[Editor’s Note: Mom, stop reading this. Or skip to ‘More backround’]
Tomorrow is the first day of November. If you’re 35 years old or younger, you may know it as the beginning of No-Shave November. If you’re older than 35, you may know it as Movember from a few years back when some soulless politician attempted to hijack the just-for-fun movement and turn it into some social awareness crap. Something about prostate awareness. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want anyone being aware of my prostate but me and whichever unfortunate doctor I choose in the next decade. Maybe my future wife (that lucky lady).
But for me it means only one thing: shame.
I can’t grow facial hair. It’s my genetics. Technically yes, hair grows on my face, but you’ll never see it unless you’re in kissing distance (because that happens ever). I can’t grow anything close to a mustache or a beard; you could rally all the thick hairs on my face to one spot and they’d still be a pretty sad soul patch. I could call it No Shave Forever if I didn’t opt to shave…. other places. Some days, I literally pluck my chin and say a farewell to each hair by name. You get the idea.
I’m sure some of you guys know what i’m talking about. But does this disability make you less of a man? Are our masculinity meters smaller than other dudes? Can anyone really make fun of us for something we have no control over?
Yes. It does, they are, and they can and will.
Well I’m sick of it. Sick of this month laughing in my silky smooth face, tired of the teasing and torment, finished with the follicle follies at my expense. I’m calling for a ban of No-Shave November.
Nah, just kidding.
Truth is, I hear guys complaining all the time about having to shave and it doesn’t bother me one bit that I don’t have to live through that hassle. The hair on my legs and arms is pretty scarce too (none to speak of on the torso) and when people ask if I shave, they’re generally jealous when I tell them it’s just nature.
Even still, I’ve found myself wondering what it would be like to have a sweet ‘stache or bitchin’ beard. I’d think, “One day, probably when I’m too old to care, that fu manchu will be an option. And I’ll grow it because I’m too old to care and kids will be like, “That guy must be wise” and I’ll yell at them to get off my lawn because they’ll be trying to get a closer look.” And then I realized the answer has been right in front of my eyes the whole time. Or more accurately, above, behind, and to the side of my eyes.
You see, I can grow a mean-ass head of hair.
These locks have been the envy of countless women and balding men over the years. And thanks to a summer at camp, I have a lot of it right now. Not as much as back then, but enough to make a small ponytail.
Or a beard of my own.
Now I know what you’re thinking, so let me go ahead and nip that morality weed in the practicality bud. Yes that’s my real hair in the picture. No I didn’t do anything special to it. Yes I donated it to Locks of Love. And no, I can’t donate the hair currently on my head to Locks of Love because it’s too short. About 4 inches too short actually, which is bare minimum three more months of growing which I have no desire to do. Yes I could still send it to them and they’ll sell it off if they can and use the proceeds for other stuff; but there’s a good chance they’ll also just dump it because it’s too shampooed. Because apparently that’s a thing. So why risk it when there’s entertainment to be had?
So this year, I will finally take part in No-shave November in a roundabout way. Every day this month, I’m going to cut a chunk of hair from my head and glue it to my face. For maximum effect, I’ll start small (soul patch) and work my way into more elaborate things (handlebar) and hopefully culminate with a full face on the 30th (beard).
Granted, I have no idea how much hair each one is going to take, so I may end up running out of hair halfway through, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. All else fails, I can probably save and reuse hair from previous days. Or steal other peoples’ hair. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.
So there it is, the master plan. Don’t worry, there won’t be this many words next time. Just pictures. Keep an eye on my instagram, twitter, or facebook for those. Or just check back in a month. They’ll be here. Probably.