The fashion for facial hair has hit fever pitch, and it’s no longer just a man thing. Only this week on a shopping trip a novelty pack of furry, coloured strips matching days of the week caught my eye in a reputable ladies fashion outlet. Then, not two streets away, a store selling tache mugs and drinking straws. Also festooning the shelves, Tom Selleck pillows to cuddle up to on crisp winter nights and even post-it notes for stiff, upper-lip reminders. Although ‘hipsters’ and the ‘steam-punk’ movement reputedly brought the moustache trend back into cultural prominence, it’s gone a lot further than that lately. The moustache is a favoured symbol of both sexes who share moustache coffee mugs, bling, t-shirts and even a toilet seat.
As a cleaner shaven male it all leaves me just a little stupefied but deserves a whisker of exfoliated investigation for cultural reasons and clues. First thoughts are Movember- the Foundation supporting the prostate cancer cause by encouraging us to sport a month’s mouth brow of choice. One in nine men will be diagnosed with prostate cancer in their lifetime, and I am happy to support in other ways but have with regret resisted the ‘act’ since kind students many years ago advised me that my ‘King John’ goatee had a strong resemblance to Satan!
Where hairy cave dwellers’ instinct for hunting the buffalo allowed no time to preen, mediaeval sophistications enabled elicitation of courtisan style. Further down the timeline came Edwardian distinction, drawn into the absurd theatre of Charlie Chaplin. The artistry of Salvador Dali was a statement of individuality not shared by seventies youth whose passive hanging-out allowed bearded growth like unkempt weeds.
Sociologists remain divided on the effects of the lip blanket. Studies have shown that when two men- one clean the other tashed- bare a menacing grin it is the fuzzy one who is considered more aggressive. So the Alpha-male ideal reigns here, and within his sprouting identity, women can be secure in male suitor as protector and provider. But other studies counter this by suggesting that the slug-rugged chap is gentle, passive kind and neighbourly- I think here of George Roper the amiable suburban husband in the seventies sitcom, George and Mildred.
There are caverns of research out there. Size really matters to the devotees of the convention of the handlebar moustache. Annually they meticulously measure the waxen tips to win a coveted prize. Will growing a ‘horseshoe’ end the company directors lucky run? Is stubble sexually attractive, and if so, to what blade?
I’ll end my mo musings on a more serious party note. Stick-on and drawn-on moustaches mock conventional ideals of fashion and style. Drawing one on the Queen’s face is a potential act of treason. It’s meant as an ironic piece; silly and fun, but the underlying subversion and need to be able to break out of life’s daily drudging constraints, stress-bound jobs, social isolation, is compelling. What’s wrong with being silly with others in the comfort of the sitting room gathering, office party or even walking the high street?
I reckon I can ride out the trash stash trend as endorsed by history, the arts and science. It seems to be doing some good Just don’t hide my shaver.
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For some reason in a world where choice has never been greater I am struggling against oblivion. Everything I use gets discontinued sooner or later due to falling demand or limited financial return for the seller. But sometimes it is worth not succumbing to potential fate.
Let me explain. By default I discovered the wonders of chinagraph marker pencils. They are handy to mark surfaces, where a temporary calibration needs to be made. I do a lot of live drawing and discovered a new use. Their waxy density renders them ideal for laying down rich layers of immediate, dry colour- for example, the opulent reds of theatre curtains or wider passages of a blue sky. Colours are limited- red, white, blue, yellow and art shops all used to stock them. These days I am lucky to even find red; felt pens have usurped the shelf space. I have searched the internet relentlessly and found the word, ‘discontinued’ popping up constantly. Then, the other evening just as I was considering modifying my practices, I found a lead, in Japan and trawled endless pages of Japanese scripts which led to the portal of the great corporate, Mitsubishi. It will now only be a matter of weeks before the package of twenty or so coloured marker pencils brightens my life again. The moral? Fight oblivion and when the odds seem stacked against, always persist!
