It’s been an interesting Movember this year.
For those not in the loop of the growing (ha!) movement, Movember is an organized event wherein anyone who can grow a moustache is encouraged to do so over the month of November, in order to help raise funds for men’s health research and care.
One can work solo or in teams, and along with just willing the hair between one’s nose and lip to grow for the month, one can also participate in other activities to help spur on donations.
I’ve done Movember on and off for some years now. There was a hiatus of a number in a row after my (then) toddler found my moustache efforts scary (and/or disturbing enough in their sad results) to not want anything to do with me. But then came the kiddo’s older years, and then into full-on tweens and now teens and lo and behold, that same child has been actively encouraging my growing a moustache. Or better still, so the enthusiasm goes, a full beard.
I mean… there’s something to be said for how a beard can improve even un-traditionally handsome faces…
Part of a graphic found on Reddit titled, “Beards, the male push up bra vol.2”
I’m not yet sure if that encouragement was sincerely thinking I’d look good with it, or out of thinking I’d look ridiculous with a beard but that perhaps some encouragement would get me to willingly fall for it and try it out anyway. The facial hair equivalent of getting a newbie in your friend group to go snipe hunting.
So all that said, it was late in the game, almost the end of October, that I decided I’d give Movember another shot this year.
The results this year have been… let’s say “middling”. For a couple of weeks, there was of course the expected scrutiny. There were murmurings from various armchair moustache growers of how it was taking so long for so little to show up. One co-worker came up and studied it and asked how long I’d been growing it, and when I said a week and a half, his response was to closely squint at it, shake his head, and just say, “No.”
And to be fair, they weren’t wrong. From my usually mild disposition to slow-growing facial hair, it’s certainly not obvious that I’m a descendant of vikings. There’s an argument to be made that at birth I should’ve popped out of my mother, already with a full beard in place and ready to go pillaging. I’m no anthropologist but I’m pretty sure that’s how it happened in the viking times. In the modern era… well… evidently, less so. And yes, I’ve had Greek friends who could do with a couple of shaves a day.
So yeah, I get it, slow progress on the growth that’s due some razzing.
Then there’s also the unexpected colouring of it. Unlike my (these days) uniform dirty blond hair, my facial hair has long been a hodgepodge of everything from black to blonds to browns to reds to white. You name the hair colour, it’s been coming out of my face for decades. This time, though, there’s a lot — I mean, a lot — more white in the mix. One whole patch of it on the left. A bit on the right.
Not grey, like the little bit showing recently at my temples and hopefully making me look dashing.
This is white.
White.
Stark, almost vibrant white.
So white that for weeks, several times as I checked myself in the mirror in the morning, I was thinking I’d missed washing off some toothpaste or shaving cream. Didn’t come off with any rinsing, though. This was all natural.
I chalk it up to 99% stress and 1% age.
My wife assures me it’s all age.
Thanks, honey. Love you.
But then this year there’s also the new looks I’m getting from others.
Man, the looks.
From coworkers to customers at the liquor store to people I’m meeting… the look in the eye and then immediate dropping of eyes to the moustache, followed by what seems like an oddly Quick Look Away. No dwelling of appreciation. No look back to my eyes to check back in and reconnect. Never that. It’s all eyes to moustache to looking away. Every damn time.
Embarrassment?
Wait… embarrassment for me?
Turning away so I don’t see them fighting against laughter?
Or… hold on… perhaps that’s to avoid giving away their sudden swelling of hormones at seeing it and not wanting to look back into my eyes for fear of losing themselves to my objective sex appeal… maybe that explains it!
Right, guys?
… guys?
Anyway, I’ve accepted that this is a thing that I’ve got to endure in November, an albatross I wear not around my neck but on my face. But I’ll deal with it for a month — along with the ribbing, the scrutinizing, the itchiness, the longer time needed for more frequent and precise shaving for profile pics, the notable decrease in kisses from my wife and comments about my lip’s prickliness when they do happen, etc. — knowing it’s all for a good cause.
And I’m happy to say that just this evening, a couple of donations helped push me past my goal for the year. Thanks to everyone who was able, and inclined to donate. It’s very much appreciated.
One more day with the moustache and I’ll be shorn clean again. It’s been an experience, little mo. See you again next year. Unless a full beard DOES happen between now and then… is there a Febeardary?