And then THIS happened...

On growing an unexpected beard

A few years ago some cruel people—okay, a wife-shaped object and a stepdaughter-shaped object—gaslighted me into believing that I was losing my hair. They’d glance at each other knowingly and nod affirmatively at one another, but when I asked what they were in collusion about they’d shake their heads in a “don’t worry about it” kind of way, which of course juiced my interest level from “merely piqued” to “must know now or I’ll explode.” At which point they’d talk with sympathy and concern about an alleged pinkish patch on the crown of my head, a pancake that wasn’t getting smaller, etc. This went on for months; they had me convinced.

So I shaved my head. And for a few years, I kept it shaved. The cruel ones felt a bit guilty and encouraged me to consider letting it grow out, but I kind of liked it and kept it that way. Also, I really thought I was going bald! Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I hasten to add…

During the dark days (2021). Photo by Duston Spear

But I couldn’t help noticing that I needed to shave the damn thing every ten days or so. And when we moved to the rustic countryside two years ago, I decided to let it go. Let’s see what happens, right? These hippies won’t mind?

There was one other thing, though: the beard. At one point, in my early twenties, I had a pretty shaggy one (the SAT-ready word “hirsute” was liberally applied), but as the years went by I kept it very cropped, and frankly I thought there were so many thin patches that a full beard was out of my reach.

As if!

A few months ago, Duston suggested that I grow a beard. Actually, she DARED me to grow a beard. I think this had to to with an extensive collection of chins that I was adding to and that I might have wanted to hide, but who knows? I was dubious, but thought “what the hey”. As one will.

About six weeks ago I looked in the mirror and had this epiphany: you’re a guy with a beard! And quite a full one, at that. Around the same time, other people suddenly started to comment on it. There were the inevitable santa comments (entirely unwelcome and unimaginative but inevitable). There were a few Hemingways (much better) and a coveted Karl Marx or two. Ansel Adams also crept in, and I did not complain.

I’ve been having a blast with it! It’s a funny thing, to write about having a beard, and it’s a true barometer of my vanity, narcissism and self-importance that I think anyone else might have even a scintilla of interest in my facial hair. But there it is. And the funny thing is that people have started to relate to me in a subtly different way. Suddenly I’m being treated as if I’m as wise as I’ve always fondly imagined myself to be. Suddenly people are interacting with me as if I’m a highly genial fellow. And in return, I’m finding my OWN behavior changing. Yes, I stroke my chin a lot (“the sage”) and I’ve even twirled my mustache on occasion (“Inspector Poirot”) which looks more than mildly ridiculous. But I’ve also become more…genial? Seriously! I’m ACTING like a guy with a beard!

I DID mention that I’m having a blast with this, right?

PS: AI was NOT involved in writing this. I say this as someone who uses AI quite a lot. But I’d never use it to write something like this—I mean where’s the fun in that? And yes, I use m-dashes a lot. They’re probably my favorite form of punctuation, and I’ll be damned if some man-bun Mumford and Sons* twerp who happened to notice that AI loves them too is going to swerve me from my reckless course.

*thanks to Anthony Bourdain for that image!