by Jonathan Baldspot Perry
I just ended the 2011 Great Mustache Experiment after only 6 days. It was a hideous failure. There’s this one stubborn spot that won’t grow any hair. It’s where my Hitler mustache would be, but instead of the lip of the Fuhrer (surrounded by my normal hair, of course), there’s a huge vacant ugly gap. It seems all the men in my family have similar mustache issues (and we should start our society, the Brotherhood of Bald Spots. There would be secret handshakes and meetings in a treehouse where we’d have our manly tea parties and bemoan our inability to grow certain facial hair. Ah, bonding.).
I could grow out a Fu Manchu, if I was really desperate and into Karate, but it’s still the same thing. Ugly on me. And I’m sorry, there are no photos of my ‘stache attempt. I want to be free of any visual records. Imagine a 14 year-old boy, just past puberty and trying really hard to grow a mustache, but it just looks like ugly dirt. That’s how mine looked. Like that and someone’s hormonally abused grandmother.
No, to grow out a proper mustache I’d have to find a Ted Kaczynski cabin somewhere in the backwoods so I could grow it all out in solitude for months. I might even get some writing done. Since months in a cabin would be difficult to maneuver at this point, I’d have to try something else. A beard-growing mask, for instance. Maybe brown marker. Instead of these, though, it might be best to wear a falsy Hitler mustache just to fill out the blank spot until I can do the necessary comb-over. Apparently my dad does the mustache comb-over, so it’s a thing.
I mentioned my mustache growth attempt to a female coworker after the fact who admitted she hadn’t noticed anything strange growing over my lip. She also cited something about my baby face (which further cemented her place as one of my favorite coworkers). I guess it did just look a little like dirt from the wrong angle. My testosterone must be channeled to more important things.
It would seem some people just aren’t suited for mustaches. It’s a little disappointing to think you might never be able to grow a good Magnum P.I. mustache. No Burt Reynolds or Alex Trebek facial hair. No Snidely Whiplash. My mustache envy will have to relax. For now, I’ll have to settle for the 5 o’clock shadow meets Amish man scruff. That’ll have to do. At least until I can book my Kaczynski cabin.
(I totally didn’t say anything about mustache rides.)
The secret word is combover
Must Read Links
Subscribe to the Domesticated Bachelor through RSS or link to one of the buttons below! Do it!