To beard or not to beard

Even if I could, I'm not sure if I would...

Even if I could, I’m not sure if I would…

I see people when I travel to far and distant lands. Lots and lots of different people from all walks of life.  Thick ones, thin ones, tall ones and short ones. Black and white, gay and straight.  And none of them are dead.  Because I cannot see dead people.  In my observations I have noticed a growing trend.  Beards are back.  Mostly on men.  No longer does a furry face imply that you’re homeless. Or Santa Clause.  Hair is now gracing the jaws of frat boys, artists, sportsmen and even a cross dresser or two. You can find beards on the cover of fashion magazines and billboards.  Bushy faces are everywhere. And I am not talking a little two-day-stubble, it’s a full-blown invasion of carefully trimmed, do-you-feel-lucky-punk kinda beards.

What caused this sudden beard evolution? Maybe there is shortage of razors due to a reduced global steel production.  Maybe men are just getting lazier and shaving has become even more of an effort than it normally is. Or maybe in a world where men are constantly being demasculised, we finally found something that we can display that is still uniquely male.  Something that can’t offend.  Something that we don’t have to apologize for.  Something men can wear with pride.  It’s just a beard, is it not?

Whatever the reason would be for any guy to decide to jump in and follow the trend, I have to say this: There is something spectacular about a man who can pull off a well groomed, full beard.  A man who can move beyond the itch and discomfort.  Whether they are lazy, debonair or lost a bet.  Unfortunately such a man is not me.  I am the type of guy who prefer the James Bond look, dashing and clean-shaven.  My parents have given me many great things like the ability to make beautiful children, but the ability to grow decent facial hair is not one of them. If I decide to refrain from shaving for a couple of days, I end up looking like a spy who escaped his captors, after half his beard was ripped out during an interrogation session of them wanting to know what colour panties the Queen wears on Mondays.

I am happy to report that I don’t waste any time on trying to make sense of the age-old dilemma of “to beard or not to beard” because I simply can’t.  Don’t feel sorry for me, I’m just a jealous guy…without a beard and a great sense of humour.

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17 thoughts on “To beard or not to beard

  1. Um, I may be the guy in your feature image… My mustache beats up beards all the time. Sometimes when asleep! I woke up two days ago and there was a broken switch blade and a old ladies purse up in my mustache!!

    I kept the money. But scolded my stache.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I’ve heard rumors about that rampaging mustache. Never thought I would be so lucky and meet the owner.

      I must warn you though, if I see that thing stalking our street I will do what I can to protect my family.

      Liked by 1 person

      • I will relay the warning but fear it will only receive it as a challenge.

        Luckily, I’ve begun a regiment of nightly face binding with gaffer’s tape, bees wax and two disagreeable opossums. The mustache is either to restricted to escape, or too fascinated by the ritual. Either way, your family is safe!

        Liked by 1 person

      • Again, you’ve put me in an awkward position.

        People in my office are now convinced of my insanity due to my second coffee snorting episode in a matter of seconds.

        If I had a mustache it would have been drenched in caffeine right about now. But due to me not having enough lip protection, my keyboard is ruined.

        Liked by 1 person

      • Hahaha. Another satisfied customer! Excellent. I’m sensing a great kinship here. You’re a reader of Problems with Infinity also right? Sarah is a new favorite of mine. When this all blows over, we should all get an apartment together and write collaborative stream-of-consciousness pieces.

        We’re gonna be rich!

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Pingback: In loving memory of 2015 | Ah dad...

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