The Mustache.

Burt Reynolds, Tom Selleck, Charlie Chaplin, Henry Cavill in Superman even though they spent millions of dollars to CGI it off, and Hitler. I share something in common with all of these iconic figures throughout history. What is it you ask? I mean, it’s probably pretty obvious if you read the title of this post. The answer is the mustache. Some might argue that those men are known for other feats and I say that might be true, but in the end, they’ll be remembered first and foremost for the mustache. Except for Hitler. He’s done some other infamous things as well.

The point is not the cast and characters that have rocked the classic (facial) hairstyle for centuries. The point is that all throughout life, all throughout time, we’ve known the mustache to be the best of the facial hair choices. Look at Sam Elliot! Is Roadhouse the same film without him in it? Of course it isn’t, because well, he had a mustache and that’s the second most memorable thing after Patrick Swayze ripping out throats. Actually, since I did probably overpromise on so many blogs and I hold myself to it, do not be surprised if there are five separate posts about Roadhouse. This is what I don’t understand though and maybe I should post a new paragraph for this. I had no intention of talking about Roadhouse, even though it’s a classic movie and it made MacGruber make a lot more sense. I’d been thinking about writing this for the past couple of days and really the only thing I had thought about was a few mustachioed men that I could start off with. Then I figured I would just talk about the evolution of the facial hair and my personal journey with it. Instead, I’m thinking about writing a post about Point Blank as well. I haven’t seen Ghost either, though I did reference it recently and it fell on deaf ears.

The point I’m trying to make is that I’ve now reached a point in my life where I thought it was a smart idea to dye my mustache. Two times. The first time I’ll forgive myself for because I was young and I thought it would be cool. To be fair, whenever I’ve dyed my mustache I’ve never had the intention of doing it to be cool, I just wanted to make it stand out like the star it is. However, throughout both times of dyeing it, I’ve realized it’s still a star that has yet to reach its ascension. The first dye job it was remarked that my face looked permanently dirty and I didn’t know how to wipe it off properly. The second dye job resulted in people wondering if I was imitating a 70s porn star and also wondering why the color was two-tone. I think a big reasoning that I wanted to go for the mustache again is that I’m turning 28 soon. Why does that matter? It matters because my father told me that he couldn’t grow a full beard until he was 27. I’m sure I’ve remarked upon that point before because I’m unoriginal and recycle ideas constantly. But it was that fact regarding him that kept me hopeful during my mid-twenties knowing when I reached that age where all those famous musicians died that I’d at least have a beard. I’m only a little more than a month away and I can’t even grow a mustache that fills in in the middle or stays a consistent color throughout.

WHY GODS OF  FACIAL HAIR, WHY?! HE CRIES INTO THE BLEAK DARKNESS OF FUTURE DESPAIR. I see progress regarding the facial hair. Every year it comes in a little bit thicker and still nothing resembling the barest resemblance to a beard. I told myself that I could handle a mustache. It was only a three-inch area of the face, that surely my testosterone could flood into my baby-esque face long enough to create a thick entrapment of hairs that would annoyingly hold onto any and all liquids. And then I remembered a quote from my friend: “Hank, why do you keep trying? You do this all the time and then you realize that it never looks good on you and you get angry at yourself for wearing the lame pastiche of a man you aspire to me.” I embellished some of that quote to make him sound like a person whose sole life purpose is to use needlessly pretentious words to describe mustaches and beards. He was right though. Will I ever say that to his face? No. Actually, I probably have, but the answer is still no. Because I know myself and I know I will continue the fruitless quest of attempting to dominate the white whale known as Mustache Dick. My Moby Dick reference could probably have been worded better. Call me Hankmael. Again, I should stop with those. Though by the time anyone reads this the mustache will be gone, that doesn’t mean my drive and desire to grow something that doesn’t resemble dirt on my face will be. I will continue down the path of lying to myself and implanting false hope until the inevitable day comes where my beard is glorious and ample and full. Like my heart. Like my brain. Like another Moby Dick reference that I would throw in right here if I’d ever finished the whole book. So it goes.


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