The evolution of a shitty mustache

Every once in a while, I get this foolish notion that I should grow a mustache. I should not. It's not about trying to look better because let's face it, not many people look better with a mustache. It's more about being tired of looking at the same face day after day after day. Need a soul patch to spruce things up a bit. Or sideburns or a beard or a mustache. Problem is I can't grow sideburns or a beard. So there aren't many options aside from getting a tattoo on my face, lip augmentation, a nose or eyebrow piercing or dying my hair. Honestly, I prefer less permanent alternatives.

I grew my first 'stache late last year at 36 years of age. Not long after my brother had participated in a monthlong grow-your-stache-for-charity. It wasn't Movember. I said hey, I want to try that! I had never tried before because I was fairly certain it would look like someone's genitals on my face. Let's face it, nobody wants that. Well, I suppose people do, but not when you're out in public. Anyway, I was in a place where it didn't hurt to try and so I grew it. It looked pretty awful at first, was hard to even notice and caused significant personal anguish. I tried my best to thrust that aside. Eventually the hairs grew longer and it filled in the gaps. It was almost passable.

The early days were laughable.

Oops, missed a spot.

If only...

Eventually I tired of seeing it in the mirror every day and I grew overly self-conscious of my 'stache. It pervaded my thoughts. Should I shave it? Should I trim it? Should I let it hang over my lip? Give it one more day. The next day I'd stare at it some more pondering its fate. It had been about 50 days. It was itchy and it was drawing the wrong kind of attention. I had to be careful talking and joking with kids.. Look at that guy with the mustache talking to children! Definitely didn't need any accusations. In the end, the over-analysis drove me crazy and I shaved it off in a fit of rage. I felt bald for a minute, but refreshed. The skin above my lip looked like it had missed being kissed by the sun.

I actually like these shots, but to be fair, I didn't really look like a porn star..

Freshly shaven. Renewed, but it felt like I had lost a limb.

Some time went by—perhaps a month—and I thought maybe I'd grow the 'stache again. I don't know what I was thinking. I was just bored. It didn't last as long the second go round, but I went through the same emotions as before. Probably would have been better off shaving my head, but the 'stache experiment was both a test of my patience and to see how self-conscious I really was. Turns out I'm not very patient and I'm quite self-conscious. But I already knew that.

Fast forward another few months and there I was trying it again, trying to be alternative or something. I don't think I made it a month. I just started getting angry and eventually threw in the towel. You need reassurance when growing a 'stache and it isn't every day when people are dropping compliments about a mustache. I was complimentary to other mustachioed gentlemen, but that's only because I became more aware of a quality mustache just by trying to grow my own. I realized what it took. Strength. Courage. Patience. Determination. I know I wasn't blessed in the facial hair department, but that has its perks for the most part. I go through far fewer razor blades and my morning routine is more simplified.

I was facial hair free, the way I should be, for the greater part of six months when all of a sudden the urge to grow a 'stache arose again. It was almost that time again when my brother would again be growing his 'stache for charity. I thought I'd get a head start. I started by just not shaving and proceeded for a couple weeks with what would have been deemed as a shitty goatee. When my chin started bearing resemblance to a scrotum I decided to shave leaving just the 'stache and soul patch. The sole patch was a crutch that allowed me to keep going for a few more weeks. Then I shaved it and rocked only a shitty 'stache, which I regularly trimmed to get the whiskers more or less the same length.

The "goatee" stage.

Yes, my shirt says "Babes." Probably didn't see that cause you were admiring the 'stache.

It was good timing with the 'stache. I had recently started feeling asexual and now with the 'stache I didn't seem to mind even less attention. I still found some women attractive, but without the corresponding arousal. It was like I was hibernating. I'd shrug my shoulders and think something wasn't right, but surprisingly it was nice to go out and essentially have zero interest sexually in anyone. I figured there was just a kink in the hose. That one day, after an abundance of oatmeal, an enormous shit would release the pressure on that particular pipe allowing the testosterone to flow freely again. Actually, it wasn't that. I just grew tired with women, particularly here, and everything being about money. Major turn off. Made me sad and I just wanted to disengage.

Meanwhile, the 'stache was starting to look better, but only on webcam.

Back to the story at hand. I went out and took the 'stache with me. Everywhere I went. The ladies were not particularly enthralled with it. The girl of my dreams pointed at it, made a face and said clean! You can wait, I said. I started feeling older with the 'stache and my confidence was waning. I only really liked how it looked on my grainy webcam with a hat pulled down low. Then it looked like I was just having fun. Like I wasn't taking myself too seriously. But as I do, I started getting way too self-conscious. Again. A girl gives her friend a funny look and I know immediately they're definitely talking about me. A guy at the gym looks at me and snickers. It's definitely the fucking 'stache.

Started blaming everything on the hairy upper lip.

Only liked it with a hat and this expression, which could not be held extended periods.

Meanwhile, my brother, who had started his 'stache-for-charity, was already sporting a superior 'stache despite me having a one month advantage. My ego found this slightly depressing. But as he later said, you got the hair on your head, I got the hair everywhere else. Lucky me! Or something to that effect. I was going to try and get through the end of November or Movember as it has been called for 10 years according to the official website. Wow. 10 years? Who knew? Apparently "Mo Bros" (those taking part in Movember) start the month clean-shaven. Having just read that, I don't feel bad about shaving prematurely. I would have been cheating! Big sigh of relief there.

My brother's mustache for charity. At least it looked like he had fun doing it!

Anyway, the 'stache is gone and I don't regret it for a minute. I've always been one to simplify my life. The less things you have, including facial hair, the easier it is to manage. Unless of course you take away the roof over my head, my motorbike and my wallet, which would obviously be cause for struggle. I'll leave you with one final pic—the straw that broke the camel's back. Wasn't quite the look I was going for and it was enough of a catalyst for me to bust out the razor a month early and end this charade. The other catalyst was, well, I'm not feeling asexual anymore. The kink in the hose seems to be gone. You don't play the game with a mustache unless you are Burt Reynolds or Tom Selleck—and neither of them am I.

Mustache be gone!