It’s an elusive foe, the moustache. Get it right and a man enjoys the spoils of life. Get it wrong, and he’ll be at the mercy of a blistering barrage of put-downs.
A fine line if there ever was one.
Despite the risk, I’ve decided to let my lip whiskers blossom this Christmas season.
I’m back in the homeland and surrounded by sun-bronzed Aussies on the Gold Coast. The people are shirtless, shoeless, careless and talking in slang. To go with the carefree livin’ I’ve noticed the resurgence of moustached men. There’s the usual mix of good and bad, but collectively, I think the trend is pointing in the right direction.
A good time as any to give it another try. Perhaps a moustache will help me channel the Aussie vibes that are so lacking in the dark, cold Philadelphian winter.
But the real question is, will it grow?
My face has never been fertile enough to sprout a full ‘stache. Lord knows I tried. In my mid-twenties, I thought my patchy facial hair, unconnected and spotty at the edges, made me look like a handsome hipster. In hindsight it made me look like a shabby delinquent. Maybe those are the same thing?
But today it’s different. I’m older and wiser. At least that’s what I tell myself. Plus, I have the Dad card to play. Any Dad should be given a free pass to test out any classic look. In Australia, that’s a moustache, footy shorts and pluggers. I’ll pass on the footy shorts and pluggers for now.
I inspect my face in the mirror and the beginnings are there. Short but furious whiskers that drape over the top lip. The problem is when you zoom out. The hairy slug looks a little rough. I try to convince myself it will look okay if I trim the edges and tidy it up. It also needs time to grow. I’ll give it til Tuesday, I think to myself.
But then again maybe it won’t, and all my colleagues will shudder at the sight of the new marketing guy, who sits on Zoom and keeps brushing his top lip with his finger and thumb.
Which begs another question: Not if it will grow, but should it?