Gather ‘round for this campfire chat.
Every November, it’s the same spiel, when a multitude of men put down their razors and vacate the toiletry aisle of department stores. Shaving cream bottles lay motionless and untouched like the 95% of the kids who waited in line for the newest Call of Duty title. This annual abnormality is known as No Shave November.
Now, I’m not totally condemning this cultural celebration of manliness, but for Pete’s sake, reconsider this if your facial hair comes together like the shit you find in the lint catch of a dryer. Unless of course, it’s for charity like Movember.com, which raises money for Prostate Cancer Awareness, then we’re all good and you’re free to embarrass yourself.
Anyway. As a proud beard bearing man, I have a few qualms with the “amateur hour” crowd of this non-shaving spectacle. As I direct my attention to you scruffy, struggle strand sons in your month long quest of finding manliness, I’d like to remind you that it’s not No Shame November and to spare yourself the agony of defeat.
This has to be what superheroes feel like on Halloween when everyone dresses as them.
“It’s better to be beardless and let someone think your beard grows like a forest in Brooklyn than to try to grow it and remove all doubt.” -Abraham Lincoln.
See, beard growing is a man’s art; it’s not intended for peach fuzz pansies. As much as I understand how cool, admirable, exquisite and meritorious it is to grow a beard, I’m just as appalled at these atrocious attempts of follicular flattery. Go grab your dad a beer from the fridge like he asked and relax, bro. This shit is not a game, it’s a gift.
*adds another log to fire*
I knew I had the gift when I was 17-years-old at the barber shop and this man in his 60’s told me he was never able to get his sideburns to connect to his beard how mine did. I was perplexed because I thought surely, by the time a man is eligible for social security benefits, he’d be able to apply shaving cream to the entire bottom half of his face and not feel like it was a waste of time.
Now, the reason for telling you that is the moral of the post: Don’t go chasing full bearded dreams. Just stick to the soul patches and side burns you’re used to.
When we get three weeks into the month and that anti-climactic mustache of yours is about as apparent as condensation on a water bottle in the Winter and your neck beard looks like a poorly watered lawn in Arizona, shave that monstrosity off of your face before your grandmother gets worried and asks your mom if you’re homeless at Thanksgiving dinner.
If your beard looks patchy like the backyard of a dog owner, you should consider hiring a razor to negotiate a new deal with your face. Your beard shouldn’t look like how Pangaea separated.
I’m out, though. I didn’t include women in this because women participation should be nonexistent
like the WNBA.
Stay safe, be great.
P.S. FYI: In passing, two men with tantamount quality beards acknowledge each other like gallant knights on majestic steeds did in the Medieval era. It’s trill.
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