The first thing I notice about people when I look at them is their hair. Way of dress comes in a close second, but nothing sticks out quite like the mop of protein outgrowth on top of their head.
A person’s hair says multitudes about his personality, perhaps more so than any other feature. As a prime example, a blow-out haircut with finely trimmed sideburns indicates that he or she is either (a) from Long Island, (b) a toolbox or (c) all of the above.
Meanwhile, a Mohawk signifies a deviance from societal norms, blond highlights indicate a strong desire to be perceived as a retard and a bowl-cut means that the person has likely been frozen in a cryogenic chamber since 1992.
This argument does not apply merely to the hair on top of one’s head, as the hair on other areas of a person’s body is highly indicative of certain behavioral characteristics, as well.
What does a bikini wax say other than that she’s down for the beat down? Can she tie her armpit hair into braids? Then she’s probably a feminist.
For males, shaving one’s chest is a clue that he’s uncomfortable with his sexuality or watches too much MTV. Sculpting moose antlers in his pubic area means that he’s slightly disturbed and very, very creative.
And then there’s facial hair. For some, facial hair is purely the result of laziness and an abundance of testosterone. They know not the meaning of “Five o’clock shadow” because their facial hair grows back 10 minutes after they shave. These people, including yours truly, hit puberty when they were six.
For others, facial hair is a direct representation of their greatest ambitions. Hours of patience and careful grooming can result in facial hair combinations that should be recognized as works of art in their own right.
There are very few facial hair faux pas, and I could write a book on the ones that work. What’s not to like about the chinstrap, which is a ballsy declaration of a person’s white-trashness, or the soul patch, which is a clear indicator that you’re freaky-naughty in the sack and don’t care who knows it?
A full beard is man’s way of saying, “The world is mine for the taking,” while the heralded mustachio is a strong-fisted statement that screams, “I’m here, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
It is the mustachio that gets perhaps the least amount of respect amongst all facial hair arrangements, despite being the smallest and least obtrusive of all displays, and, for the life of me, I’ll never understand why.
I think it was sometime in the ’80s that people with mustachios started to become the laughing-stock of our culture, perhaps the result of child molesters and 1970s-era porn, specifically Ron Jeremy, whose crusty ‘stache induced nightmares for all those who were brave enough to bear witness.
The mustachio all but disappeared in the ’90s, as the grungy, bearded look of Seattle rockers early on in the decade led to a passionate cry from all the pussies of the world for the clean-shaven, baby face days of old. It was this unsullied look that became all the rage in the late ’90s, as boy bands and the cast of “Friends” made it cool to look like a prepubescent teenager again.
I argue that the days of clean-shaven faces are gone and that we are broaching the dawn of a new era – a mustachio revolution, so to speak.
There has been an alarming groundswell of people sporting mustachios of late, including The Killers’ Brandon Flowers, actors Jason Schwartzman and Seth Rogen, NBA star Adam Morrison and Kazakhstan reporter Borat Sagdiyev, while a number of especially daring individuals have remained steadfast in their devotion to donning a mustache over the years, including Tom Selleck, Hulk Hogan, Burt Reynolds, Geraldo Rivera and, last but not least, Chuck “A God Amongst Men” Norris.
Even around the UR campus, there has been a handful of trend setters making it acceptable and even desired to rock the ‘stache again. I should mention that my own short-lived attempt at sporting a mustache in the spring of 2007 was hindered by a unified cry of repulsion from the female population at UR and Dawn the Lunch Lady’s disgusted look and subsequent questioning of my motives, but certain courageous souls have valiantly withstood the onslaught of disparagement in pursuit of greater male glory.
To model citizens and Delta Kappa Epsilon Fraternity brothers Matt Starr, Gordon Jaquith and Joe Price, along with audacious freshman David “Crusty ‘Stache” Gould, I applaud you for your heroic efforts in attempting to overturn the insensitive societal norm of “mustaches=creepy.”
I am writing this article in sincere hopes that we, together with the increased efforts of the UR student body, will make the ‘stache relevant again for generations to come.
Milbrand is a member of the class of 2008.