Focusing on only a dignified answer.
The first stage of Balding grief is denial, which expresses itself one random morning when you’re in a hot shower not thinking too hard about why the drain is so clogged that your feet are pruned.
Next comes anger. Consider varying your exercise regimen to include a boxing class.
Then bargaining—bargaining so intense that it drives you back to core principles, and you pray “Please, God, spare my hair. Let me go grey instead!” you say, maybe, believing grey hair to be high eminence.
Then comes depression, which may make you pull your hair out,
Acceptance is deliverance. Once you have made peace with the diminishment of your virility will you be able to make a sane decision about your tonsorial future.
Achieve this level of enlightenment quickly enough, and you might rescue some hair that your DNA had destined to be Drano’d away.
Toupées? They are only worn by actors, talk-show hosts, and awful politicians.
Comb-overs? Did I say awful politicians already? Very few attempts at fractionally disguising a bald pate are successful; you go to barber shop to see a barber, to a hair salon to see a stylist, and to the vaudeville theater to see an illusionist.
Hats? You have to take these off unless you stay outdoors all the time, which, if you’re homeless and unemployed and bald, is an upside.
You need to put yourself in the care of an oldish baldish barber. Share your grief as if he were a priest wearing a monastic crown—or a doctor topped by a Hippocratic wreath. Discuss your limitations and your opportunities and your limited options. Wait to act until the prospect of a buzz cut doesn’t even faze you, because that’s what it might take to make you look your best, or even halfway decent.