On Beards...

Courtesy of Zachary Campaeu

I am a man. I wear a beard. It is harmonious. It is natural. It is the proper way of things. My face lives in its natural state, unconquered by razor, impervious to creams. It is how all male faces should exist.

Maybe you see yourself in your dreams, your long, flowing beard waving in the wind gloriously, like a flag on the victorious battlefield, your foot propped nobly on a rock as you survey the verdant valley below. You are the master of the domain. You, dear bearded brother, are the archetypal man.

Attacks arrive in the form of commercials interrupting our favorite television entertainment to tell us how important the new mechanism from the evil empires of Schick or Gillette are to our wellbeing. How many blades will they need to tame my face? Three? Four? Perhaps a diamond-coated edge or soothing comfort strip will entice us? And don’t forget the miracle tonic that will make your hair stand at attention and lower its steely guard in preparation for the sacrifice. How many untold billions have companies made by keeping today’s man convinced that a beard is to be avoided in order for him to be accepted into society? How many times can a man be shown images of beautiful women daintily stroking the smooth cheeks of the man in the advertisement before succumbing to the siren call?

And the messages do not stop at the end of the commercial break. Watch any prime time television drama or reality program and what do you see? ...Who has the beards? Those who are either Lost on an island, have gone crazy, or are the antagonists. And we are all too familiar with the evil twin episodes where a goatee is the only characteristic that helps us know which character is the evil one. “Oh that’s the evil Spock. I can tell by his goatee.” And what happened in the movie Castaway as soon as Tom Hanks made it home? Goodbye beard.

Thanks but no thanks for the warmth and companionship on those cold island nights.

The anti-beard propaganda unfortunately doesn’t even cease when we turn off the TV. We are further pounded into submission by the fairer of our species. That’s right, our ladies are beard oppressors! Overlords of our facial regions! Thankfully there are those rare women out there who truly appreciate a robust beard, and they are heartily appreciated. Alas, they are far outnumbered by the ones who harbor beard fear. If you’ve ever worked up enough courage to try finally to grow out your beard and realize your destiny, only to hear the dreaded words, “Your whiskers poke me when we kiss,” you know the horrors of beard fear. Your caveman ancestors didn’t have to put up with this, and neither should you. What if cavewomen couldn’t stand being poked by whiskers? You wouldn’t be reading this “electronic document” on your “computer” because the human race would have gone extinct tens of thousands of years ago! The success of humanity is built upon the shoulders of women who toughened up their upper lips and made out with their hirsute mates. Thanks, ladies! It’s time to put our lovers to the test and let our whiskers fall where they may. If they can’t deal, then you can say, “You’re no better than a cavewoman” and move on.

Fellow bearded bretheren, this is not a time for baby-faced men to prance about. There is much man-work to be done, and it must be done properly bearded. Just think of your neighbor’s envy as you whisk around on the riding lawnmower, your beard blown back by the wind like an aviator’s scarf. Think of the joy of eating watermelon, laughing with pure bliss as the red juices course through your beard like fruit blood.

...If you have significant growth, if a beard is part of your very soul, join my call - the time is now, brothers.