In a world of consistently evolving norms of gender, power, and influence (men should be more sensitive, women should take charge) and a desire for most all groups to be more diverse, I have arrived at the single distinguishing trait for men to have to ourselves. Hair—facial hair. Yes I am centuries late—and no I have absolutely nothing against the much more lovely and many times more strong and fierce Venus associated creatures ( Venusites? Venitians?), but it seems with all of this debate to uncover the perfect human through a blend of gender traits (many serving only as shots at the traditional male), a man can get lost in who he should be. But, physically there is no challenging the presence of unkempt facial hair. The beard. The mustache. The goatee. Patriarchs such as Ron Burgandy, Ron Swandon, Kimbo Slice and even Mr. Magnum PI himself dare not grapple with these conflicting physical identities– due to their follicle superiority. You see, regardless of social progression (and hormones) facial hair is ours. That is partly why this November I grew facial hair for a good cause and learned to my surprise it was my missing link to my manhood.
So that you are aware, I enjoy fishing, camping, the outdoors, and I love sports. I guess what I’m basically saying is despite not being a “car guy” or hunter, my manhood has not been in limbo or in question, but at the same time not maximized with a certain itch around my neck and cheeks (facial to be clear).
So after just over a week of neglecting my stash of ‘dollarshaveclub’ razors, I had to ask myself, why have I been wasting this gift to showcase facial greatness? Why had I not embraced an opportunity to shave less, to be different, show maturity, and style. I took my God given ‘manhood right’ for granted. I had been missing the opportunity to play with my own canvas. A canvas that lets me regret shaving parts of my beard in favor of a goatee (that makes me look like a Disney villain), but rectified by growing back a beard in a redemptive fashion.
I’m not sure how long the beard will exist— on me, but every time I see another Martian (we’re supposedly from Mars) who has neglected his razor, I know I belong to the club. I now have this conviction to make up for lost time despite the Houston, TX humidity.