I do not wear wigs. On warm summer days I do not wear anything on my head. I'm always trying to balance which discomfort is greater: mental discomfort or physical discomfort. So if it's cold I wrap a scarf around my head, and if it's hot I face the world with my 'naked truth'.
In both cases I am food for the curious and interested masses.
People either look a great deal and than, if they think I'm out of earshot, tend to share their observations with each other.
Or, and here it comes irritating, they're willing to share their experiences with yours truly.

First they make a lousy apology for speaking so out of the blue to a perfect stranger, BUT.....

When I had cancer...
My husband/brother/etc has/had cancer...
I find it admirable that you dare to go out uncovered[...] My sister...
I know someone who has the same affliction...and he...
I'm a wig maker....(Right, do not let your good manners get in the way with your commercial instinct.)
May I ask if your affliction is the result of medication...I once had...
I know a wonderful doctor that practises alternative medicine, he cured my...[something intimate follows]
My son committed suicide... (WHATTF??)

All these story's (I could write a book about them) are more or less a chance for the orator to vent THEIR grievances. (or just to satisfy their vulgar curiosity)
I end up supplying tissues and words of comfort and sometimes I actually feel sorry for them (while all the time they've just rudely been disturbing my peace without so much as a By Your Leave)
And all becouse I am bald and apparently approachable for whatever comes in their minds.

It's often the case that in the end I feel a lot less sorry for myself than for my griefing opponent.
If it comes to that: I'd be a sad case if I start complaining about very personal things to a complete stranger.
Conclusion: my life is not bad, or at least: it could be worse!

A psychiatrist or a social worker gets paid for his/her efforts, I on the other hand get to feel a bit better about myself!