There are few things men like more than striving to be on the cutting edge of grooming, searching out the latest styles and trends so that they can stand out from the crowd.
Those few things include getting kicked in the face by a horse, contracting smallpox, or watching The View. But obsessing over personal grooming is right up there behind those classics.
It's for that reason that I decided to grow a beard. Well, mostly that reason. I also butchered my sideburns so badly a few days before my Christmas holidays that I was forced to basically shave my head to correct the mistake. The beard was added as a smokescreen to distract people from how much I looked like an unemployed eggplant.
I'd never had a real, full beard before. I grew a goatee in college once that made me look like Evil Spock. I deemed it the logical choice, but alas, it did not result in hordes of space babes begging me to fire the photon torpedoes.
Beard intrigue actually starts well before college for most boys, back all the way to junior high school when the first wispy whiskers start showing up for the fast bloomers. When that moment arrives the teenage boy starts feeling a little more like a man and looking a little more like a baby goat.
Every high school has a few kids who can grow full beards by Grade 11 - somehow they always end up on the wrestling team - but for most dudes there isn't a chance of filling in all the corners until at least their mid-20s.
I'm in my 30s now and I'd never tried to go full Grizzly Adams before. When I stopped shaving a few months ago and let nature take its course, my beard filled in pretty nicely. It was a good feeling - I finally had a sense of manly accomplishment that I'd never felt through other testosterone-fuelled pursuits such as crushing beers or becoming a father.
The beard was always in peril though. All it would take for it to be razed like so many acres of Amazon rainforest was one disapproving comment from my wife. Amazingly, she liked it.
When I came back to work after a long Christmas break I was suddenly, shockingly bearded. I was stunned at the reaction I got from co-workers: they liked it. In fact, a couple of the ladies were swooning. Well, "swooning" might be a bit strong. "Not laughing right in my greasy face," might be more accurate. One even said I was looking GQ. It was the first time someone had ever used the term GQ when talking about me, except for that one time I was asked to pose for Generally Queasy magazine.
With positive feedback coming from everyone except for my mom - she missed her cute little baby faced boy - I decided to keep it for a while. Sorry, Mom.
There were a few hiccups along the way, like the day I became convinced that my beard might kill my son. My older boy may or may not have an allergy to nuts. He got a little splotchy after trying peanut butter for the first time, forcing us to evict all nut stuff from the house. It was a sad day, all those delicious chocolate covered almonds sitting on the curb in front of our house, slowly melting in the rain.
After that I started sneaking quick peanut butter hits at work, scarfing down sandwiches during my lunch hour and praying that my wife wouldn't smell the forbidden scent on my breath when I got home.
I tried the same trick after I grew the beard but realized to my horror that peanut butter clings to moustaches and beards like Rob Ford clings to power. Or toilet bowls at the end of drunken stupors. Or big ol' vials of crack. I scrubbed that embedded peanut butter so hard I'm surprised my moustache didn't make a break for it, fleeing my face for the safety of some other nook or cranny. The kneecap, maybe.
I must have gotten most of the peanut poison out because my kid didn't die. The incident did help convince me to finally shave though. About a month ago I chopped it all off. Then I decided that my baby face looked fatter without the beard so I grew it again (sorry Mom). Now I'm into it. Beardom is like its own exclusive little club. Well, I thought it was exclusive until I met up with my Friends Who I Never See Anymore Because I Have Kids - I've decided to make that an official title - and realized that they all pretty much have beards now too.
So I guess I'm not a trendsetter at all. It's kind of a relief, not having to worry about standing out from the crowd. If I started looking too fancy they may have made me do a guest appearance on The View. No thanks - I'll stick with the smallpox.
