Chantal absolutely does not need biotin and her doctors would warn her not to take it if she indeed tells them about it, which she probably won't do because as soon as she understands doctors don't think biotin works for shit, she'll buy every supplement she can because doctors don't understand nutrition/hair loss/the complexities of Chantal's ever-expanding carcass.
She has female pattern baldness, which is hormone driven and can only be treated by blocking DHT, which kills hair follicles. Once hair is lost, it's lost forever - there are some studies that show that Rogaine and other DHT blockers can stimulate new hair growth when used with laser combs or similar laser treatments, like those godless helmets some people swear by, but those cases are often more wishful thinking than actual, clinically observable results.
She needed to get on Rogaine as soon as she noticed hair loss because it would have prevented more hair loss. Biotin does not block DHT. Biotin is vitamin B7, and it can affect skin and hair quality but it cannot grow new hair and it interferes with all kinds of blood tests, like thyroid and hormone level checks. She's a metabolic catastrophe and does not need anything else possibly giving bad readings on blood tests, especially if they don't do her any good to take them.
Chantal's hair loss is permanent. It's been happening since she was in her late teens and her only hope for nice hair is a wig. But she'll probably go onto GOOP or some insane holistic vibrational healing site, see some bizarre but extremely expensive combo of biotin and, I don't know, liquefied spider webs, that she rubs into her head seven times a day and will order it and stop using the same day she starts because it's too hard to hold her arms up to massage her scalp.
Also, somewhat related, Chantal has lost all meaning to me as a human being. She's stopped being a recognizable entity that I can laugh at or get annoyed by because she's barely human anymore and nothing she does seems like a behavior I can understand well-enough to react to. It's like watching an incredibly gross alien come to Earth, trying to mimic human behavior but getting it all wrong, like being vain while also showing a bald head and bragging about fupa rot. Or the first primordial creature that ventured out of the ocean and the only reason it engaged in the titanic struggle of evolution was to be able to shit over and over again on dry land.
Last summer I associated her with a sad, dying walrus, hoping that Peetz or some aquatic mammal expert would come and hoist her onto a flatbed truck, hose her down and take her to a facility that could rehabilitate her and release her back into the wild. Now she's just a belching, shitting, balding, stinking, rotting, gorging bag of tics that is so foreign to me that I can't see the sorts of mammalian markers that permit me to have any sort of reaction to her. I'm watching National Geographic and I don't even care .
