense of… faintness.

I remember fearing I had a heart condition, or diabetes. Blood sugar problems. Who knows? You don’t want to speculate online since you know all roads lead to Oh shit, It must be CANCER.

What I now assume I was experiencing — the palpitations, the breathlessness, the foreboding deep-sat feeling that something is wrong — was anxiety.

It just hadn’t been triggered in the way that lead to a panic attack.

And for that, I blame over-stimulation of my nervous system.

Modafinil + coffee.

Maybe It Wasn’t the Modafinil?

I can’t be sure the modafinil was to blame.

This period in January coincided with several changes:

1. I’d just spent two exhausting weeks in the UK for Christmas. Constant booze + shitty train travel + breaking two toes in the first week = Sheer exhaustion when I got back to Bangkok.

2. Sudden lack of mobility (from the broken toes) had severely restricted my ability to get around Bangkok. Which is pretty integral to my peace of mind.

3. I’d recently gotten engaged — which obviously, I was happy about — but felt overwhelmed with the prospect of organising a wedding in a foreign country. Family and friends gathering 6000 miles away? Organizing the proverbial piss up in a brewery is enough to stress me out, so this was no doubt playing on my mind.

4. I’d recently started taking magnesium supplements, which have been (anecdotally) linked to anxiety attacks when used with modafinil.

5. I’d recently dabbled in float tank and meditation sessions.

I know, meditation and floating sounds stupid as a theory for sudden onset anxiety, right?

Float tanks are supposed to be a release from tension and stress, since the mind in zero-gravity has nothing to do but listen to its inner thoughts and ‘heal’.

Well… I can see how that might reduce stress.

I can see how it might unleash it, too.

I can’t say for sure what caused such a monumental fuck-up of a start to 2017.

As with most post-event reasoning, the answer is probably more of a clusterfuck than I am able to digest.

A combination of events, circumstances; one bad afternoon; and a lot of over-thinking.

But yes, I suspect that modafinil played a part.

The trigger, if you will.

Aftermath: Thoughts on the Experiment

Six months on, I’m back to ‘normal’.

It took several weeks to shake off the heightened sense of anxiety that followed me around after the panic attack.

I think much of that was down to a self-reenforcing loop:

I started panicking about the panic attack.

What if I have another one? What if this is my future? What if I’m slowly losing the plot?

Taking any more modafinil was the last thing on my mind.

I actually took two whole weeks off work to try and get my shit together. And to deal with the harsh mood swings of quitting caffeine.

You might be wondering…

Were the modafinil productivity gains worth it?

MO-DA-FIN-NILLLLL

Do I get less done these days without modafinil?

Honestly… yes.

But that is relative to an extremely high bar.

I’m convinced that something close to maximum productivity is possible without modafinil — when I’m in ‘the zone’.

Although I can spend less time there.

And it is harder to find.

There’s no doubt, I get less done on the days where I start badly, or can’t focus, or just can’t get started.

Net result, after quitting modafinil:

I’m 10% less effective on my good days
I’m 50% less effective on my bad days
I’m less anxious in general
I’m better at creative tasks

The typical affiliate might look at that and think:

“Jesus, what a bad decision to stop taking it…”

Well.. no.

If you’ve experienced a panic attack, or sudden onset anxiety, you know that it’s simply not worth chasing that extra 10% — or trying to eradicate the bad days — at the expense of your mental health.

Not worth it at all.

Besides, I’ve built up enough competence over the years to still get more done on my bad days than most people get done in their good weeks.

Having a good team certainly helps with that.

Thoughts on Anxiety in General

While a panic attack in public will have to go down as one of my shittier experiences of 2017, I still see it as a positive thing.

The incident opened my eyes to symptoms of anxiety that I have ignored for my entire life.

I never grasped what they were.

It’s also made me more empathetic towards others I know who suffer from anxiety. And others, I suspect, who don’t know they suffer from it.

Previously, if somebody had told me they were feeling anxious, my gut response would be to insist, “Eh, you’ll be fine, there’s nothing to worry about”, and treat it as a lapse of mental strength.

One bad lunch showed me it could be far more insidious than that.

I’ve also found a few things that helped:

1. Not spiking my adrenaline system with modafinil.

Hey, look, the reason for this post!

I see a lot of affiliates experimenting with modafinil, and other smart drugs.

I don’t blame them.

The pursuit of Total Cognitive Enhancement is catnip to me, too.

I’ve got nothing against that experimentation (clearly), but many of us digital types are built from the same stuff.

Introverts, socially awkward, tunnel vision tendencies, etc, etc.

If any of the above sounds familiar, I would exercise extreme caution in playing with a substance that acts as a central nervous system stimulant.

If you’re going to use it, get in sync with your mind and body.

2. Managing caffeine levels

After the panic attack, I immediately gave up coffee.

My theory being… you’re a jittering mess, any further stimulation is a bad idea.

Well, quitting coffee didn’t have much effect initially.

I suffered a month of smaller ‘aftershocks’ and a greatly heightened state of anxiety and social unease.

Ironically, the symptoms started to subside at the same time as I reintroduced my daily coffee fix.

(And I’m pretty sure that first cup was what heaven tastes like.)

These days, I max out at two cups of coffee per day.

Hell hath no fury like the thunderbolt coming a barista’s way if she should fuck up one of them, or underfill my cup.

I legitimately walked out of Dean & Deluca a few weeks ago after they Full-Fat-Milked me by mistake.

(There’s a diva in us all.)

Seriously though, the links between caffeine and anxiety are well documented.

I have noticed an uneasy floating / not-really-there sensation if I over-indulge in coffee beans.

The same over-stimulation of the nervous system, I suspect, that can escalate to a panic attack given the correct trigger.

3. Acknowledging Anxiety As Is

The third and most important tip I’ve taken onboard was simply the wake-up call from experiencing a panic attack.

Acknowledging anxiety.

I’m learning to acknowledge when I’m feeling anxious, without any attempt to alter the state. To accept the feeling at source.

Sounds like a tiny thing, but acknowledging the feeling is a fundamental step towards controlling it.

You know what they say, right?

Self Help 101:

Best way to reduce anger is to stop and acknowledge: “I can feel the sensation of anger” …as opposed to continuing with “I AM an angry motherfucker” and launching the first plate.

I used to think that was a bonkers cop-out.

But it contains an element of truth.

Controlling that split second freeze-frame between “I am” and “I feel” can make all the difference… between wrestling control of your nerves, and faceplanting your fried rice.

Your Thoughts (And More of Mine…)

As always, I’d be interested to hear your thoughts and experiences. On modafinil, panic attacks, anxiety and other epic smart drugs of choice…

Want to hear more from me?

Well, as you can tell, I don’t blog much these days.

However I have recently started sending out a monthly ‘newsletter’ discussing various topics and trends that are relevant to marketers, entrepreneurs (and anybody else reading this shit).

Subscribe below if you want to receive it.

Next newsletter lands next week. See you then.

Featured image creative commons via streamishmc