In a place so awkwardly small as central Edinburgh, it’s just about impossible to go a day without unceremoniously bumping into some long-forgotten acquaintance. This last one wasn’t so bad - nice guy, amusingly unpredictable, usually has a good story to… Jesus, what is that?
Since I’d seen him last, a clumsy spattering of bolt-straight hairs had infested his lips and chin, looking like they’d been pasted on by a drunk toddler in boxing gloves. My attempts at small talk quickly broke down as, irrationally offended by his muzzle, I struggled to keep my lip from curling. We barely used to speak but I now felt a sudden urge to stage some sort of intervention; this man was not ready for a beard.
In truth, I’m surprised it took this long for someone I know to fall victim; university is the ideal breeding ground for such misguided experimentation. Each year, hordes of male undergrads come to uni anticipating a new level of independence and for many, it’s a welcome escape from an adolescence filled with acne, inadequacy and tender puppy fat man-breasts. Their excitement is understandable. You’ve just got your own flat, made your own rules, run up hilarious levels of debt - what better badge of honour than your very own facial hair?
Sit down, you young pretender to manliness, you. This is just the kind of hasty thinking that has given rise to the facial abomination known as the Young Offender’s Moustache and it must not be tolerated.
Although it may not pose such a problem for those of you currently sweating distilled testosterone through the thick, glossy coat adorning your chin, neck and palms, a significant chunk of the 18-21 male population is woefully incapable of pushing out more than a downy wisp. Tragically, some of these unfortunates just don’t know when they’re beaten and, rather than promptly whipping off any premature omens of bumfluff, they choose to cultivate them in the vain hope that they will one day constitute a legitimate beard.
To be fair, there is something undeniably appealing about the prospect of having a beard. From vaguely fascistic 1930s refinement to piss-poor beat poet goatees and sexually ambiguous 70s machismo, it’s always made for a bold statement - for better or for worse. It’s also a big gamble. Get it right and it can be glorious; get it wrong and you invite comparisons to any number of cult leaders, sexual miscreants and psychopathic extremists. Even if you are one of the hirsute elect, nobody is safe from these sorts of associations, so, much like when finding yourself inexplicably attracted to a leper, to abstain may well the best policy.
Whether it’s successful or not, a full beard is never going to cause as much offence as these ghost-like, pubertal shreds that are claiming the upper lips of thousands. If it’s ever going to be wiped out, what’s needed is a change in attitude. Dignity and acceptance are paramount. In most cases, the key is patience; it’s just a matter of time before you wake up one morning, resplendent in a dense, bushy mane of a beard. Then you’ll probably realise it’s not that great and whip out the Mach 3.
For others, you may never be able to produce much more than a sparse layer of fine stubble. Perhaps it’s just not meant to be. Sure, you might find yourself getting ID’d at your firstborn’s wedding but at least it’ll be easier to get through security on transatlantic flights. Suck it up.
Since I’d seen him last, a clumsy spattering of bolt-straight hairs had infested his lips and chin, looking like they’d been pasted on by a drunk toddler in boxing gloves. My attempts at small talk quickly broke down as, irrationally offended by his muzzle, I struggled to keep my lip from curling. We barely used to speak but I now felt a sudden urge to stage some sort of intervention; this man was not ready for a beard.
In truth, I’m surprised it took this long for someone I know to fall victim; university is the ideal breeding ground for such misguided experimentation. Each year, hordes of male undergrads come to uni anticipating a new level of independence and for many, it’s a welcome escape from an adolescence filled with acne, inadequacy and tender puppy fat man-breasts. Their excitement is understandable. You’ve just got your own flat, made your own rules, run up hilarious levels of debt - what better badge of honour than your very own facial hair?
Sit down, you young pretender to manliness, you. This is just the kind of hasty thinking that has given rise to the facial abomination known as the Young Offender’s Moustache and it must not be tolerated.
Although it may not pose such a problem for those of you currently sweating distilled testosterone through the thick, glossy coat adorning your chin, neck and palms, a significant chunk of the 18-21 male population is woefully incapable of pushing out more than a downy wisp. Tragically, some of these unfortunates just don’t know when they’re beaten and, rather than promptly whipping off any premature omens of bumfluff, they choose to cultivate them in the vain hope that they will one day constitute a legitimate beard.
To be fair, there is something undeniably appealing about the prospect of having a beard. From vaguely fascistic 1930s refinement to piss-poor beat poet goatees and sexually ambiguous 70s machismo, it’s always made for a bold statement - for better or for worse. It’s also a big gamble. Get it right and it can be glorious; get it wrong and you invite comparisons to any number of cult leaders, sexual miscreants and psychopathic extremists. Even if you are one of the hirsute elect, nobody is safe from these sorts of associations, so, much like when finding yourself inexplicably attracted to a leper, to abstain may well the best policy.
Whether it’s successful or not, a full beard is never going to cause as much offence as these ghost-like, pubertal shreds that are claiming the upper lips of thousands. If it’s ever going to be wiped out, what’s needed is a change in attitude. Dignity and acceptance are paramount. In most cases, the key is patience; it’s just a matter of time before you wake up one morning, resplendent in a dense, bushy mane of a beard. Then you’ll probably realise it’s not that great and whip out the Mach 3.
For others, you may never be able to produce much more than a sparse layer of fine stubble. Perhaps it’s just not meant to be. Sure, you might find yourself getting ID’d at your firstborn’s wedding but at least it’ll be easier to get through security on transatlantic flights. Suck it up.
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